by Nan Ryan
“No, querida!” He rose to his feet, scowling. “You do not know what you are saying. You have gone loco in the head.” He frowned down at her. “Do not ask me to be a part of this madness.”
Gena jumped up and wrapped her arms around his neck. Squeezing tightly, sounding as hurt as possible, she said, “And I thought you cared for me, Cisco.” She looked up at him and murmured, “I guess I was wrong.” She sighed sorrowfully and bent her head. She rubbed her cheek against the black fabric covering his chest.
A muscle worked furiously in Cisco’s scarred jaw. He sighed as he cupped the crown of her head with his hand. “I am crazy mad for you, Gena. I think of nothing else but you.”
Gena hid her triumphant smile against his shoulder. She bit him playfully through the black shirt and said, “Cisco, do you want to make love to me this afternoon?”
The Mexican swallowed hard. “Sí, querida. I will go now to my adobe. You come down when—”
“No, no. No need for that. You can love me right here. Right now.”
“Your father?” Cisco’s eyebrows shot up. “He is gone away?”
Gena unwrapped her arms from around Cisco’s neck. She smiled seductively and her hands went to his belt buckle.
“My father is downstairs in his study.”
“Bruja,” he said through clenched teeth. “You are a witch, a beautiful witch. What if we are caught?”
His black leather belt unbuckled, Gena started to work on the buttons of his fly. “What if we are? I like a bit of danger, don’t you?”
“Sí, I do,” he said. “I always have.”
Her deft dingers paused. “Say you’ll blow up the Dreamy Draw dam for me.”
“Gena, por favor.”
“Then get out!” Her hands fell away from him and she stalked away in a huff. “I ask you to do one little thing for me and you refuse.” She turned and glared angrily at him. “You will never touch me again!”
“Do not say that.”
“I will say it! I will never let you touch me again!” She added cruelly, “Furthermore, I’ll have you thrown off this ranch if you ever so much as speak to me again.”
Had any other woman said such threatening things to Cisco, he would have grabbed her by the hair and spent the next hour showing her exactly what she would and would not do.
For a long moment he said nothing. Then finally, “We would have to be very careful. It would take some time to plan and—”
“Of course,” Gena purred, sensing his surrender. “It doesn’t have to be done tomorrow so long as—”
“We’ll bring the dynamite up out of Mexico. If we try buying it in Los Angeles, somebody might get suspicious.”
Smiling now, Gena was back in his arms, her hands again at the buttons of his black trousers. “You’re so smart, Cisco, so resourceful. I knew I could count on you.”
“Always, mi amor.”
Twenty-Nine
THE CALIFORNIA STARLIGHT ARRIVED in Los Angeles shortly before lunchtime on Monday. While the staff were left to bring the luggage, Burt and Sabella were driven to the harbor where the Burnett family’s seagoing yacht, California Cloud, was moored. A smartly uniformed captain and a full crew were on board, ready to get underway.
The floating palace was even more extravagantly furnished than the Silver Lining. Below decks, Oriental rugs and silver-monogrammed velvets and expensive draperies and fine imported furniture filled the spacious cabins. The galley was overseen by a chief steward who made sure the boarding couple were served a sumptuous meal on deck.
Within the hour the sleek vessel had raised anchor and was plying the choppy channel waters en route to the tiny island of Catalina. Burt and Sabella remained at the luncheon table, relaxing in the sun and sipping chilled champagne as the luxurious Cloud ferried them toward the island.
The late September sun was still high in the sky when the enormous yacht reached the Catalina harbor. The couple were rowed ashore. Alone. All hands remained on board the Cloud.
A rig was waiting, a gray-bearded old man in a worn seaman’s jacket standing beside it.
He nodded, introduced himself as Davey, and warned as Burt handed Sabella up onto the high backseat, “Silver Peak Trail can be might tricky. Best hold on tight.”
“We’ll do that, Davey,” Burt smilingly told the old man, and swung up into the seat beside Sabella.
