Dulcina

by Linda Carroll-Bradd

  Anxious to get the tequila making process started, he had equipment to buy and agave root to uncrate and start processing. As soon as he could slip out, he had to get to the telegraph office and wire Dulcina’s father about what he’d accomplished. Reporting on Dulcina without telling her didn’t feel right. But he wanted to provide enough information to reassure the man about his daughter’s welfare.

  Hours later, he stood behind Steve Farris in the saloon kitchen. A second stove was needed for cooking the agave root, because the process took thirty-six hours. Now, he watched as the blacksmith completed the junction of the new stovepipe to the existing one.

  Dulcina walked into the room, lugging a valise. Her body arched to the left to counterbalance the weight.

  “That case looks heavy.” Gabriel stepped close. He studied her face and saw her eyes appeared watery. “Let me get that.”

  Shaking her head, she glanced at him and her cheeks colored. “I need to take these clothes to the church for the poor box.”

  “His?” For selfish reasons, he wanted all evidence of the man gone, even if he conceded the task must be difficult for her to carry out.

  She nodded. “This and more upstairs.”

  “Can Ralph do that task instead?” Gabriel stepped back and waved a hand. “I wanted to show you this.”

  Her eyes widened. “Another stove?”

  He launched into an explanation of the preparation process and could tell by the time he got to the third step, he’d relayed too many details. “What I did not want was to tie up the oven so you couldn’t prepare meals.”

  “Good, because I still need to make sopapillas, and we have to leave for the dance in a couple hours.”

  As they walked down Front Street, the sun dipped out of sight, creating a fiery red outline of Moose Mountain. Gabriel had been surprised at Dulcina’s choice of an understated soft green gown with a darker underskirt and only a single flounce that tucked into the bustle. When he unpacked his clothes into the armoire, he’d seen more stylish gowns, ones that highlighted her curves more attractively. “I wish I owned a different suit.”

  “You look very handsome.” She glanced up and smiled. “The turquoise and silver on your tie clasp remind me of home. My father has so many of those clasps with native gemstones— agate, chert, and jasper.”

  As soon as he escorted her inside the Ridge Hotel, he understood her clothing choice. Most of the women wore simple dresses with plain details. He leaned down close to her ear. “Introduce me to the hostess first.”

  Dulcina walked though the two dozen or so people, holding the cloth-covered platter close to her chest.

  Gabriel followed and saw they were headed straight for a dark-haired woman with pretty features.

  “Dulcina, good evening. I’m glad you could attend.”

  “In all the planning excitement, I never thanked you for offering the hotel. Missus Ames, please meet my husband, Gabriel Magnus from New Mexico Territory. Gabriel, let me introduce Diantha Ames, the hotel proprietress.”

  Gabriel heard the adjacent conversations quiet as Dulcina performed the social amenities. He saw the woman extend her hand and stepped forward, lifting her hand to bestow a soft kiss to her knuckles. “Con mucho gusto. I am pleased to meet you, Missus Ames. I second my wife’s gratitude for you acting as hostess.”

  “Nice meeting you, sir.” A blush reddened her cheeks. “Such courtly manners I haven’t seen since my years in Georgia.”

  “Are we putting food somewhere?” Dulcina held up the platter.

  “Right through that door.” Missus Ames waved behind her.

  Gabriel glanced around at the space that must normally serve as a dining room. Gold medallion-patterned wallpaper with a solid accent border near the ceiling covered the walls. Silk-tasseled cords held back the drapes of a darker shade of gold at the front windows. “This room has a pleasing look, and the color is fitting for a town founded around a gold mine.”

  She blinked fast. “My late husband, Eugene, thought so. I appreciate you noticing.” She glanced around then back. “I must greet the new arrivals. Excuse me.”

  The scent of jasmine preceded Dulcina’s presence at his side, and he reached an arm around her back. “Will you introduce me to the people you know?”

  She moved to stand in front of him and looked up. “Most of the women avoid me because of the Last Chance. I’m only on nodding acquaintance with them all. Please, can’t we stick to the perimeter of the group?”

