And he would be hers. Regardless of the consequences to either of them.
“Ultimately, it’s the lady’s choice, anyhow,” he added.
“Not in this country,” Enrique informed him. “She will marry me whether she wants to or not. Her father and I have decided for her. It is up to you whether she does so willingly or whether she begins her marriage to me with regrets.”
Carson stared hard at the man. All he could think to reply was that Aurelia belonged to him. Regardless of whom she married, she belonged to him. She had belonged to him since that day in the cave. She would always belong to him.
Without a further word, he took his Stetson off the peg, crammed it on his head, and walked out into the bright sunshine, letting it warm the chill that always settled over him in the mine.
A chill made all the more unbearable by the fact that what Enrique Villasur had said could well become reality.
Chapter Thirteen
By the time Aurelia descended the staircase for breakfast the morning following the opera, she was determined to set Tío Luís straight on the topic of her relationship with Enrique Villasur.
The house was so quiet she thought for a moment she was the only person awake. But Santos had mentioned going to check on the bulls early, and she wanted to accompany him. So, even though she had not managed to get much sleep the night before, she arose at dawn and dressed in one of her riding habits.
She found Santos and Tío Luís on the patio having breakfast. Her uncle did not disguise his surprise.
“My dear, you should be abed getting your beauty rest.”
She laughed, sliding into an elaborate gold-leafed iron chair next to Santos. A maid scurried to serve her coffee and orange juice. “Shame on you, Tío, for suggesting I need beauty sleep.”
“My apologies, Relie. I should perhaps have used another term. We don’t want to wear you out. Can’t send you home to Enrique haggard from your visit to the city, now, can we?”
Carefully, she replaced the porcelain cup in its matching saucer. “I’m not going home to Enrique, Tío.”
A frown creased his forehead. “¿Qué dice?”
“I said,” she rephrased, “I am not betrothed to Enrique.”
Luís Reinaldo stared into the center of the table, obviously considering his niece’s statement. Finally, he smiled at her. Waving a rolled tortilla in the air as though it were his ever-present cigar, he dismissed the subject with, “The formalities have not been taken care of; a mere technicality.”
“They won’t be.”
Luís’s black eyes studied her from beneath heavy lids. “What does that mean?”
“That I do not intend to—”
“That we decided to wait until after my wedding to announce Relie’s engagement, Tío,” Santos interjected.
“I won’t—”
Santos kicked her under the table. Aurelia turned to dispute him, but relented at the bullheaded expression on his face.
When the maid set a plate of fresh fruit before her, she eyed it skeptically, then glanced at the food Santos and Tío Luís were eating—eggs, sausages, and beefsteak covered with salsa. “Bring me what they are having, please,” Aurelia told the maid.
When Tío Luís cleared his throat, she looked up to see him shake his head at the maid.
“Your aunt insists on a light breakfast,” he explained. “You ladies must watch your waistlines, you know.”
For one instant she was certain she would not be able to control her fury. But Santos nudged her boot with his own, and she picked up her fork and speared a piece of pineapple. In spite of Santos, however, she reached for a hot roll, smearing it with two pats of butter and a dollop of marmalade so large it ran off the sides of the pastry. And she didn’t even like marmalade.
By forcing her mind to other thoughts, Aurelia was able to calm her inner rage. The other thoughts, as always, centered on Carson Jarrett.
“Is there a chance he will arrive in time for the corrida?” she asked Santos.
He grinned. “Do you think to make him jealous when Antonio dedicates his bull to you?”
“No, I—”
“Who?” Tío Luís inquired. “Enrique is coming for the bullfights? ¡Bravo!”
“Not Enrique,” Aurelia replied. “Carson Jarrett.”
“Jarrett? Never heard the name. Who is he?”
“He is—”
“The best man for my wedding, Tío,” Santos interrupted. “Jarrett is from Texas, and we are anxious to show him some of our customs during his visit.”
