Because You're Mine

by Nan Ryan

“Always what, sweetheart?” Burt coaxed. “Go ahead. You can ask me anything. I’m your husband.”

  “Well, I was just wondering if making love will always be as good as it was this time?”

  Delighted, happy as he’d never been in his life, Burt laughed heartily and hugged her tight. “No, honey, not really.”

  “No?”

  “No.” He kissed her soundly. “Next time it will be even better!”

  Twenty-Three

  SILVER LINING, THE BURNETTS’ personal Pullman car, waited on the private railroad spur. The long, silver-gray car gleamed brightly in the September morning sunlight. At dawn, the car’s sleek body had been freshly washed and meticulously polished by a trio of Burnett ranch hands, while the interior was thoroughly cleaned and tidied by a pair of Burnett house servants.

  The railcar’s larder was stocked to overflowing with every imaginable fancy food and edible delicacy. Fine champagne and vintage wines filled the liquor cabinet. Scarlet, long-stemmed Happiness roses bloomed from every crystal vase, their delicate bouquet sweetening the fresh air.

  This grand-hotel-on-wheels was ready, inside and out, for the journey.

  Fancy script letters of hammered silver spelled the name directly beside the Pullman car’s door: Silver Lining. Raleigh Burnett had chosen the title, saying the unexpected rich veins of silver discovered in the coastal ranges on Lindo Vista had afforded this expensive folly.

  And it was a folly.

  Raleigh Burnett had traveled in the Silver Lining only two times after ordering it from the Pullman Palace Car Building Company in the autumn of ’71. Soon after that, his health began to fail and the operation of Lindo Vista and overseeing all the other holdings were turned over to his only son.

  Burt had made good use of the luxury railcar. He had traveled across the country in the Silver Lining more than once; had taken it up the coast to San Francisco on numerous occasions, enjoying the privacy and comfort it provided.

  Inside the specially constructed car, a parlor with satin-wood walls, a lush wine hand-loomed carpet, and comfortable sofas and chairs of pearl-gray velvet made rail travel homelike and restful. Even more restful was the large, opulent bedroom/observation compartment aft of the parlor.

  Under a vaulted ceiling with Gothic fretwork, a large square bed covered with a pearl-gray velvet counterpane, was topped with mounds of pillows. On either side of the bed were matching onyx night tables atop which were lamps with shiny gray shantung shades muting the light from their balloonlike globes. Across the room, a floor-length, gray damask cloth draped a square table. The flatware service was of silver gilt, the dishes of ivory porcelain banded in silver. Four straight chairs, their backs and seats covered in gray velvet, were pulled up to the table. Black velvet cloth had only recently replaced the gray to insure no light came through the many windows.

  Between the salon and the bedroom, a bath with a square, gray marble tub, shiny silver fixtures, stacks of thirsty towels, and rows of expensive oils and soaps made bathing at any hour of the day or night convenient and enjoyable.

  Those fortunate enough to travel in such grand style reached their destination a great deal fresher than the masses who could barely afford a ticket to ride in one of the train’s hot, dusty chair cars.

  Carrying charges for a private car were the price of eighteen first-class rail tickets. That’s what it cost to have the northbound California Starlight hook on the Silver Lining and pull it to San Francisco. Those first-class tickets had been purchased. The train, steaming up from San Diego, would be stopping at the rail spur at approximately eleven a.m.

  It was now twenty minutes of.

  The pair of privileged passengers who were to travel aboard the sleek Silver Lining were nowhere in sight.

  At Lindo Vista, three quarters of a mile from the rail spur and the waiting private Pullman, Cappy Ricks paced nervously back and forth in the wide downstairs corridor of the hacienda. Twisting his hat brim in his calloused hands, he glanced up every few seconds, then shook his gray head.

  Finally he heard a high squeal followed immediately by tinkling feminine laughter, and then Burt’s deep voice. Cappy looked up. The newlywed couple appeared on the upstairs landing, Burt carrying Sabella in his arms, both of them laughing at some private lovers’ joke.

  Despite his irritation at their tardiness, Cappy began to smile when he saw them. They looked young and happy and very much in love. The sight of them brought back that day a long time ago when he himself was a happy, young bridegroom. The vision of his sweet, dark-haired young bride, Geneva, came back as vividly as if it had been yesterday instead of forty-three years ago.