  “How are we to make the saloon a success if people do not know us as good neighbors?” He winked. “Trust me.” Over the next twenty minutes, he did his best to keep the names straight of the widows he met—some grouped together and some on the arms of men he’d noticed at the livery corral inspecting the horses. With the men in Army uniforms from Fort Bridger, he discussed the thieves caught in a rustling attempt at the Rafter O Ranch before the herd was driven to town. Grouping this many horses all in one place had created a lot of interest. He had an idle thought about the auction being the reason those scraggly three men from last night’s poker game were in town.

  Near the piano, two men tuned a banjo and a violin.

  The crowd moved to the edges of the room to leave the center open.

  “Think they will play music like we learned to dance to all those years ago?”

  “Like the jarabe tapatío? I doubt anyone here ever heard of the courtship dance.” Dulcina smiled. “Our mothers always shoved us together because we were close in age. But I remember a boy who disliked dancing and would drop my hands as soon as the music stopped.”

  Bending close, he spoke just for her. “That was so you would not notice my sweaty palms.” Then he kissed her cheek and swung her into his arms for a quick spin around the floor, keeping his steps tight to avoid bumping into others. Any excuse to hold his sweet Dulcina in his arms made him happy. Their steps glided together like they’d stepped into a moonlit night at a Questa round-up from a decade earlier.

  The next number was a folk dance, so they followed the calls, switched partners, and came back together. Each time, he noted her smile was wider and the glint in her eyes brighter. The same could be said for all the other ladies dancing.

  After much encouragement, Diantha sat at piano. “If all of you insist, I will play a couple of waltzes.”

  “Ready for some fresh air?” At her nod, Gabriel escorted her out to the front porch, picking up his broad-brimmed hat from several piled on a table. They walked to a far corner overlooking the intersection of Front and Chestnut. The rush of water from a nearby creek provided an undertone to the music inside.

  Holding onto a porch post, Dulcina glanced to the side. “Thank you for forcing me to conduct those introductions. I learned of romantic liaisons with a few of the widows and saw quite a different Birdie Templeton than the woman who serves as teller at Crane Bank.”

  “I did not see any woman with spectacles.” Gabriel raised his brows. “Which one do you mean?”

  “The brunette dancing with the cowhand.” Dulcina turned his head and pointed. “Doesn’t she look happy?”

  The feel of her fingers on his jaw propelled his thoughts to the coming night. How long before he could claim her as a husband should? An idea surfaced, and he stepped away then scooted a couple chairs to the side. Then he adopted the standard posture of standing erect, his body partially angled, and linked his hands behind his back. “Shall we?”

  “Here?” She grinned. “With no music?”

  He hummed the lively notes and moved into the classic advance and retreat steps, tapping his boot heels on the flooring.

  Dulcina pinched the sides of her skirt, held them out, and moved counter to his steps.

  As he circled, he watched her expression change from the woman’s role of affronted refusal to curiosity. Through the number, they approached closer and retreated less to demonstrate the growing affection. By the point where he tossed his hat on the porch and their tapping steps drew into a tight circle, he saw s
he enjoyed reliving the fun.

  Eyes flashing, she leaned over, grabbed the hat, and set it on her head, which was the signal for them to dance in syncopated rhythm.

  Just before he hummed the finale which would bring her to perch on his upraised knee, Gabriel heard boots stomping up the hotel’s steps.

  A group of men, led by Mortimer Crane, advanced toward the door. Crane glanced to where the pair stood and sneered. “Foreigners.”

  Anger heated his blood. Gabriel swung around toward the group, hands clenched at his sides.

  Dulcina grabbed his arm. “Gabriel, don’t give him the satisfaction. He’ll just get those henchmen to take care of any fight you initiate.”

