Return of the Fox

by Pamela Gibson

  Gabriel nodded, grateful for having such a talkative servant assigned to him.

  The room was spacious, with a door leading out to the balcony and a large four-poster bed with a crocheted coverlet dominating the room. A blue patterned ceramic basin with a tin of soap next to it sat on top of an ornately carved chest with three drawers.

  “I will return with hot water, señor.”

  “Do you think you could find a shirt as well? We had to leave quickly. Juan is bringing my valise from the hotel.”

  “I will see what I can find.”

  The boy, whose name was Miguel, scampered out of the room. When he returned with water for washing and fresh towels, he also brought a clean shirt that must have belonged to his late master. It was in a style popular in the earlier part of the century, with a loose neck and billowing sleeves. Perhaps Tomas had attended a masquerade dressed as a buccaneer. It was not Gabriel’s style, but at least he would not reek of horse and soot.

  Full of nervous energy, he completed his ablutions and donned the shirt. Leaving his leather vest and gun belt hanging on a chair, he stepped out onto the balcony. The wind had shifted so he didn’t smell the smoke here. He filled his lungs with fresh air and gazed at the beauty of his surroundings in the fading light of sunset. The night was still except for a coyote yipping in the distance. What a shame it would be for Isabella to lose all this.

  Anger tore at his heart as he tightened his fists around the wooden railing.

  Whoever tries to hurt her will answer to me.

  He crept down the length of the balcony, glad he’d removed his boots so he could move silently, and paused at Isabella’s door, opened to the cooling breeze. She was sound asleep, a small, still lump on the bed. The room was silent and unoccupied except for Isabella, who’d begun to whimper in her sleep.

  Carefully, so as not to make a sound, Gabriel slipped inside, loath to wake her after their long ride. She was exhausted, both emotionally and physically, and she probably needed sleep more than dinner. Standing over her bed, he gave in to an impulse and lay down next to her, gathering her carefully in his arms. She sighed and snuggled against his chest as if she did it every night, and her whimpers subsided.

  An emotion he hadn’t felt in years washed over him, surrounding him with comfort as warm as a feather quilt. The soft body nestled safely in his arms created feelings of both peace and sorrow. At all costs, he would protect her from the danger that hovered just out of reach and convince her she never had to feel alone.

  And love her? The thought scared him. He’d have to examine it more closely later. Isabella accepted his friendship, and he must be content with that. In spite of old feelings stirring to life, he must tread carefully around her.

  Hearing a noise in the hallway, he slowly got up, tucked the blanket around Isabella, and lightly kissed her parted lips. Moving quickly, he slipped back onto the terrace and made his way to his room.

  Chapter 14

  Isabella sighed and opened her eyes. Adjusting to the dim light of approaching night, she stared at the dark beams of her ceiling. She’d had the most delicious dream. Gabriel had been here, holding her close, his special scent giving her the peace she craved. Her fingers moved across her lips. In her dream he had kissed her, gently, like she was a young girl receiving her first embrace.

  Dreaming was kind. It set one’s cares aside, even if it lasted only a heartbeat.

  Gabriel was not in the room, and her problems would not be solved by lying in the bed.

  She threw back the covers and checked her timepiece. Eight thirty. Dinner would be served in half an hour.

  She wouldn’t have time for her bath.

  Finding water in the ewer, she washed, dressed, and hurried downstairs. The smell of cooking chicken in an herb-laced broth reminded her how hungry she was. Where was Gabriel? Was he taking a late siesta? Or would he be waiting for her in the parlor?

  Entering the large dining room, she saw two place settings were laid. A bottle of Madeira was opened on a silver tray. The long oak table was polished, and the sideboard held gleaming crystal goblets, waiting to be filled. Tomas had welcomed many guests—friends, family, even strangers—and the table was always perfect. The servants knew exactly how he wanted his table set, and Isabella had never changed their routine, even when she dined alone.

  “There you are. I wondered if you would be down for dinner.”

  She turned at the sound and faced Gabriel, unable to suppress a smile. He wore an old-fashioned shirt that must have belonged to Tomas, the sleeves billowing, the neck loose and open. He resembled a Barbary pirate, off to plunder ships. All he needed was a cutlass and a patch, like the drawings in one of Sorina’s novels.

  “You look . . . dashing.” She laughed. She couldn’t help it. He was blushing. Gabriel de la Vega . . . blushing.

  “Shall I strike a pose?” He grabbed a silver knife from the sideboard and lunged at an imaginary foe, waving the blade in the air in a corkscrew pattern.

  “Are you preparing to do battle with our chicken dinner?”

  He set down the knife and put his hand over his heart. “You wound me, querida. You’re making fun of my prowess with a, hmm, dinner knife.”

  “On the contrary, I’m sure you will slice the chicken with precision.”

  “Right now, I’m hungry enough to eat it with my bare hands.”

  They sat down at the same time, their eyes never leaving each other’s. A frisson of heat shot through her core.