  Smiling now, Cappy thought the new Mrs. Burnett was as pretty as a picture in a traveling suit of copper-colored cotton. She had that fresh, glowing radiance of a woman who has just found out the sweet mystery of married love. Cappy told himself he’d been foolish to worry so. If she wasn’t in love, he’d eat his hat!

  Halfway down the grand staircase, Burt stopped abruptly to kiss his bride.

  “Enough of that foolishness,” Cappy called to them, jamming his sweat-stained Stetson on his head, “you’re gonna miss that train north if you don’t get a move on.”

  “What time is it, Cappy?” Burt asked, unruffled, looking into Sabella’s eyes.

  “A quarter til,” said Cappy. “Mornin’, Mrs. Burnett.”

  “Good morning, Cappy.” Sabella turned her head, and beamed down at him. “It’s my fault, I’m afraid, I was late getting dressed.” She blushed immediately and wondered if her face were bloodred. She had been late getting dressed, but it had hardly been her fault. Burt had caught her as she got out of her morning tub and one quick kiss had led to lovemaking, though she’d warned him throughout that they didn’t have the time.

  “Yeah, blame her,” said Burt, nodding his dark head, grinning mischievously. Then: “What are we waiting for? Let’s go.” He skipped the rest of the way down the stairs and dashed across the foyer, running out the door a helpful servant held open for them.

  By the time Cappy reached the waiting carriage out front, Burt and Sabella were seated comfortably inside. One arm around his bride, Burt impatiently drummed long fingers on his knee.

  “What kept you?” he asked, frowning, then winking at Sabella. “If you don’t hurry, we’ll miss our train!”

  Cappy paid him no mind. The big ranch foreman swung up on the high seat, unwrapped the long leather reins from the brake handle, and immediately put the matched blacks in motion. The open carriage sped down the palm-lined avenue to the ranch gates, passed under the tall cross bars, and turned into the lane.

  Heading north, Cappy urged the team into a full, fast gallop, the carriage’s quickly turning wheels churning up a thick cloud of dust that hung in the still September air.

  It was two minutes until eleven when the carriage rolled to a stop at the private rail spur.

  A staff of Burnett employees were assembled there, waiting to make the journey with the golden couple. Two cooks, one of whom was the stocky, good-natured Martha, Burt’s own personal favorite. Two maids—one to keep the lavish quarters neat, the other to keep the couple’s clothes clean and pressed. Blanton, who since Raleigh’s death had become Burt’s manservant. And Carmelita Rivera, Sabella’s old friend and personal maid.

  The entourage, along with several dozen pieces of luggage, would be riding in a leased private sleeping car directly ahead of the Silver Lining. They would be on call and in attendance throughout the journey, ready and able to meet any demands made on them until the honeymooners returned home to Lindo Vista. Handpicked for their intelligence and loyalty, their task was to see to it that Mr. and Mrs. Burton J. Burnett had a wonderful and worry-free wedding trip.

  Burt had hardly helped Sabella out of the carriage before they heard a train whistle blow in the near distance. Sabella looked up to see the fast-approaching locomotive.

  “That’s us, darlin’,” Burt told her, grinning broadly, “the California Starlight.”<
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  Sabella was amazed at the speed and efficiency with which the private Pullman car was hooked on to the rear of the train. Within minutes of the California Starlight’s arrival, they were saying good-bye to Cappy.

  Impulsively turning and hugging the big, brawny, gray haired foreman, Sabella whispered against his leathery, freshly shaven cheek, “Thanks again for giving me away. I’ll miss you while we’re gone.”

  Cappy patted her back awkwardly. Swallowing down the beginning of a lump forming in his throat, he said, “Be happy, child.”

  Burt put out his hand to Cappy. “Watch the old place while we’re gone. And watch after yourself as well.”

  “I’ll do both, son,” said Cappy.

  Burt anxiously ushered Sabella aboard the Silver Lining and together they stood in the doorway waving to Cappy as the train moved slowly away.