  “I will nott confront him, but I will make sure he does not start trouble. I have no patience for bullies.” Clasping her hand, he moved to a window, noting the scent of a cigar. He watched the dancers stop and move away from the man wearing a garish suit as he walked to the center of the room with his arms outstretched. Gabriel couldn’t hear what was said, but a smiling Missus Ames approached and waved a hand at the offensive cigar then toward the exit.

  Crane walked toward the kitchen door where rancher Walsh stood with arms crossed.

  To be ready to step in to help, Gabriel moved to the open doorway with Dulcina clutching his arm.

  “Please, Mister Crane.” Missus Ames stood across from him. “I must ask you again to remove the cigar out of consideration for all the guests present. Since you’re also a business owner, I’m sure you understand.”

  Shaking his head, the short man leaned close. “Sorry, I don’t understand. I own this town and…” With a slow gesture, he lifted the cigar close to his mouth.

  The rude, arrogant— Gabriel tensed.

  A cowboy stepped forward, making Crane turn, wide-eyed. Other men in the crowd edged closer, forming a half circle.

  Crane passed the offensive object to one of the hulking men behind him then turned to survey the gathering, an eyebrow cocked.

  Even though they were on the porch, Gabriel put himself between Dulcina and the man who must live on stirring up trouble.

  A woman whose blonde hair piled high on her head stepped forward. After some issue was discussed, the pair moved around the room in a slow polka.

  Gabriel glanced over his shoulder. “Who is that woman? She looks to be the only one willing to dance with Crane.”

  Still holding onto his arm, Dulcina peeked. “Blessing Odell, the person who donated the horses for tomorrow’s auction.”

  “I would like to meet that brave woman.”

  “Let’s go back to the saloon, Gabriel. I have no interest in more dancing.”

  “That pompous man will not ruin our evening. Look, refreshments are being served.”

  Several ladies carried plates and bowls to a cloth-covered table in the parlor.

  Gabriel escorted Dulcina inside and scanned the offerings. Frowning, he walked over to the hostess. “An oversight has occurred, Missus Ames. My wife’s dessert is not included on the table.”

  The woman widened her eyes and turned to Dulcina, resting a hand on her arm. “My apologies, Dulcina. I’m still a little rattled about Mister Crane and his offensive behavior. Let me figure out what’s happened.”

  “Thank you, Diantha.” Dulcina watched the hostess disappear into the kitchen then whirled. “Gabriel, I wish you hadn’t made a fuss.”

  A blush colored her cheeks, but for the wrong reason. He sensed she was upset with him, but he couldn’t let pass this slight, accidental or intentional. “Being seen as an equal member of this community warrants a fuss, as you call it.” He reached for her hand and brought it to his mouth to press a kiss across her knuckles. “Your contribution deserves to be included.”

  “This, um, item must be what you mean.” Missus Ames carried out the reddish-brown earthenware platter. “Perhaps you can accompany me, Dulcina, so you can answer questions from those at the serving table.”

  “The fried dough is called sopapillas…”

  Several people clustered around her as Dulcina pointed at the small crock and then demonstrated smearing on honey butter and popping the tiny triangle in her mouth. While she rolled out the dough, she’d advocated for cutting the dough into bite-size morsels, and now Gabriel understood the choice.

  Everyone standing around her sampled a taste then smiled and nodded to others in the group.

  When the violin sang a warm-up note, Gabriel moved to where Dulcina stood. “Another dance?” He tucked her hand on his arm until they reached the dance floor then spun her twice under his uplifted hand.

  Grinning, she settled close with her arm resting on his shoulder. “Such a show-off.”

  “Why should I hide all our practice?” A slow waltz set the dancers moving in a counter-clockwise circle, and he kept them toward the perimeter. As they swayed and stepped, he spoke the words describing his feelings as they came to mind.

  “Are you composing?”

  “Maybe I wish to hold on to this night forever.” Humming, he nestled his chin against her temple.

  “A nice thought, but I promised we’d relieve Ralph so he can enjoy a few dances.”

  “We will…soon.” His smile grew. Such a charitable thought toward our employee. He hoped she’d be as charitable when he told her of the new wrinkle in their plans.