A bell suspended from the rig’s dashboard tinkled as Davey guided the big dappled gray along a narrow road ascending into the coastal hills of the island. Climbing past brushy hills and barren red badlands, they quickly gained elevation. The winding trail extended along the very backbone of the island’s mountain range. The sun was beginning its slide into the sea by the time they neared the western tip of the island. They began an abrupt descent which took them in and out of oak-shaded canyons and down toward Starlight Beach. Sabella saw the pristine white cottage partially concealed in the trees well before they reached it. She saw no other houses, no signs of life. Nothing save a deserted beach stretching white and inviting below.
Old Davey pulled the rig to a stop fifty yards above the small cottage.
“End of the line, folks,” Davey said.
Nodding, Burt eagerly stepped down, turned and reached for Sabella.
“Thanks a million, Davey.” Burt warmly shook the old-timer’s hand, leaving a bill in Davey’s withered palm.
Davey’s old eyes widened, then narrowed as he smiled brightly. “There’s a flag pole on the porch of the cottage,” he instructed, pointing. “You two need anything, you just run that red flag all the way up the pole and I’ll be down here in exactly one hour. Otherwise, I won’t be botherin’ you.”
“Sounds good,” said Burt, his arm around Sabella’s waist.
“When you hear the bell a-tinklin’,” warned Davey, “you’d best stop what you’re a-doin’, cause I’m comin’ your way.”
“We’ll keep that in mind.”
Pocketing the bill, the old driver turned the rig about and drove away, the bell tinkling as he disappeared over the rise.
Hurrying down toward the cottage, Sabella said, “Come on! Let’s go in and look around.”
His hand holding hers, Burt stopped, pulled her back. “No, wait. There’s something we must do first thing.”
“Oh? What?”
“Go for a swim!”
Laughing then, he drew her along with him down a narrow path over the vine-covered slope to the beach. Running to keep up, shouting for him to slow down, Sabella was out of breath when they reached the soft sugary sands on the beach now pinkened by the setting sun.
Burt dropped her hand, grinned, and unbuttoned his shirt halfway down. He reached up behind his head and impatiently yanked it off.
Dropping it to the sand, he said, “What are you waiting for?”
Sabella looked at him, looked all around, then back at him. She said, “I have no bathing costume. Perhaps there’s one in the cottage.”
She turned away; he caught her arm. “You’ll need no bathing costume other than your own beautiful bide. No one will see us here.”
Skeptical, she raised her eyebrows. “You sure?”
“Darlin’, this is your own private beach,” he told her. “Now get undressed so we can enjoy the last of the light.”
Wondering how anyone could possibly change as much as she had changed in such a short length of time, Sabella shook her head and began undressing.
“I can’t believe I’m actually doing this. What have you done to me, Burt Burnett?”
“Made a woman of you, sweetheart,” he said, his silver gray eyes flashing with warmth as he watched her strip.
“A wanton woman,” she accused.
“My wanton woman,” he said happily.
Holding hands and laughing, the pair ran naked into the surf. Sabella had never swum in the ocean. She screamed when the first crashing wave hit her full in the face and knocked her down. Spitting salt water and pushing her soggy hair out of her eyes, she was relieved to
feel Burt’s powerful arms come around her.
He pulled her against him. Sabella anxiously threw her arms around his neck. He drew her legs up around his waist, clasped his hands beneath her bare bottom, kissed her wet lips, and said, “I’ve got you, sweetheart. I’ll never let you go.”
They played in the ocean until the sun had completely disappeared, leaving only a lavender band of light on the distant horizon. When they ran dripping out of the sea, Burt pulled Sabella down on the clothes he had left lying on the sand.
“No, Burt,” she protested weakly.
“Shhh,” he coaxed, kissing her wet lips, stroking her gleaming thigh. “We are already in paradise. Let’s go on to heaven.”
Sea birds circled above them. Night winds stirred the tall dune grass, setting it to swaying and undulating. The rising tide rolled in to shore, the rhythmic crashing of the waves pounding the sandy beach. Burt made love to Sabella slowly, sweetly, and with great care as twilight darkened into dusk.
