Return of the Fox

by Pamela Gibson

  But that was one of the problems. Isabella had been in charge for nearly two years. Even before Tomas died of a lung disease, she’d been the one negotiating the sale of their hides. She liked making her own decisions. Would Gabriel be able to let her continue? He said he would—and promised other delights she didn’t even want to contemplate—but would he keep his word?

  A young man entered and stood in front of her. “Juan has arrived, señora.”

  “So soon? He must have slept but a few hours and begun his journey in the night.”

  Gabriel stood. “Bring him in and set another place.”

  “Sí, señor.”

  And there it was. Her answer. She should have been the one to give direction, not Gabriel. The servants already deferred to him.

  She glared at him as he sat back down.

  “Forgive me, querida. I forgot myself.”

  “Yes, you did, but you’re making my decision easier.” She watched his face change at her words.

  Juan entered the room, and all thoughts of Gabriel vanished.

  He stood with hat in hand, dusty from the trail. “I did not expect you so soon,” Isabella said.

  “Sí, señora. I slept a few hours and decided to come back in the night. The moon was full and the wind calm. It was easy traveling.”

  “You can rest now, and we can talk this afternoon.”

  “Gracias, señora, but I wish to speak with Señor Vega.” He turned to Gabriel, who had poured a cup of coffee and was holding it out to him.

  “Why don’t you sit down and tell us both the whole story?” he said, slanting a glance at Isabella. “We’ve seen the damage. We need the particulars.”

  The majordomo sat and retold the details of the attack. Isabella recalled he’d mentioned there’d been two men. Only one had torched the building, setting the storehouse on fire before heading toward the house.

  “Did anyone see their faces? Can anyone identify them?” Gabriel spoke with authority. This time Isabella decided to let him continue. She wanted the same answers.

  “No, señor, they wore bandanas over the bottom part of their faces. But one of the horses had a white streak in its forelock. Even in the dark the mark was visible because the moon was bright even then.”

  Isabella wished she knew more about horses. They didn’t raise them. Horses were plentiful, and they had a full stable like other rancheros, but only for riding. Tomas had not favored gambling and hadn’t participated in racing.

  “There must be dozens of horses with that feature.” Frustration laced her tone. She couldn’t help it.

  Juan nodded. It wasn’t much of a clue.

  Gabriel refilled the man’s cup. “Why don’t you fill a plate, and we’ll talk later. I’d like to quiz a few of the others. Sometimes the tiniest detail might be significant.”

  “Sí, señor.” He shifted his gaze to Isabella. “What will you do now, señora?”

  Gabriel jumped into the conversation. “I have asked Señora Fuentes to be my wife.”

  Juan seemed visibly relieved. “That is wonderful news.”

  Isabella glared at Gabriel. “But I have not yet given him my answer.”

  Juan stood with a small bow toward Isabella. “Then I shall not intrude if you have an important decision to make. I’ll see both of you later.”

  He picked up a roll from the sideboard and shuffled out of the room, headed toward the kitchen. The room was so quiet a hairpin would have been noticed if it dropped on the floor.

  “You are not playing fair, señor.”

  Gabriel assumed a stricken look. “Me?”

  “Yes, you. It is grossly unfair to try to get the support of my servants before I have given you an answer.”

  “Juan seemed pleased.”

  “Indeed.” She picked up her fork and pointed it at him. “Do not do it again.”

  He smirked. “Do you know your eyes light up when you’re angry, my dear?”

  “Don’t fool with me, Gabriel.”

  “I like fooling with you. By the way, what are you doing with that fork? It isn’t as formidable a weapon as my dinner knife, but it could do some damage if you skewer me with the tines.”

  Isabella stared at the fork and dropped it on the table. “Why do you insist on annoying me, Gabriel?”

  “Annoy? Hmm. Is that the right choice of words? Frustrate. Now that’s a better one.”

  “Enough.” She scooted her chair back and hurried toward the door. She had to extricate herself from Gabriel’s annoying, frustrating presence. He was right. He could trigger her emotions like no one else. But Juan’s news stayed with her, and she had duties to perform this morning. She wanted to check the wounded and make sure they were healing.

  Then she’d take a walk.

  Alone.

  She needed to think.

  ~ ~ ~

  Things were going well. Gabriel ate a second helping and then wandered out to the stables. Juan said he wanted to have a word with him, leading him to assume there was more to tell and he didn’t want to upset Isabella. He found him in the tack room, brushing his horse.

  “What really happened?” Gabriel was not one to mince words.

  “I left out one detail because I did not want to frighten the señora.” Juan’s back was to him, but his voice was clear. He finished his task and closed the stall. “Come, we can speak privately in my quarters.”

  Juan lived in a large, plainly furnished room at the end of the stable. His quarters had a bed, a table, and two chairs. A small wooden cross was tacked to one wall, the only ornamentation in the room. A pile of lariats occupied one corner and a broom the other.

  “Did you learn something in town?”

  “No, señor, but I found this in the yard near the storehouse.” He took a shiny object out of his pocket and handed it to Gabriel.