  Sabella was again amazed once she turned and stepped inside the plush private car. She wondered, as her eyes examined the lavishly furnished parlor, if she would ever become accustomed to the idea of one family having such immense wealth. It was mind-boggling to think that people actually lived the way the Burnetts lived. Just one of the fine pearl-gray velvet sofas she saw cost more than all the furniture the Rios family had ever had in their entire house.

  Sabella felt her jaw tighten as her dark gaze swept slowly about the room. Her resentment, her deep and abiding hatred of the Burnetts suddenly surfaced with such passion it threatened to overwhelm her. These gray velvet sofas, the plush wine carpet, everything, including the sleek silver railcar containing all the fine furnishings—none of it really belonged to the Burnetts. They had …

  “Sweetheart, what is it?” Burt asked, troubled by her strange expression. “You don’t like the decor? We’ll get rid of it. You can redo the whole car, fix it up any way you like.”

  Sabella made herself look up and smile sweetly at him. “I wouldn’t change a thing. Really. It’s the most handsomely … ” She laughed then, put her arms around his trim waist, and admitted, “I was about to say it’s the most handsomely appointed railcar I’ve ever been in, but that would be a bit silly since it’s the only railcar I’ve ever been in.”

  “Stick with me, kid,” Burt said, putting his hands on her shoulders, and asking, a dark eyebrow lifted, “Would milady care to see the boudoir?”

  “Only,” she replied, “if milord promises not to try and keep me there.”

  “Sorry, Princess, I don’t make promises I can’t keep.” Burt took her by the hand and led her back to the bedroom as the train picked up speed on the tracks.

  The black velvet drapes were pulled against the midday sun. The only light was the soft mellow glow from the gray-shaded lamps on each side of the bed.

  The pair stood holding hands, looking at the bed. Burt said, “Give you any ideas, sweetheart?”

  “Yes,” she was quick to reply, “it reminds me that I got almost no sleep last night.”

  He dropped her hand, turned about, and fell over flat on his back atop the bed. Folding his long arms under his head, he said, “I’m with you. Let’s take a nap.”

  “Not on your life,” she told him, moving to go back toward the parlor.

  “Wait.” He rolled into a sitting position. “I was teasing you, honey.” He was up on his feet in a second. “In a few minutes we’ll be stopping at the Capistrano depot and … ”

  “And I suppose several dozen of your closest friends will be at the station to say good-bye.”

  Burt looked properly sheepish. “I might have mentioned to one or two guests at last night’s reception that we’d be coming through today.” Head hung, he plucked at the shoulder gathers of her suit jacket’s fashionable balloon sleeves. “You don’t mind too much, do you?”

  She shook her head. “I better see to repairing my hair. I must look a fright after that fast carriage ride.”

  Sabella’s gleaming gold hair was neatly dressed atop her head when the train pulled into the depot. She and Burt were still in the railcar’s bedroom when the locomotive’s whistle blasted loudly.

  “Come on,” she said, lifting her long skirts and starting toward the parlor, “we’ll stand in the door and wave.”

  “Wait sweetheart,” Burt stopped her. “Let me show you something.”

  He drew the heavy black drapes stretching across the compartment’s back wall. Sabella gasped in astonishment. The car’s rear wall was entirely of glass with a door on one side leading onto an open observation deck. A waist-high railing of hammered silver enclosed the deck, and overhead a black-and-gray-striped awning, rolled up neatly out of the way at the moment, shaded it, when necessary, from the California sun.

  Before she could comment, Burt was handing her out the door to greet the gathered crowd. The newly weds might have been visiting royalty, so many people had shown up. Many of last night’s guests were present, some looking a bit tired and bleary eyed, but smiling and waving nonetheless. There were people Sabella didn’t recognize, was sure she’d never seen before. But everyone knew Burt.

  They cheered madly when he thanked them all for turning out. Graciously he accepted gifts of brandy and cigars while Sabella laughed gaily and leaned over the silver railing to receive a large satin-covered box of fancy chocolates from the spokesman for a group of well-wishers. Romantic young girls tossed flowers at the handsome, smiling couple, and shy young boys sidled up for a closer look at the beautiful, blond bride.

  Showering the smiling, waving couple with kindness and good will, everyone in San Juan Capistrano was genuinely happy for them.

  Well, almost everyone.