“Arriving a bit early for the wedding, isn’t he?”
Aurelia would have supplied the information that Carson was already in Catorce and that because of this handsome, virile Texas Ranger, Enrique Villasur would never have a chance at her heart—or at her hand.
She would have told this pompous uncle all these things, but she didn’t because Santos kicked her again. She frowned at him, confused, wondering why he suddenly considered it a breach of etiquette to set their host straight where her own life was concerned?
No sooner had she wondered this, however, than he confused her further by reopening the topic he refused to let her discuss.
“Tell me something about Enrique Villasur, Tío.”
Tío Luís’s eyes darted to Aurelia, then returned to his plate. He settled back, cupping his coffee cup in both hands, bringing it to just beneath his nose as though to inhale the aroma. The better angle from which to study them, Aurelia decided.
“What can I tell you that you have not already learned? The young man is making an exemplary president for your father’s mint.”
“Papá certainly thinks so,” Santos agreed. “But I was out of the country when he was hired. I am curious how it all came about.”
“Out of the country, sí,” their uncle observed. “Spending time in Texas with that cattle-raising outfit.”
Aurelia picked at her fruit, listening and fuming. He might as well have said wasting time, for the message was clear from his enunciation. Could Santos not hear the man’s pomposity?
“When I left for Texas,” Santos continued, “it was you, Uncle, who would head up the mint.”
“True. Your papá expected me to take charge of the venture.” Setting his cup aside, Luís studiously tugged at first one pristine cuff, then the other, arranging them to an exact length below his black jacket.
“But I never intended to do so,” he explained. “I have too many obligations of my own. And with the governorship opening…” He shrugged expansively. “However, since Domingo looked to me for help, I was obliged to find him a president for his mint.”
“Enrique Villasur,” Santos added.
Suddenly, Luís clapped his hands twice, summoning a servant, who appeared with a walking cane, a pair of white gloves, and a top hat.
Aurelia watched her uncle outfit himself, donning first the gloves, smoothing them on while he supplied his niece and nephew with Enrique’s qualifications in a tone that suggested the matter was closed.
“Domingo must surely have related the man’s impeccable credentials: son of an influential family in the City of Mexico, educated at the University of Madrid, a brilliant financial mind.”
Taking his cane and hat in gloved hands, Luís dismissed the servant with a flip of his chin, then clapped his polished boot heels together and nodded toward Aurelia.
“You see, my dear, there is no finer catch in all of Mexico.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him she wasn’t interested in the finest catch in Mexico, but Santos’s hand settled on her shoulder, stilling her angry retort.
They took a carriage to the corrals, since Tía Guadalupe had arisen in time to insist on it, saying she would hear of no such thing as Aurelia riding a horse through the streets of town.
“She probably stays in bed until he leaves the house every morning,” Aurelia spat after she and Santos started on their way in one of the Reinaldo coaches.
Santos laughed. “Can’t s
ay as I blame her.”
“Why wouldn’t you let me tell him how I feel about Enrique?”
Santos studied her in a strange manner. When he answered, she knew he was evading the issue. “Let’s not rock the boat just yet, Relie.”
The streets were already crowded with people, and the carriage made its way slowly.
“Look at us. The first day of the feria,” Aurelia sighed, “and how did we begin? By fussing about that damned Enrique.”
Santos stared at her across the way. “Look at you,” he countered. “Here, you have been clamoring to get to Guanajuato…” He paused, then restarted with, “After the shenanigans you pulled, it would be considered a bit more than clamoring—”
She grimaced, turning her face to the window.
“—and you aren’t even enjoying yourself,” he finished. “What’s wrong, Relie? Isn’t it what you expected? Can’t see how it could be much more glamorous.”
“Oh, it couldn’t be,” she responded. “Wasn’t the opera house splendid?”
He nodded. “If you like that sort of thing.”
“And Tía Guadalupe’s house is grander than I imagined.”
