Diablo's Angel (Ranchero Trilogy Book 3)

by Donna Fletcher

  He didn’t want to let her go, but then she made no effort to move. He wanted to linger inside her, joined together, never to part. He had never felt as close to anyone as he did when they made love. It was as if they were part of each other, unable to survive without the other. Never had he thought like that before nor had he ever wanted to. He had always believed it was better not to feel and certainly not to love.

  Crista had changed all that and he never wanted to feel as empty as he had for all those years ever again. He hugged her tight.

  She lifted her head and looked at him. “My orange.”

  A brief laugh burst from his lips. “You prefer the orange to me?” It pleased him to see disappointment on her face when he lifted her off him to rest at his side. She felt the same as him about being parted.

  He slipped his satiated shaft back in his trousers before sitting up. Then grabbed her by the waist to sit up and braced them both back against the tree trunk. He looked around for her half eaten orange, found it had rolled a short distance away, and plucked anything inedible off it before handing her a piece. He kept his eyes off her lips and chin not trusting himself.

  “What did the priest want?” she asked.

  Finally, safe ground for a discussion. “He thinks someone else is entitled to the Edgardo inheritance.”

  Crista’s eyes widened and she shook her head. “Why would he think that?”

  “He claims that Maria Edgardo had confessed to him who she wanted to inherit the ranch.”

  “Does this person have a rightful claim?” She shook her head. “I should first ask if you have a rightful claim to this ranch.”

  “I do,” he admitted.

  Crista cuddled in the crook of his arm. “Isn’t it time you told me about it?”

  Chapter 27

  Diablo had never discussed his past with anyone. He had decided long ago that it was best he remained a mystery. It had made people that more fearful of him, thinking he’d actually been a spawn of the devil. Things were different now. Crista knew more about him than anyone did and since she had confided things in him—trusting him—it was time for him to do the same.

  “If you worry I would say—”

  He gently squeezed her chin. “The thought that you would reveal anything I told you never crossed my mind.”

  “Good, since I would lose my tongue before I would betray you.”

  He winced. “Do not say that. I love your tongue and what it does to me. Though with the way you chatter endlessly when fearful, your captives just might cut it out.”

  She jabbed him in the side with her elbow. “You avoid telling me what I asked.”

  His wife was much too astute and it was time she knew about him. He looked around, though he didn’t expect to see anyone. The workers were busy on the far side of the grove and couldn’t hear them.

  Crista turned and settled herself comfortably against him so she could look at him without craning her neck, and waited.

  He forced his words, having kept his past a secret for so long that it was difficult for him to discuss it. “There was only my grandmother and my brother, Pacquito, my parents dead before I could remember them. It wasn’t easy for my abuela, and I sometimes wonder how she managed it. Then Don Pablo and his wife arrived and things changed. Dona Maria hired my grandmother and also put my brother and me to work. In the mornings Pacquito and I worked outside with the vaqueros, but in the afternoon I would help Dona Maria with whatever chores she had for me. She discovered I couldn’t read and taught me. She had me read to her and corrected my speech which is how I’ve come to sound more educated, more cultured. I devoured every book she gave me and I learned so much from them. She taught me manners and how to address people properly. As I got older, I expressed my doubt as to how what she had taught me could help me. She assured me I would need it one day and so I continued to learn.

  “Pacquito was the opposite of me, always getting into trouble, never listening to my grandmother, arguing with authority, and disappearing for days. One day he was caught stealing from the Edgardos. Don Pablo was furious and had my brother beaten and ordered my family to leave the ranch and never return. Dona Maria pleaded with him to let my grandmother and me stay, that we did nothing wrong, but Don Pablo would hear none of it. He claimed that none of us could be trusted. My grandmother didn’t know what to do. No other hacienda would hire her or want me since most would think me a thief like my brother.”

  “So you had no choice but to become an outlaw?” she asked, her heart aching for how difficult it must have been for him.

  “It wasn’t my intention. It was Pacquito who brought me into the life of an outlaw. He told me and our grandmother that he knew a place where we’d be safe and protected. I was no fool. I knew where he intended to take us but we had little choice. I thought we would stay a few weeks at most. I was wrong. Once at the camp, there was no way out, except—” He paused a moment lost in the past. “It took me less than a year to take charge of the outlaw camp, though not as the man they knew, but as the shadow figure draped in a shroud and frightening them half to death.”

  “How old were you?”

  “Fifteen, though I was far older in mind and more educated than everyone there. Pacquito went off on his own, annoyed that I was now in charge.”

  “He knew you were Diablo?”

  “He did. I sometimes think that was one of the reasons why my grandmother went with my brother, to make sure he kept my secret.”

  “She knew you had become Diablo?” Crista asked, thinking how both their lives had been torn apart by someone else’s misdeed.

  “When I told her I intended to take over the camp, she convinced me to cover myself, let no one know my identity so that someday I could live a good, decent life. She sewed the first shroud I wore. The material had been confiscated in an attack on merchant wagons. My grandmother took the material—no one having any interest in the dark, though lightweight material—and produced the first of four shrouds she made for me.

