Return of the Fox

by Pamela Gibson

  A gunshot told her the competition had begun.

  All eyes were locked on the young vaquero from the Vega rancho as he and his horse chased a calf into the corral. His reata twirled in a loop above his head, and when he cast it, it fell solidly over the calf. Jumping off his horse, he wrestled the animal to the ground, binding its legs and lifting his arms. A cheer erupted from the crowd.

  Excellent time.

  Six other competitors followed, their times not as good as the first. When it was Don Jose’s turn, the crowd hushed, but despite his age, Sorina’s grandfather turned in a respectable performance, faltering only at the end when he had trouble keeping the calf down while he secured the legs.

  “He did it, and he’s not even breathing hard.” Sorina clapped her hands. “Is my grandfather not the best?”

  “He is an admirable example for all of us,” said the captain. “You should be very proud of him.”

  Sorina gasped as Don Jose stumbled. Isabella gripped Sorina’s arm while Gabriel rushed to his father’s side and led him out of the ring. Now that Gabriel was home and back in his father’s favor, he had quietly taken over the running of the ranch. Isabella admired the way he’d handled his father during the transition, making sure the older man always took part in the decisions, but at the same time keeping a watchful eye on him.

  As he was doing now.

  “I’m going down there,” said Sorina. Concern edged her voice.

  “Your uncle is there,” Isabella said.

  “I should be, too.” She picked up her reticule and strode down the hill, leaving Christopher and Isabella on the blanket.

  Alone.

  Christopher edged closer and idly picked up her bare hand. His grip was strong and sure, like the man himself. He leaned in, and Isabella smelled an unfamiliar, spicy scent. “What’s wrong with Sorina? Her grandfather did well.”

  The hand holding hers was warm, and Isabella was sure it was an unconscious gesture on Christopher’s part. If he didn’t remove it, there would be speculation, and Isabella did not want to be the object of gossip. Mexican society had many eyes, and they were often fixed on the behavior of young widows who were no longer required to have duennas to guide them.

  Removing her hand from his, she forced a smile. “Sorina’s grandfather has been unwell and took a long time to recover from an ailment of the heart. I’m sure she wants to be sure he didn’t suffer any ill effects from the calf roping.”

  “I didn’t know. Grainger didn’t say anything.”

  “I’m sure everything’s fine.”

  They watched the last two contestants. At the end of the exhibition, the winner was led into the center of the ring by Gabriel, who held up the young man’s hand while the crowd cheered. The winner was given a small leather bag of coins, the prize for most of the competitions that would take place today. The hidalgos paid their vaqueros well, but prize money was an added bonus.

  “What’s next? I’ve never been to one of these before.” Christopher reached over and smoothed a stray lock of hair that had fallen onto her forehead. Instead of a bonnet, Isabella had chosen to wear a short mantilla, her hair twisted in a knot at the back of her head.

  “It is the bull competition. A bag of coins is tied to the horn of a bull, and brave young men jump into the ring and try to grab the pouch. The one who is successful gets to keep it.”

  “Sounds risky.”

  “It is, but you will have to move closer to get a good view.”

  He stood and extended his hand. “Allow me to escort you then.”

  She hesitated. Was this a good idea? The bull game could be dangerous.

  Christopher waited, frowning slightly. “Do you not wish to come with me?”

  Making up her mind to be extra careful, she tilted her head as if considering. “Of course I do.”

  She stood, and they walked arm in arm down to the corral. Isabella had never been fond of bulls, and hung back a bit, but Christopher seemed fascinated, standing on the lower fence board of the enclosure to get a better view.

  The bull, a black Brahma from a place called Texas, was in the next ring. A gate would open between the two corrals, and the bull would be enticed into the ring by a matador. Before that happened a bag of coins would be tied to a horn, a dangerous element in itself. Isabella had once seen a man gored when the men holding the bull in place let him go too soon.

  Blood . . . everywhere. She had fainted on the spot.

  Fear of blood was a weakness she did not want people to know about. In all matters of business, Isabella Fuentes was a woman who was respected and admired. But the sight of blood made her mouth go dry and her knees buckle.

  I am as useless as a wilted flower.

  She closed her eyes as several men held the bull still to attach the bag of coins. It was a fat purse. Winner take all.

  Finally they released him and scattered to the fence, climbing over just in time as the angry animal shook his head, unused to the weight on his horn, and then charged.

  It was time for the opposite gate to open to let the first of three young men enter.

  The youth was sturdily built, and he stalked the bull, circling him from a distance to get the feel of the animal’s moves. Twice he darted in from behind, and once he had his hand on the pouch, but the bull turned, and the lad scurried back to the wooden fence, barely leaping out of harm’s way before the bull charged and rammed the boards. Time had run out, and the next competitor leaped into the ring.

  Isabella inched closer to the barrier, watching in fascination as the bull snorted and charged. This youth, a little older than the others, sidestepped him neatly. Every time the bull passed by, the man’s hand snaked out and tried to grab the pouch.

  On the bull’s fourth pass, the pouch seemed to loosen, but the bull turned, and the man had to dart for the gate, which opened just as the bull got there.