  “How are you, my dear? Are you feeling any better? Before we left, you were walking around like someone risen from the grave on El Día de Los Muertos.” His eyes were so kind she had to glance away. To her surprise, the dull ache in her heart was gone, replaced by a different emotion brought on by his reminder of why they were here.

  Slow, simmering anger.

  “I will find out who did this, Gabriel, and they will pay. They’ve taken away my livelihood. I will find a way to remain and care for my people. I will not give in.”

  Gabriel poured her a glass of wine and sipped from his own. Assessing her over the rim of the glass, he nodded.

  “That’s my girl. You were beginning to worry me.”

  “Why?”

  He paused, just before taking another sip. “When you first heard the news, you seemed to wither before my eyes. If we’re to solve your problem, I needed you to return from wherever your mind had taken you.”

  “I’m back now, and I’m ready to slay dragons.”

  She sat straighter in her chair, picked up her goblet, and drained its contents. Gabriel said nothing, instead reaching for her glass and refilling it.

  They spoke little during dinner, but when dessert ended, they adjourned to the parlor to speak privately. Sinking onto her favorite sofa, Isabella leaned back and allowed herself to relax. The wine had mellowed her, and she felt languid again. This time it was not because of shock. Instead, a full stomach and strong spirits made her sleepy, and she hoped Gabriel didn’t plan to discuss their strategy tonight. A hot bath awaited her in her chamber.

  Her half-lidded gaze slid over Gabriel, who leaned against the doorjamb. Perhaps he’d like to join her? She giggled as the thought warmed all her female parts. Then she squirmed and crossed her legs, making the heat pool at the juncture of her thighs.

  “You find humor in this situation?” He raised his brows.

  “I was thinking about something else.”

  He shifted position, a lazy smile on his face. “Oh? Do share.”

  Embarrassment heated her cheeks, and she turned away.

  Gabriel sauntered over and poured himself a glass of port. Bringing it to the sofa, he sat next to her and set his glass on a small table within reach. Taking her hand, he traced the lines in her palm with his finger. The gentle strokes relaxed her further. />
  In a heartbeat, he slipped his hand behind her head and pulled her to him. She closed her eyes and moaned as the kiss, deep and delicious, fired her senses. Opening, she let his tongue slip in, and pressed her aching breasts against his chest while she tightened her arms around him.

  Her mind shut down, and her body took over, a maelstrom of heat and sensation flooding everywhere their bodies touched.

  She gasped as his lips left her mouth and traced their way down her neck to the curve of her breast, exposed above her dinner gown. His hand gently lowered her sleeve to give him better access.

  Cool air touched her as he lifted his head and smiled.

  “You wear too many undergarments, querida. The stays on this corset are, shall we say, an impediment.” He put her sleeve back in place and cupped her chin. “You are tempting, but I don’t want you to do anything you might regret.” He quickly kissed the end of her nose. “Your servants could walk in any moment.”

  As if on cue, the tea cart rattled outside the door. Gabriel moved to the other end of the sofa, his mouth twitching as an elderly retainer moved into the parlor with great dignity, followed by one of the younger maids pushing a wheeled cart. The maid quickly departed, but the man remained.

  “Shall I serve tea now, señora?” His eyes sparkled, like he knew what had been going on in the parlor but was too well trained to really notice.

  “Thank you, Chato. I can pour.” Her voice was even despite her distress. She had almost allowed herself to be ravished in her own parlor. Good sense warred with her simmering emotions as she consciously slowed her breathing, fighting to regain control.

  Isabella studied the servant’s erect posture as he left, her eyes focused on everything but Gabriel. The man unsettled her. He made her feel things she shouldn’t feel, want things she shouldn’t want. How was she to think clearly when he was just down the hall? How was she to sleep when her body longed for his mouth and hands on every part of her?

  She took a deep breath and pushed inappropriate thoughts out of her head. She must not think of such things, not here, not now. She needed rest.

  And much less wine during dinner.

  “Tea?” she asked.

  He laughed. Laughed!

  “I want something, querida, but it isn’t tea.” He sat back and sipped his port. “As I sit here and watch the play of emotions clearly written on your face, I think I have a solution to your problem.”

  His tone made her sit up and take notice. Still tingling in secret places, she took a gulp of hot tea and forced herself to concentrate on what he was saying.

  “I’m listening.”

  “I believe the men who want your property are the ones who burned your building.”

  “I believe it, too.”

  “They have taken these steps because they believe you’ll have to sell to them now, before American laws are fully in place.”

  Isabella was all attention now. “I don’t understand. What difference does that make?”

  Gabriel got up and walked to the bookshelf, appearing to study the titles behind the glass doors. “In some American states, women cannot buy or sell property. Other states are more liberal. Men like Logan cannot predict the future. They deal in the present. If they wait until new government institutions are in place, they may be thwarted in their attempt to acquire your ranch.”

  “What happens in those places if a woman has inherited her property?”

  “I’m not sure, and they probably aren’t either. I suspect those who want your property are nervous and want to buy it while they know they can.”

  “That’s preposterous.”

  “It may be, but women’s property rights are much broader here in Alta California.”