  “Within a year’s time I made sure Diablo’s name struck fear throughout the outlaw camps and in the area. A fear so great that none would dare go against me.”

  “Was that around the time Pacquito took my brother?”

  “The infamous Diablo was a bit more established by the time Pacquito took your brother.”

  “I have wanted to ask, but I wasn’t sure how my question would be received or if my brother preferred to leave the past rest. But I wondered why my brother remained with the outlaws when he got older and had the ability to escape.”

  “My grandmother,” Chavez said. “She looked after your brother like he was her own grandson when he was captured. Pacquito hated that our grandmother had formed a bond with Esteban, a bond he never had through fault of his own, though he didn’t see it that way. To punish them both he told Esteban that he would see that, Lequito, our grandmother suffered if he left the camp permanently. He made sure Esteban got a sample of what he would do to her—my brother beat our grandmother. I wanted to kill him when I learned what he’d done, but my grandmother begged me to spare him. She always hoped that Pacquito would someday be different. She believed in miracles. I didn’t. In the end, she set everyone free. She took her own life so that your brother could be free. Though, I believe she wanted to end her own suffering and be free as well.”

  “That’s terrible,” Crista said, tears pooling in her eyes as she hugged her husband close

  “The outlaw life is vicious and it never ends well.”

  “But yours has, which brings us back to how you got the Edgardo ranch,” she reminded, needing to know he was safe now and no one could take this ranch—their home—away from them.

  “Dona Maria left it to me.”

  Crista’s brow scrunched. “How is that possible?”

  “One of the older women who sought shelter at my camp had worked at the Edgardo ranch and talked about Dona Maria’s passing and how the man left in charge of the Edgardo estate was searching for a young b
oy—Miguel—who had worked for her.”

  “Your true name is Miguel?” Crista asked startled that she didn’t know her husband’s real name.

  “Dona Maria always used my middle name.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. With her being so kind to me and my family, I never thought to question her.”

  “Did she ever refer to you by your first name?” Crista asked curious.

  “Never. From the first day I met her, she called me Miguel.” Chavez shrugged. “Perhaps she thought the name more suitable for me.”

  Crista nodded, but found it odd that the woman had purposely ignored his given first name.

  Chavez continued. “Dona Maria had told everyone that the young boy was a distant cousin who her husband hadn’t wanted her to acknowledge. From what I learned, I think many thought the boy a bastard son of a relative and wasn’t entitled to anything. With her husband gone and no one left to inherit the ranch and all that went with it, Dona Maria wanted the boy—now a man—found and the ranch left to him.

  “I had never wanted to become an outlaw and I promised myself that it would not last forever. I would find a way to escape the brutal life. The day I became Diablo, I began planning to make that possible. Dona Maria made that day come quicker for me and I will be forever grateful to her.”

  “This man who handled Dona Maria’s estate will surely defend your rightful claim to the Edgardo ranch,” Crista said.

  “I would agree, though when I arrived at his office there were many men there claiming they were Miguel. I was the only one who could answer the questions Dona Maria had left to make certain the rightful man inherited the ranch. One of those questions was my full name Chavez Miguel Antonio Navarro.”

  Crista smiled and tapped her husband’s chin. “An impressive name.”

  “My abuela told me my mother named me as soon as I was placed in her arms. It was as if she knew she’d have a son. I often wished I could have gotten to know her. My grandmother told me she was a courageous, beautiful, and kind woman.”

  “And your father?”

  “He died before I was born and my grandmother told me she hadn’t known much about him. So he remains a mystery to me, though I have wondered if I am anything like him.”

  Crista felt for her husband, never having known his parents. While she had been sent away, she still had parents to return home to and she had been lucky enough to have been raised by a loving couple who treated her as one of their own.

  She took his hand and placed it on her stomach. “You have a family now and will know your child and guide him as he grows along with the many more children to follow. We will build a good life together Chavez Miguel Antonio Navarro.”

  He lifted her onto his lap. “You want many children?”

  She laughed and kissed him lightly. “I don’t think we’ll have a choice since we can’t keep our hands off each other.”

  “I don’t think there are words that can suitably describe how much I love you.”

  Crista grinned. “You could show me, though it will have to be in our bedroom since I much prefer making love naked.” She squealed with laughter as her husband hurried to his feet with her in his arms.

  “You are insatiable,” he said as he rushed toward the hacienda.

  Her smile vanished. “Is that improper? Do I demand too much of you? Should I not tell you when desire sparks in me for you?”

  “No, no, and no, and I order you to forget I said that.” He wanted to kick himself for having said it.

  She laughed again and nibbled at his neck.

  He shook his head. “You tease me.”

  “I couldn’t help myself.”

  He said nothing, taking the stairs two at a time, and stood her beside the bed. “Now it’s my turn to tease you.” His hands went to her blouse, and Crista smiled.

  Crista hugged Rosa happy to see her. Chavez had joined the men in Don Alejandro’s study for the meeting after seeing her settled in the front parlor with Rosa.

  “I’m so glad to see you,” Rosa said as they parted and sat on the settee to talk. “I was worried about you after what Esteban told me about the attack. You are so brave.”