  One pretty, dark-haired woman who happened to be in the village that day was not the least bit happy for them.

  Gena de Temple, seated in a covered carriage which was parked across the tree-shaded street, watched the spectacle with cold fury. She wasn’t sure whom she hated the most. Burt, for being such a fool he would fall in love with a Spanish peasant! Or Sabella Rios for spreading her legs and turning him into a brainless fool.

  Did the scheming blond bitch really think she could steal something that belonged to Gena de Temple and get away with it?

  Never! Gena silently promised the laughing, waving woman standing on the observation deck of the Silver Lining as if she belonged there. Burt Burnett is a fool, but I am not. I will, if it takes forever, learn the truth about you!

  Twenty-Four

  GENA DE TEMPLE WATCHED from inside the parked, closed carriage until the California Starlight pulled out of the San Juan Capistrano depot. She stayed where she was until Burt and Sabella, waving from the Silver Lining’s observation deck, became tiny specks in the distance. And then finally disappeared completely.

  With the tip of her colorful silk parasol she tapped on the roof of the brougham. Dozing atop the box, old Julio jumped, startled, then put the matched bays in motion, turning the big rig about and heading out of the village.

  Angry, upset, Gena de Temple went home to the haunting silence of a big empty mansion. Her father, the senator, was in Los Angeles. He had planned to be back by late evening, had invited his old friend, Don Miguel Andres Amaro, to come for dinner.

  But a telegram, delivered while Gena was in the village, stated he was tied up and wouldn’t be back until sometime tomorrow.

  Reading, then rereading the wire, Gena de Temple swore under her breath. She had no way to get word to Don Miguel that her father was out of town. The stocky, silver-haired Spanish grandee would show up for dinner. And she would have no choice but to entertain him.

  Gena shrieked so loudly a half dozen servants came running. She angrily waved them away, shouting at them to “Leave me alone!”

  She wanted to scream at the top of her lungs and keep screaming until she could scream no more. She did not feel like entertaining the don or anyone else. Her world had fallen apart. Her man had married another woman, leaving her to become a lonely, embittered old maid. How could she be expected to receive callers? She couldn’t and she wouldn’t! She was p
rostrate with grief. She would take to her bed and stay there in seclusion for as long as she pleased!

  Gena shook her head, sighed wearily, and squared her slender shoulders determinedly.

  She was, after all, a de Temple. The illustrious de Temple name, her lofty station in life carried a certain degree of duty and responsibility. Don Miguel Andres Amaro was a direct descendant of Cortez, Mexico’s famed Spanish conqueror, and highly respected among California’s elite. The polite, charming, fifty-eight-year-old childless widower was one of state’s richest men, and one of the most powerful.

  She could hardly snub such an influential gentleman.

  Promptly at eight p.m., Don Miguel Andres Amaro showed up at the de Temple mansion. The landed don arrived in a fine black carriage drawn by a quartet of high-stepping, spirited blacks. The horses’ trappings were heavy with gleaming silver ornaments fashioned by the most talented silversmiths in all of Mexico.

  The portly don was dressed in his favorite Spanish grandee attire. His formal black charro suit was trimmed in flashing silver embroidery on the lapels and down the outside of each tight-fitting trouser leg. His shirt was snowy-white silk and a scarlet silk scarf was knotted at his stocky throat. His black boots had been polished to such a high gleam they looked like patent leather and their heels were very high, giving the short don the appearance of being inches taller than he actually was.

  A full head of silver hair was clean and carefully brushed, the nails of his square, brown hands neatly trimmed and buffed. His dark, smoothly shaven face, heavily lined from many years spent in the sun, still retained traces of his youthful handsomeness.

  But the trim, well-proportioned body of which the don had once been extremely proud now carried at least fifty pounds of excess weight, most of the girth centered around his thick waist.

  Gena was informed that the don was waiting downstairs in the drawing room. Dressed and ready, she nodded, then made the don wait another twenty minutes before going down to join him.

  When she swept into the lavish, lamp-lit drawing room, the short Spaniard came to his feet and smiled warmly, his teeth very white against his deep olive skin. Offering the don her father’s heartfelt apologies for having been detained in the city, Gena extended her hand for him to kiss.