  She pondered the idea. Tomas would not have known, or if he had, he would not have found it necessary to tell her. California had been firmly under Mexican control when he died, and he hadn’t believed circumstances would change.

  “Then my property is safe, at least for now.”

  Gabriel sat next to her and took her hand again, but this time he held it firmly. “Yes . . . as long as you have funds to run the ranch and pay an American lawyer to represent you when you have to defend your land titles in an American court. I’m guessing that will happen, and I believe it will be soon. Perhaps right after the treaty is ratified. Settlers are moving west, and they’ll be wanting land. In California, too much property is held by the hidalgos, land most Americans consider idle.”

  “Idle? Most land is pasturage for cattle. Most ranchos are completely self-sufficient. We raise our own food. Our people learn trades to keep the rancho running smoothly. I don’t understand what you mean.”

  “Americans coming west are looking for farms. They believe if you’re not farming, your land is not being used productively.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Have you ever heard the term ‘manifest destiny?’”

  “No.”

  “It’s a phrase that expresses the philosophy that the United States is destined by God to expand its territory across the entire North American continent, spreading democracy and capitalism. A land as rich and fertile as California is quite a prize, especially for families wanting a place to settle.”

  “But most of the land is owned. It cannot be settled by others.”

  “Perhaps. Did Tomas keep good records?”

  “I believe he did.”

  “Good, because laws may someday be passed to break up the ranchos. Even with good records, defending a land title will take years. When you’re through, you will owe a great deal of money to your lawyers, and if you cannot pay, the court will give your land to your creditors and you’ll have nothing.”

  He tilted her chin with his free hand. “Look at me, Isabella. This is going to continue. These men are ruthless, and for some reason they’re desperate to own your land. These attacks will become more frequent because once Mexico City has fallen, the treaty will be negotiated, and who knows what it will contain?”

  “Do you believe that will be the fate of all the California ranchos then? Many of Tomas’s peers were not as careful as he was when their deeds were recorded.”

  “Sadly, I do.”

  The bleak picture he painted was unsettling, but she recognized the truth at its core. What if he was right? What if the attacks continued until nothing was left, or she was killed? Tomas’s married children would inherit if she died, and they would sell without hesitation. That alone might be enough incentive for those who wanted her land to arrange an unfortunate accident.

  She sighed as she searched Gabriel’s face. The eyes that gazed back were those of a friend. “What should I do?”

  He rubbed his thumb across her parted lips and stole a glance at the servant who came in to remove the tea tray. The servant left, but the door to the hallway was open.

  “You could marry me,” he said in English.

  She forgot to breathe. Was he serious? She studied his face and saw no mirth, no telltale wink or twitch of the lips. He gazed steadily into her eyes, waiting for her to say something.

  Before answering, she considered her response, not wanting to offend, but wanting to make her position as clear as her wine-softened mind and rebelling body could manage.

  “I’m sure you haven’t thought this through, Gabriel. You know I don’t wish to be shackled with another husband, because I cherish my freedom. I enjoy making my own decisions.”

  He laced his fingers with hers. “I know this is unexpected, but it’s a good solution. Your ranch will still belong to you, but I will be here to protect you.”

  She pulled her hand free and clutched her skirt. If she continued to peer into his handsome face, she might succumb, and she could not. Her life as a woman who answered only to herself meant too much to her. Despite her troubl
es and Gabriel’s patient explanation, she had to believe there was another way out of her situation.

  She had to deal with the immediate one now. Gabriel once claimed to love her. She’d been young and naïve and new to passion and its effects. But she was an adult now.

  This man, who had become a friend, could still stir her senses, but years ago he’d left her virtually at the altar without an explanation. She’d trusted him, and he’d betrayed her.

  “I see you’re struggling with this, querida, so I will make it easier for you.” He rose and paced again, walking to the bookcase and back. “It will be a marriage of convenience. We will have separate quarters. When we know the men who want your property have given up or, better yet, are behind bars, we’ll get an annulment. Your ranch will still be yours alone. I have no need of it.”

  His argument was persuasive. The church would not recognize a civil ceremony, so if their marriage was unconsummated, in the literal sense, it would be easy to annul.

  “Consider it, Isabella. The advantage is that I will live here, and you’ll be safe. The men who want your property will think they have to deal with me if I’m your husband.”

  “What about your father? Is he able to manage on his own?”

  “Don Jose’s resiliency surprises even me, querida. He pretends to let me make decisions, but he knows I would not step beyond certain boundaries. I am grateful that he knows I was wronged by Santoro. The fact that he now listens to my advice on how the ranch is run is a bonus.”

  She’d wondered about the relationship. Sorina knew of Santoro’s perfidy long before her grandfather did, but it took Don Jose much longer to accept the truth. When Gabriel escaped from jail, Don Jose had forbidden his son’s name to be spoken, and even after Gabriel’s return, his father’s demeanor seemed skeptical toward his scapegrace son. Then recently, on one of her visits, Don Jose had told Isabella he counted it a blessing to have his son returned to him.