  “Like you,” Crista said, recalling what Rosa had told her of her life before Esteban came along, “I did what was necessary to survive.”

  Rosa smiled, though the harsh memories of Roberto and Lola Curro, the couple she had lived with since she’d been twelve years old, came to mind. “You’re right. You do what is necessary to survive, though I am so glad your brother rescued me from that hellish life.”

  “Love rescued us,” Crista said with a soft smile.

  “Another thing we agree on.”

  “And what is that you both agree on?” Dona Valerianna asked as she swept elegantly into the room.

  Crista often wondered how her mother always looked so perfect, never a hair out of place or rumpled clothes. She could only imagine what her mother would think if she knew she wore a skirt and blouse most of the time when home.

  “You look presentable, Crista,” her mother said, taking the seat across from them.

  Crista had taken extra care with her appearance this morning, wearing a riding skirt, high-collared blouse, and jacket. She was glad she had, hearing her mother’s compliment. It didn’t, however, change the fact that she couldn’t wait to get home and change into her skirt and blouse.

  “I can’t tell you how upset I was when your father and Esteban went to your aid and how relieved I was to know you were not harmed. Of course, tongues are wagging again, insisting that Diablo wants you back and he’ll not stop his rampage until he gets what he wants. But your husband will never let that happen.”

  “And the other haciendas? Do they care what happens to me?” Crista asked.

  “Crista!” her mother admonished. “They are not savages like these outlaws. They are educated, cultured men and women who will not bow to the demands of—”

  “The devil,” Crista finished.

  Dona Valerianna shook her head. “He is a man who needs to pay for his crimes and I have no doubt he will. He has gone too far this time and it is time his reign of terror ends. But enough of such talk. It is better left to the men.”

  Crista would have preferred to be in the meeting with the men and hearing for herself what they had to say. But her husband would tell her all that was discussed and besides, she was curious to ask her mother some questions.

  “Madre, were you friends with Dona Maria? I discovered Chavez is a distant cousin of hers.”

  “So he did inherit the Edgardo ranch,” her mother said with a nod. “Dona Maria would be pleased. She had told me just before she died that she had been trying to locate a distant relative to make sure the ranch remained in her family.”

  “Her family?” Crista asked.

  “Si, Dona Maria’s parents owned the land. Actually, the Machado family owns most of the land around here and farther north. Your father bought this parcel of land from her father as did all the other ranches around here. The Machado family is wealthy and influential in this area and beyond. I often wondered why Dona Maria remained here, but then Don Pablo—”

  “Don Pablo what?” Crista asked when her mother suddenly stopped at the mention of his name.

  “I don’t gossip,” her mother said.

  Crista had learned that everyone gossiped, but she wouldn’t insult her mother. She would simply use common sense. “If it’s gossip then shouldn’t I know what’s been said about my husband’s family so I may defend my new name?”

  Common sense worked, since her mother nodded and continued. “Don Pablo was not an easy man to get along with. His fits of temper at inappropriate times often embarrassed Dona Maria. I believe she chose to live away from her family because of her husband. Or her family preferred it that way since they never visited her.”

  “Then why leave the ranch to someone that never came to see her?” Crista asked.

  “I don’t know, perhaps fond memories fr
om a time spent with Chavez.”

  That made no sense to Crista due to the age difference, which puzzled her even more.

  “Was it an arranged marriage?” Rosa asked.

  “It was and I think her not being able to bear any children didn’t help the marriage. Though she had confided in me after Pablo had passed that it was better they had no children. She had thought to take a child in, but Pablo refused, claiming the boy was beneath their station.”

  “What boy?” Crista asked.

  “A boy whose grandmother was hired to work in the kitchen. The old woman brought two grandsons with her who were also put to work. I believe Dona Maria favored the one she called Miguel. Unfortunately, Pablo was right. The boys stole from them, though Dona Maria argued only the one boy had been guilty and the other shouldn’t be blamed. Don Pablo would have none of it. He believed both boys guilty and had them put off his land along with the grandmother. They were never seen again.”

  “No one knows what happened to them?” Rosa asked.

  “Not that I’m aware of, though I don’t think anyone cared except Dona Maria,” Valerianna said. “I am glad to know that your husband is a relative of Dona Maria’s. You made an exceptional marriage.”

  Crista cared about only one thing. “I married a good man,” she said with a smile, though she couldn’t help but think there was more to the story. Dona Maria’s family had to know that Chavez was not a distant relative, so why had they let him inherit the ranch? And what about the priest? Who did he believe rightfully inherited the Edgardo ranch?

  Chavez listened to the six men argue since entering the room over an hour ago. All agreed that Diablo must be stopped, but none offered a plan. He, however, gave thought to their anger and inability to wisely find a way to achieve their goal. It led him to think of how he could benefit from the situation.

  “Diablo is not an easy man to find, let alone capture,” Don Alejandro said.

  “On that we can all agree.” Don Bolanos nodded and looked to Esteban who had remained standing in the corner by the windows to the side of his father’s desk. “No disrespect, Esteban, but you are familiar with these outlaws. You’ve met Diablo. There must be something you can tell us about him that might help capture him.”