  “It appears to be the rowel of a spur.”

  “Sí, señor. I thought it important. Our vaqueros do not wear spurs.”

  Gabriel turned it over in his hand. Juan had cleaned it, and it gleamed. “You think it came off one of the attackers?”

  “I do.”

  “You may be right. Unless it has been there a long time and just surfaced.”

  Juan scratched his head. “I am afraid it’s the only clue we have. As I said, it was dark, and the men wore kerchiefs over their faces.”

  “Do you mind if I keep it?”

  “Take it. Perhaps you can find its owner. And there’s one other thing.”

  “Yes?”

  “The men spoke English.”

  Gabriel already had his suspicions, and that bit of news confirmed it. He shrugged and turned to go but stopped. “Juan, can you think of anything on this property that might make it valuable to someone else, something unusual, a tale of buried pirate’s treasure perhaps? There was such a tale associated with Mission San Juan Capistrano, and that’s not too far from here.”

  “I have heard the story you speak of. The mission’s valuables were supposedly packed and buried beneath an oak to protect them from Bouchard the pirate back in 1818.”

  “That’s the one, but there is a fallacy to that tale. The Franciscans swore an oath of poverty. There were no valuables to bury.”

  “There are no such tales associated with this property.”

  “Then I shall leave you to your rest.”

  “If I may be so bold, do you know whether the señora will accept your proposal?”

  “I honestly don’t. But tell everyone not to despair. Señora Fuentes is a smart woman. She will find a way out of this mess. In the meantime, we need to devise our own plan to keep her safe.”

  “You can count on me, señor.”

  Gabriel patted the man’s shoulder and strode off, wondering
if he dared leave Isabella alone. He needed to get back to the pueblo. If Slade or Logan wore a broken spur, he’d have his answer. But the situation was precarious, and Isabella’s feelings were fragile. She was trying to be strong, but this situation was not one Tomas would or could have taught her to handle.

  Why was she being so stubborn about his proposal? Marriage was the only way he could remain here without destroying her reputation, and they were already on shaky ground. She had no elderly female relatives in residence to lend propriety to their situation, and the state of affairs was too dangerous for him to bring Tía Consuelo here. The woman was fond of Isabella and would do it gladly, but he couldn’t risk it. Not until he figured out what was really going on.

  He made his way into the house and asked for pen and paper to be brought to him. Mitchell was currently unemployed. He’d resigned his commission once hostilities in California ended and had left his cover employment as Juan Avila’s trainer, saying he planned to head north. Maybe he would like to do a small job before he left. He had been a spy for Thomas Larkin during the war and had the instincts and cunning of a puma. He also had an analytical mind and was cool under fire. If anyone could help in this situation, it was Sean Mitchell.

  After quickly scribbling a note, he found Juan in the stable and asked him to find a courier to deliver his message to Mitchell. There’d be hell to pay when Isabella found out he’d made another decision without discussing it with her first. He had to take the risk. This was too important, and there was no time to worry about her sensibilities. Any property sale would have to take place before the treaty was negotiated in order for the buyers to be sure of its validity.

  Isabella should be safe for the time being. He half expected Drake Logan to put in an appearance, renewing his offer, and Gabriel was convinced they wouldn’t mount another attack until after she refused Logan again.

  Gabriel looked up at the clear sky. The sun was already bright, but it wasn’t going to be a hot day. He could feel the breath of a cool wind starting. They needed to make sure the wind didn’t stir any lingering sparks into new flames.

  Where was Isabella? He hadn’t seen her since breakfast. She was probably working in her late husband’s study, agonizing over how to pay bills now that her hides were gone.

  He thrust his hand into his vest pocket and pulled out the piece of metal. He really should tell her about it, but he could just imagine her peering at the boots of every man she came in contact with. He turned back toward the stables and decided to saddle his horse and ride with the men herding cattle to the upper grazing ground. Isabella’s remaining herd was very important now, and cattle thieves—a constant plague—were getting bolder. He wanted to be sure there were extra men guarding it.

  As he rounded the corner, the clear sound of a single shot broke the silence. Cold dread froze him in place. Where is Isabella?

  He sprinted to the house and across the courtyard, thrusting open the door of the study. She wasn’t there.

  “Isabella!”

  A large woman wearing an apron came out of the cocina, her hands covered with flour.

  “Have you seen your mistress?”

  “No, señor.”

  He ran back to the bedroom wing and took the stairs two at a time. After grabbing his holster and gun, he dashed back down the stairs, bumping into Catalina near the main door to the parlor.

  “Have you seen Isabella?”

  “She went for a walk, señor.”

  “Alone?”

  “Sí.”

  Gabriel swore. The woman needs a keeper.

  Juan and two others stood at the entrance to the stable, pointing toward the river.

  “We heard a shot,” Juan said. “Poachers have become a nuisance.”

  “Do you know where Señora Fuentes goes when she is out walking?”

  “She goes to the river, señor. She says there is a place that reminds her of her father’s rancho.”