The next week was spent in total privacy and seclusion in the cozy beach cottage overlooking the endless ocean. Those were, Sabella would one day realize, the most peaceful, perfect days of her entire life.
With not a single servant in sight, the pair had great fun cooking their own meals and pretending that they were the only two people on earth. The island, the cottage, the beach were so remote, so isolated it seemed as if they actually were alone on this island paradise.
They went native, wearing few if any clothes, enjoying being lazy, knowing there was nothing much to do, nowhere to go. They picnicked on the beach. They read dime novels. They hiked over the steep, foliaged hills. They took naps in the hammock that swung in the ocean breeze on the cottage’s front porch. They swam naked in the ocean. They sunned themselves on the sand.
They again made love on Starlight beach. This time in the starlight.
And they talked for hours on end, each telling the other more and more about their lives before they met.
On their very last afternoon on the island, Sabella and Burt lay lazily in the gently swaying hammock on the front porch.
Burt listened fondly as Sabella spoke of learning to ride when she was barely four. She wanted to be like her father, the father she couldn’t really remember. Her mother had told her that Tito Rios was a golden-haired god, so tall and lean and handsome she was jealous, afraid some other woman would steal his affections. Before the accident he had been an expert horseman, a daring charro admired and respected by everyone.
Laughing suddenly, Sabella said, “I guess I didn’t realize I was a girl and would never be allowed to perform with the charros.” She shook her head. “Just a silly child’s dreams. I don’t know why I even brought it up.”
“It wasn’t silly at all,” Burt said. “You looked up to your father, wanted to be like him. I think that’s very sweet.”
“And you?” She turned the conversation to him. “I suppose you wanted to be just like your father, too.”
“Yes,” Burt said without hesitation. “Like you, I learned to ride early. Had my own small pony when I was two years old. Been riding the range of Lindo Vista since I was seven or eight. I remember back when I was—”
The distinctive sound of a tinkling bell caused Burt to stop speaking in midsentence. Sabella heard it, too.
“Davey!” she exclaimed.
“Afraid so.” Burt nodded, then laughed as he added, “I thought he told us it would take an hour. It hasn’t been fifteen minutes since I raised the flag signaling him to come.”
Anxiously leaping out of the hammock, Sabella warned as she crossed the porch, “Yes, well, if you don’t want to get caught without your pants on, you’d better hurry.”
“Hey, that’s right,” Burt said, “we’re naked, aren’t we?”
“As the day we were born,” she said, disappearing inside.
“Damn!” Burt declared, following her. “It’s going to be kinda tough getting used to clothes again.”
Thirty
FAINTLY ILLUMINATED BY STARLIGHT, the California Cloud glided quietly through the coastal waters, a shadowy silhouette against a glistening sea.
Homeward bound, the sleek yacht had left the tiny Catalina harbor at dusk. The departure had been scheduled for three in the afternoon. But three o’clock had come and gone with no sign of Sabella and Burt.
Lingering until the last possible minute on the far side of the island, the suntanned honeymooners finally showed up at the landing as the sun was going down. Burt had purposely delayed their leaving the cottage after Sabella casually mentioned she thought it would be fun to cross back to the mainland at night.
And so it was fun.
Holding hands and looking up at the night sky where millions of stars twinkled brightly and a pale quarter moon sailed high in the heavens, the pair shared a padded lounge chair on deck as the Cloud cruised steadily eastward. It was cool, windless, a breathtakingly beautiful night on the ocean.
Sabella lay comfortably stretched out with her head resting on Burt’s supporting shoulder, her hand enclosed in his. The warmth of his long, lean body pressed close gave her a sense of security, of being wonderfully safe. She caught herself feeling peaceful and content for the first time since childhood.
A little shiver of alarm rippled through her at the eye-opening realization. Quickly she reminded herself that the sweet tranquility had nothing whatsoever to do with Burt. It was a false serenity brought on by a slight sunburn, fatigue from too little sleep, and the romantic charm of the open sea at night. The erroneous mood would soon be gone and forgotten.
Nothing to be concerned about.
For a full week they had lived in a dream world of surf and sand and seclusion. Shut off from the real world and its worries and problems. Dependent on each other for everything.