Again he agreed. “Then what’s the matter?”
“I don’t know.”
She stared out the window, watching the people, studying the city she had dreamed of living in, of escaping to. Beyond the hustle and bustle the mountains rose, but not nearly so high as at Catorce. Here you didn’t feel hemmed in by them. But for some reason, things were not at all like in her dreams.
“It can’t be for lack of swains,” Santos was saying. “Why, you were swamped last night, and think what a good time you can have today without Tío along to watch over Enrique’s interests.”
The carriage drew to a halt before the entrance to the corrals. “I will wait at the corner, señor,” the driver informed Santos.
“No, thank you, we can find our way to the parade.”
“The señora instructed me to drive you.”
“No need,” Santos replied. “I can escort my sister. She will be safe with me.”
The driver perused the size of the man. “Very well, señor.”
Santos nudged Aurelia. “Do you want to come with me to check on the bulls or go straight to the stables?”
“The stables. I want to be sure Jorge is taking care of the bay.” She rested a restraining hand on Santos’s sleeve. “He will arrive in time, won’t he?”
Santos frowned, but at the same time his lips curled in what could only be called a conspiratorial grin. “You take care of his horse, Relie. I promise you Jarrett will be here in time for the charriada tomorrow.”
The stables consisted of several long buildings built of brick. Inside, in addition to numerous stalls for the competitors’ horses, were areas filled with tack, where the grooms not only kept their supplies but where they slept as well.
She went immediately to find Jorge, who led her to their horses, talking all the way.
Unlike herself, he was taken with life in Guanajuato.
“Have a good time,” she encouraged, “but be sure these horses are exercised. Especially the bay.”
Aurelia examined the horses one by one, all dozen of them, rubbing their muzzles, patting their necks, giving them each a thorough going-over with her eyes.
At the stall where the bay was stabled, she opened the gate and stepped inside, inspecting the animal not only with her eyes but by touch. She ran a hand over his withers, along his back, then stooped to examine each leg, feeling the knee joint. She lifted each hoof, checking not only the shoe but the pastern and fetlock.
“He is in fine shape, señorita,” Jorge informed her.
“See that he stays that way,” she told him. “Señor Jarrett will need all the help he can get. He has never entered a charriada before, and we certainly don’t want to handicap him more than he already will be.”
“Sí, señorita.”
“Hola, Relie! What are you doing on your hands and knees in the stall? Could it be you are planning to help Santos beat me at the paso de la muerte this year?”
The voice was hearty, jovial, and full of welcome.
Aurelia stood, slapped hay from her hands, then brushed her split riding skirt. “Hola, Rodrigo.” After issuing last minute instructions to the groom, she slid out the gate and closed it behind her, facing the handsome Don Rodrigo Fraga with hands perched on her hips.
“Are you prepared to lose?” she asked gaily.
“Lose? To Santos? Never. Unless it would assure me a date with you.”
“Then you may as well not enter,” she told him. “Unless you are ready to lose al-Tareg. You did bring him, I hope?”
The young man laughed. “So it is my horses you are interested in? I should have known.” Leading the way down the aisle as they talked, he stopped before the stall of a white Arabian stallion.
Aurelia stroked the horse’s nose, looking him over. “Magnificent.”
“You wouldn’t care to repeat that about his master, would you?”
She eyed Don Rodrigo up and down, her eyes dancing. “Maybe.”
“Maybe? This is the first year you haven’t said no. I am making progress, no?”
“Perhaps. Then again, perhaps it is too late,” she parried.
His face fell. “Is it true? You are to marry that city slicker who is running your father’s mint?”
“Never,” she replied. “Not in a million years.”
“That isn’t what we hear,” chimed in Juan Martinez, another of Santos’s charro friends. She had known these charros since childhood, had ridden horses with them, and lately had evaded them as swains. How many times had Pia questioned her on that?
“Why not give Rodrigo a chance, Relie? Or Juan? Or Salvador?”