  The crowd cheered wildly. They had almost seen him triumph.

  The third competitor did the same as the second, leaping aside lithely when the bull charged. But this one jumped on the bull’s back, yanked on the pouch, and it came free in his hand. The bull bucked, and the youth fell off, scrambling to his feet. Clapping and whistling, the crowd surged forward just as the bull charged. The young man raced straight toward Isabella, scrambling over the fence with such force the top board splintered.

  Screams filled the air as the bull lunged, loosening the bottom board that crashed to the ground with the animal’s weight. Isabella couldn’t move. Blood gushed from the bull’s nose, and he kept moving toward her. Too late she realized the long scarf she wore around her neck fluttered like a flag in the wind, attracting the bull’s attention as surely as a matador’s cape.

  Fear gripped her body and froze her legs as the animal ran toward her.

  Just as the charging bull reached her, a strong arm scooped her up and carried her out of the animal’s line of sight. She landed on the ground, a heavy weight on top of her. Afraid to open her eyes, she lay still.

  She couldn’t breathe.

  But she was alive.

  A low voice murmured in her ear. “You need a keeper, querida. What were you doing so close to the ring? I thought I saw you safely seated on the hill with the others.”

  She opened her eyes and stared up into Gabriel’s face. Tears leaked out of the corners of her eyes, trickling back into her ears. “The bull,” she whispered. “Where is it?”

  “It’s being chased by our host’s competent vaqueros and will be lassoed and safely confined.” He moved off her and sat back. “Are you hurt? Can you get up?”

  She took in a deep breath and started to shake. “I am making a spectacle of myself, aren’t I?”

  “Indeed you are.” His smile was gentle and comforting.

  She took in more air, and bi
t hard on her lower lip. “I think I can get up now.”

  “Good, because here comes your admirer.”

  Christopher fell to his knees beside her on the ground, chafing her wrist. “Isabella, my God! I thought you were right behind me.”

  “I wandered back a bit . . . to get a better view.”

  “Let me carry you to the house.”

  “No. I’m fine. Just help me up.”

  He lifted her carefully, bringing her to her feet. She wondered where Gabriel had gone, but soon a crowd gathered around her. Sorina took her other arm, and they walked past corrals and barns and into the courtyard of the hacienda. Seating her on a sofa, Sorina shooed the men away.

  “What happened? I thought you and Captain Sutherland were on the hill with the other spectators.”

  “He wanted to get closer to the bull game, and I accompanied him.”

  “You gave us all such a fright. Good thing Uncle Gabriel spotted you. He took off running before anyone else and pushed you out of the way. Whatever made you move that close?”

  “I . . . I wasn’t thinking.”

  “I’m so glad you weren’t hurt. Stay here, and I’ll find someone to bring you a cup of tea. Unless you’d prefer brandy.”

  “Tea is fine, Sorina, but please don’t trouble yourself. I’ll stay here and lie down.”

  At the moment, she was more interested in the man who had landed on top of her, shielding her body from harm.

  He was nowhere to be seen.

  Chapter 10

  Gabriel limped through the crowd, assuring everyone Señora Fuentes was uninjured. He’d signaled the servants to start serving the meal, and guests were now eating roast beef served with tortillas on fragile plates that had come all the way from China.

  After lunch the horse race would begin. Lance Grainger had offered to start the race with the assistance of Sean Mitchell. Don Jose was in the house resting.

  As was Isabella.

  His heart had seized when he’d noticed how close Isabella was to the corral. Because of her extreme reaction to the sight of blood, she usually stayed far away from such competitions. While bullfighting was a gory business, the bull game with the weighted pouch generally was not, although it could be when the competitors were unskilled. Gabriel had handpicked the three young men who competed for the coins. Each was from a different rancho, and each had competed before and finished unscathed.

  He brushed off the dirt he’d missed the first time. His coat would survive the rescue, but his pants had a tear at the knee. He’d fallen hard and prayed he hadn’t injured Isabella with his weight. There had been no time to lose. The bull had raced out of the corral and reached her position a split second after he’d pushed her to the ground. He’d narrowly avoided being gored himself. Thankfully bruised ribs and a gash on his leg where the animal’s hoof had brushed him as it galloped past were all he suffered today.

  It could have been a tragedy.

  The energy rush was draining away, and his body started to ache. Perhaps he could share Isabella’s couch if Sutherland wasn’t already occupying it.

  His clenched jaw wasn’t helping. He breathed in and out slowly, forcing his body to relax.

  The dinners and soirées leading up to the wedding had brought members of the wedding party together. He was sure it was the first time Sutherland and Isabella had met. Yet the captain’s interest was unmistakable. Perhaps they knew each other from before. Gabriel didn’t think so, but he’d been gone a long time.

  As he moved slowly toward the house, someone called his name. He turned toward the voice and saw it was Tía Consuelo.

  “I’m so worried about dear Isabella,” said his aunt, who was seated with a group of elderly women. “She should have stayed here with the rest of us. What possessed her to move to the corral?”