  Chapter Ten

  A s soon as Dulcina wished Gabriel good luck at the horse auction, she hurried into the kitchen and mixed together a sweet bread dough then set it to rise. She grabbed her reticule and headed down Front Street. Tunes from last night’s dance ran through her head as she wandered the aisles of the mercantile looking for inspiration to create a pan dulce treat. Receiving greetings from the elderly storekeeper and another widow surprised her.

  Would Gabriel like streusel topping, jam filling, or a sugar coating on the sweet bun? He’d grumbled about getting only a few tastes of the sopapillas while she prepared them, because after their last dance, they found the platter empty. She’d heard Cordelia whisper that a visiting cowhand named Buck had eaten them by the handful.

  On her walk back, she turned north from Chestnut Road and heard her name. Looking around the area, she spied Tommy Bridges waving a piece of paper in the air as he loped across the intersection.

  “Glad I caught you, Missus Magnus. The telegraph office is hopping busy.”

  “Because of the auction?” After loosening her reticule strings, she reached inside.

  “Yes, ma’am. This one is for your new husband but if you take it, I can go deliver others.”

  “Of course.” She handed over the coins and accepted the folded paper. “Thank you, Tommy.” As she continued walking home, she contemplated who might be sending Gabriel a wire. He’d said he was here to represent her father at the auction. Could this message be from him? Perhaps he’d sent along her family’s congratulations to them both on their wedding? By the time she reached the saloon, she was too curious not to read it.

  When she did, she was sorry for following her impulse that proved as disappointing as shaking a gift and guessing its contents before unwrapping it. All happiness drained away. She dropped into a nearby chair and reread the cryptic message twice to capture its meaning.

  G, Felicidades STOP Agreement from D? STOP Buyers for saloon? STOP Await arrival date STOP Esteban

  Dread settled around her heart at Gabriel’s betrayal. Why would he pretend to take over the saloon if his real reason for being in Wildcat Ridge was to just return her to her father’s rancho?

  Unable to make sense of the situation, she stomped into the kitchen, taking out her anger on the poor bread dough. By the time she finished kneading, rolling, and shaping the buns, she still hadn’t worked off her dismay. She’d opened her heart to him, experiencing the first sensations of hope in months. Now, how could she believe anything he said?

  The last steps of baking held no joy. As soon as the conch mounds and horn-shaped buns were baked, she covered them with kitchen towels. She brewed teas
and filled a big beer mug, carried a heaping plate of pan dulces to the bedroom, and locked the door. She didn’t want to be anywhere downstairs when Gabriel and Ralph returned from the auction.

  “Dulcina?”

  A faint calling of her name roused Dulcina from a sugar-induced nap. Her too-full stomach stretched tight against the corset, and she groaned. Three sweet buns were too many for one sitting. She sat up and brushed the buttery sugar crumbs from her dress front.

  “Hey, thanks for the pan dulce. Tastes great.”

  Footsteps pounded on the stairs then the doorknob rattled followed by a hard knock.

  “Ouch. Why is the door locked?”

  “Because I don’t want to see your lying face.” She jumped off the bed and squared off opposite the door.

  “Open the door, and we will discuss whatever has happened while I was gone.”

  “Go downstairs and read the telegram.” She counted to five before she heard him clear his throat.

  “You got a telegram?”

  “I collected it on my way back from the mercantile, but clearly, the message was not meant for me.” She paced, hands jammed on hips.

  “Unlock the door, and let me explain.”

  “I don’t want to listen to a liar.” Waggling her head, she stalked across the floor.

  “Dulcina Magnus, open the door and discuss this matter like an adult.”

  His shouted demand made her stumble back. For good measure, she dashed to her vanity and grabbed the chair to shove under the doorknob. Then everything went quiet. She waited, imagining him pacing the hallway while thinking of a new tactic to convince her to open the door. Well, she wouldn’t. The tea and pan dulces would last until the morning. Maybe by then, she’d want to look him in the eye.