Why not? she had wondered. What was wrong with her that she couldn’t see beyond friendship with these handsome charros?
Now she knew the answer to that question. She had been waiting for someone special. For Carson Jarrett.
By the time Santos found her, Aurelia was surrounded by a half-dozen charros, laughing gaily, teasing them about the charriada, assuring them they had no chance to win this year, that the Mazóns were bringing a surprise contestant.
Santos led her away with a chuckle. “Here I’ve been giving Jarrett hell, and I find you flirting with every eligible male in Guanajuato. Guess you couldn’t be too sweet on him, else you wouldn’t be able to see these other swains.”
“Or,” she suggested, “I may be so secure in my relationship with Carson that I feel safe flirting with all these inconsequential males.”
Santos had been pulling her at a rapid pace toward the plaza where the parade was to begin. At her statement, he stopped to stare hopelessly into her enraptured face. “Great God, Relie, you are going to be the death of me yet.”
“Stop mothering me, Santos. Carson and I are well beyond the point of you being able to change things between us.”
Aurelia saw his jaws tighten. She knew immediately what he was thinking. “I love him, Santos.”
He stared hard into her eyes. “Be sure, Relie.”
Her breath came short just thinking about Carson. “I am sure.” She clamped a closed fist over her heart. “I miss him so much it hurts—right here.”
He inhaled deep drafts of air, then pulled her along, more slowly this time. “I feel guilty, you know. If I hadn’t invited him to come down—”
“You had no control over what happened,” she insisted. “I’m responsible for everything. If I hadn’t robbed that train, he wouldn’t have gotten arrested, and I wouldn’t have had to help him escape, and we wouldn’t have spent those days alone in the wilderness getting to know each other, and—”
“Stop!”
They halted in the middle of the crowded street while Santos began to laugh. He laughed so hard, tears formed in his eyes. Aurelia laughed, too, with people jostling them on both sides.
Finally, he pulled her to his side. Sheltering her in the
crook of his immense arm, he led her toward the cathedral where the parade was to begin.
“If it wasn’t so personal,” he said, still laughing in spurts, “it would be funny. How did your sister meet her beau? Oh, she robbed a train and he got arrested for it and she had to rescue him and…” His words were lost in new gales of laughter.
“It is funny, even now. Isn’t it?”
“Sí.” Stopping on a corner, he gazed deeply into her eyes, serious again. “But it isn’t going to be funny long. Not when you try to keep him here in Guanajuato. He wouldn’t make it here, Relie. He isn’t cut out for this kind of life. It would break his spirit. Like we break riding stock. And it’s his spirit you love. I know, because that’s what I love about Jarrett, too. He’s wild and free, and if you love him, you will leave him that way.”
They stood on the street corner, arm in arm, oblivious to the crowd, the parade forgotten.
“I will never hurt him, Santos. I promise you that.” Standing on tiptoe, she kissed his cheek. Then she grinned. “I’m the one who saved his life, remember? I’m his guardian angel.”
Carson figured he should have known he couldn’t get out of Catorce without fighting Nuncio Quiroz. If he had thought long and hard about it, he would have known better than to go by the mine that morning.
The signs had all been there. Yet, a page in one of the ledgers had needled him during the night—in and among his dreams of Aurelia—and he didn’t want to leave town without checking out the figures.
Since it was Sunday, he took along his key, figuring he would have to let himself into the office. That was the first clue. Or it should have been.
The office door was open. Not only unlocked, but ajar, as if someone had stepped out for a minute.
No one would go off and leave the mine office unlocked all day on Sunday. Inside, he tossed his Stetson to the peg and began rifling through the ledger, looking for the entry that had aroused his suspicion.
Thoroughly engrossed in his search, Jarrett wasn’t aware of Quiroz’s presence until the big man loomed over him. “Thought you were heading out of town.”
Silver Surrender--Jarrett Family Sagas--Book Two Page 21