  “I haven’t asked her,” said Gabriel. “I’m sure she won’t do it again.”

  “Such a dangerous game, but it is so exciting.”

  “I don’t think the Americans engage in such sport, Tía. Perhaps they will pass a law against it. They’re fond of passing laws.”

  Tía Consuelo frowned and raised her ever-present fan. “It is so distressing. So much change. I hardly believed the pueblo when I saw it. Even the plaza looks different.”

  Gabriel did not want to get into a discussion about change. He smiled and inched toward the next group.

  “What’s next?” This cluster was made up of Americans. Gabriel squinted into the sunlight and thought he recognized the speaker as the banker who had accompanied Drake Logan to the saloon the night before.

  “The final entertainment is the horse race. Wagers are being placed. Bolero is the favorite.”

  The man straightened and ran his hands down the front of his pants, smoothing wrinkles. “I have to get me a piece of that action. Where do I place my bet?”

  Gabriel pointed to an area where several men had gathered. A polyglot of humanity. Men wearing beaver hats stood shoulder to shoulder with those wearing sombreros, with greed as the unifying factor. The Americans wagered with paper money, while the Mexicans used metal coins minted in Mexico. Gabriel fingered the coins in his own pocket. Gold and silver were scarce in the United States. He’d heard that the government melted foreign coins and reminted them to back their paper currency. How soon would it all be sorted out, and who would profit?

  Not the native-born Californios, he was sure.

  Having made his rounds, he circled back toward the ranch house to check on Isabella. She’d seemed unhurt, but he wanted to make sure.

  And he wanted to check on the location of her admirer.

  The sala was dark and cool. An older woman sewing in a corner nodded to him as he entered. Isabella was lying down, a light blanket over her, an embroidered pillow cradling her head. She seemed so small and vulnerable. A wave of protectiveness flowed over him.

  Her eyes opened briefly. “I wondered when you’d appear,” she said.

  “Anything broken?”

  “Just bruises.”

  “You’re lucky.”

  Her eyes closed. “Yes.”

  “I know you said you ventured closer to see better, but that’s not like you at all. You usually stay far away from anything that might be bloody.” He saw her shudder, her eyes tightly closed again. “Are you warm enough?”

  “Just go away, Gabriel. I know I did a foolish thing, but Christopher . . .”

  His fists tightened at her use of Sutherland’s first name. His own annoying pain receded. He just wanted to punch something. “Where is . . . Christopher?”

  Her eyes flew open, probably in response to his tone. “I have no idea. He’s probably dining with the others.”

  Gabriel’s stance relaxed, slightly, but his anger remained. “Does he know?”

  “What?”

  “About how you faint at the sight of blood. Or was that your intention? Maybe you hoped there would be bloodshed so you could faint dead away in his arms.” The mocking tone was back, but he couldn’t help it. “Oh, Christopher,” he said, raising his voice in a falsetto. “You’re so strong. Pick me up and take me into the house.”

  She rose up on her elbows, her lips in a grim line, her eyes blazing. “Thank you for throwing me out of harm’s way. Now go.”

  She flopped back down and turned to face the back of the sofa.

  Feeling instantly remorseful, he reached out and touched her shoulder. When she flinched away, he removed his hand.

  Why do I do these things?

  He turned and limped to the door. Pausing, he glanced at the old woman with her bent head still sewing in the corner. He hoped she hadn’t heard his comments. Looking back at Isabella, he said in a loud voice, “Rest well, señora. I’ll tell everyone you’re unhurt.”

  He wante
d to check on his father before he returned to the race, and he continued down the exterior passageway until he found him in a large bedroom at the end of the hall, asleep and seemingly peaceful. Gabriel left him to his siesta.

  A shout and the sound of hooves told him the race had begun. The course was at least six miles long, with a turn that would bring the riders back. He had time to stop in the kitchen and bathe the gashes on his knees and elbows. Maria, Sorina’s maid, was there.

  Her eyes widened when she saw the condition of his trousers. “Señor? What happened?”

  He told her about the angry bull and asked her to fill a bowl with water. Taking off his coat, he rolled up his shirtsleeves, easily removing the caked blood on his elbows with the damp cloth she handed him. Removing his pants was another matter.

  Thanking the maid, he found an unoccupied storeroom and checked his knees and the back of his calf. Both were bruised, but nothing broken. Tidying himself as best he could, he started to leave, but voices held him.

  “She’s in the parlor.” It was Logan. “I saw an old crone in there with her. A chaperone, perhaps?”

  “Nah, she’s too old for a chaperone, although I must say, for her age she is still a tasty morsel, eh?”

  “That’s not what Smith wants with her.” The tone was scolding. “He wants her land, and that’s it. No trouble, hear?”

  “That’s not what I want with her.”

  “Back off, Slade, or we’ll get somebody else for this job.”

  “Who else will do your dirty work for you?”

  “Lots of bellies are hungry in this pueblo. Smith will find someone. He always does.”

  A pause in the conversation gave Gabriel just enough time to crack open the door. The lawyer was visible, but his henchman was not.