  Gabriel ran to the stable, attached a bridle to his horse, leapt up on its back without a saddle, and headed for the river. There had not been a second shot, which meant the intruder either found his mark or had been scared off. Poachers were a problem on all the ranchos, but given the recent attack, Gabriel feared the worst.

  He galloped to the river’s closest point, thinking to follow its bank, not having any idea where the woman might be. He vaguely recalled attending a picnic as a young man in a clearing surrounded by trees, with a flat rock used for fishing that jutted into the water. He hoped that was where she was. The mustard was high this time of year, and she’d need to follow a trail.

  “Isabella!”

  He stopped at the clearing and slid off his horse. Wind rustled the leaves of cottonwoods, and a single bird flapped overhead. And then he heard a groan.

  Gun drawn, he kept to the edge of the clearing, making his way toward the water still partially hidden from view.

  Mother of God.

  Isabella lay crumpled on the rock, her bare feet curled under her. Blood trickled down her arm above the elbow, and she was whimpering like a wounded animal, clutching her arm, her head turned away.

  He dropped to his knees. “I’m here, querida.”

  Her entire body convulsed when he touched her.

  “Shh, it’s all right now. You’re alive. That’s all that matters.”

  He took off his shirt and wrapped it around her arm. The gash wasn’t deep. If it was made by a bullet, it had only grazed her. He breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Come now. I’ll help you get up.”

  She nodded and rose, looking everywhere but at the blood staining his shirt on her injured arm.

  “Where are your boots?”

  She flicked her eyes toward a tree stump, and he saw them. “I’ll send someone to get them later.” He picked her up, and she pressed her head against his chest. Her breath was warm against his skin, but she was shaking.

  “Keep your eyes closed, and you won’t see the blood. I’ll carry you to that stump over there and clean your hands. Then I’ll put you on the horse. You’ll have to hold his mane until I get up behind you. Can you do that for me, querida?”

  She nodded.

  He set her down and hastened back to the river. Cupping his hands, he brought water to her, but only a trickle was left by the time he reached her. “Hold out your hands.”

  She did as she was told, her eyes tightly closed.

  He dampened her palms and wiped them clean with the edge of his vest. They were still stained, but not as crimson as before. “Does your arm hurt?”

  “Yes, but I can stand it.”

  “Good girl. Your tongue is still intact. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to your marvelous tongue.” He hoped his provocation would tempt her to answer back, but she remained quiet. He tried again. “You can open your eyes now. You’re squeezing them so hard you’re in danger of wrinkles, and I don’t want to see wrinkles on that beautiful face. Not yet, anyway.”

  He was rewarded with a blink as her eyes slowly opened. But she didn’t smile at his little joke. He reached over and cupped her cheeks, dropping a gentle kiss on her lips. “Are you ready?”

  “Yes.”

  “What happened?”

  “I . . . I . . . think someone shot at me, Gabriel. I felt a sharp sting, and then the bullet hit the rock beside me, and I dropped to the ground. I don’t think the injury is severe, but the wound hurts like the devil, and it bled . . .”

  “You’re not going to faint on me, are you, querida?”

  “No.” She gritted her teeth.

  “Don’t look at your arm. Focus on the horse. We have to ride bareback. Are you ready? Here we go.”

  He hoisted her up, and she lifted her leg over the horse’s back, steadying herself with the mane. Her skirts were hiked up immod
estly, but he doubted she even noticed. Her body trembled against him as he climbed up behind her. Taking the reins, he guided the horse at a slow pace. Hopefully the intruder was gone. He would quiz Isabella as soon as she was cleaned up, but for now, he needed to get her back to the hacienda quickly.

  What a spectacle they must make as they passed the barn and headed for the house. Juan came from behind him and took the horse as soon as Gabriel lifted Isabella down.

  “What happened to her?”

  “I don’t know yet. I’ll fill you in when she’s settled.”

  Juan took the horse back to the stable, and Gabriel guided Isabella into the house and up the stairs.

  Catalina came running down the hallway, her hands clutching her skirts.

  After setting Isabella on the edge of her bed, he unwound his shirt while Catalina brought him a cloth dampened from the pitcher on the dresser. If she thought it unusual that he was wearing only a vest above his waist, she didn’t mention it.

  He cleaned Isabella’s arm and hands thoroughly, and instructed Catalina to bring a tincture made of a healing herb. Most households had it in their kitchens. He’d seen wounds putrefy, and even though hers was a deep scratch, he didn’t want to take chances.

  “You can open your eyes now.”

  Her lashes rose, framing her beautiful brown eyes. She stared into his, unblinking, her lips in a solemn thin line.

  When she spoke, her voice was clear. No remnant of fear or panic remained. “Do you still want to marry me?”

  “You know it’s the best solution.”

  “Then the answer is yes.”

  Chapter 17

  Two days later, Isabella stood before Jose Salazar, alcalde of the pueblo of Los Angeles, and pledged her life, her body, and her worldly goods to a man she’d once hated. The ceremony was over in an instant, and the only witnesses were her maid, Catalina, and Pablo, the majordomo of Rancho de Los Lagos.