That was over now. The return to normalcy had begun. She’d be herself again once they got back to Lindo Vista.
On Sunday afternoon, the third day of October, Cappy Ricks came bounding out of the sprawling white hacienda like an excited young boy. He had spotted the carriage as it turned in and rolled beneath the crossbars of the tall ranch gates. Hurrying down the walk, the big ranch foreman banged out the front gate, flicked his hand-rolled cigarette away, and started waving.
A big smile on his broad, sun-weathered face, light blue eyes crinkling at the corners, Cappy was yanking the carriage door open before it came to a complete stop on the gravel drive.
Arms open wide as if he were reaching for a small child, he yipped with joy when Sabella grabbed him and soundly hugged his neck. He plucked her out of the carriage and swung her around in a full circle before lowering her gently to her feet.
Keeping one big, work-roughened hand around her slim waist, he said, “Lordy, sugar, am I glad to have you home!”
“Good to be back,” Sabella said.
Burt stepped lithely out of the carriage, clapped Cappy on the back, and said, “Hey, remember me? I live here, too.”
Cappy’s twinkling blue eyes shifted to Burt. “You do look kinda familiar.” Laughing then, he released Sabella, turned and gave Burt a big bear hug. “God almighty, it’s been quiet around here, son.”
Embracing the older man, Burt said, “Well we’ll see if we can’t liven things up a bit.” He released Cappy, stepped back and reached for Sabella. To her, he said, “What do you think? Should we tell him what we brought him from San Francisco?”
“Aw, now.” Cappy briefly bowed his gray head, kicking at the gravel with the toe of his boot. “You kids shouldn’t be buying me presents.”
“Let’s don’t tell him.” Sabella looked at Cappy, but addressed Burt, “Let’s make him guess!” Then she smiled warmly at Cappy, took his arm, and said to both men, “First we’d better go say hello to the others.”
The others to whom Sabella referred was the entire staff of house servants. Hearing the commotion, everyone had dropped what he was doing and hurried out to the shaded front gallery to welcome the honeymooners home. All smil
es, the oldest to the youngest were lined up. Sabella won the hearts of each of them when she hurried forward to shake hands with the grownups and hug the youngsters.
Dazzled by her fresh beauty and genuine warmth, they were pleased that the easy-going Burt, of whom they were so fond, had married such a sweet, friendly young woman. And they were amazed and flattered that Sabella, having met some of them but once, remembered and addressed each one by name, and with kindness and respect.
They wholeheartedly approved of the new mistress of Lindo Vista. Sabella Rios Burnett was the perfect mate for their well-liked Burt. The opinion was unanimous.
Almost.
A sensitive young woman, Sabella noticed, if the others did not, that one of the servants was less than cordial. The chilly look in Annie Galager’s light eyes spoke volumes. Sabella pretended not to notice. Her bright smile remained in place as she reached for the woman’s hand and shook it warmly.
The evening was a special one. An extraordinary dinner had been prepared in honor of their homecoming, so Sabella wore one of her fashionable new frocks for the occasion and Burt donned a shirt of fine gray silk and a pair of impeccably tailored gray trousers. Cappy, scrubbed and starched and smiling, dined with the couple. The meal was laid out in the smaller of two dining rooms where the table was built from a solid plank of poplar. Elegant, antique, carved high-backed chairs were upholstered in wine-hued chenille tapestry. The table sat directly before a huge, Moorish-style window which was surrounded by beaten copper and looked out on the flower-filled southern courtyard.
After dinner, the entire household and a number of the cowhands assembled on the patio. The gifts Burt and Sabella had bought for everyone were passed out. Including the fancy hand-tooled, silver-embellished saddle for Cappy Ricks. Wine flowed freely and a big chocolate cake was served. Everyone enjoyed themselves.
Later that night, alone upstairs in their suite, Burt stood behind his wife helping her with the small stubborn hooks going down the back of her dress.
Standing perfectly still, Sabella said casually, “Burt, Annie Galager was missing tonight. She wasn’t at the party.”
