“Jefe.” Stalking Elk touched a finger to his hat brim, and wheeled his mount away.
Reaching the stables, Miguel was still smiling as he slid from Black Silk and led him to his stall. Maybe he could sneak into the house without encountering Aunt Tia.
And just maybe you should prepare yourself for a tongue lashing, ranchero.
Entering the courtyard, his smile faded as the ranch closed in on him. It was time to face the fact that his beloved aunt had aged and no longer had the patience or endurance she’d once had to deal with Desira. It was time to hire someone whose only responsibility would be to his poor damaged wife. He would have his representatives in El Pueblo take care of this for him.
In those moments at the spring—currying Black, swimming in the chill waters, even during the comfortable ride back with his manager—he’d been able to forget the burden of the ranch and his piercing loneliness. But as he prepared to slip into the house, it returned, cloaking his heart like a shroud.
Excerpt from Chapter Eight
…Cara turned what she’d seen over in her mind as she left, but a telltale thread of anger lingered. To keep Desira in that room in her nightclothes, hair not brushed, to feed her as if she were an imbecile. No one should be treated in such a way. She was afraid of what her first words might be when she had the chance to meet her employer.
Dinner was over and she was in her room when word came that he awaited her downstairs. She dressed hurriedly, again choosing her brown dress because it was less severe. To cover her hair, she used a length of lace in the Spanish manner of the rebozo. Her hands trembled with excitement and worry against the softness of the material as she pinned it in place. Here she was to meet her employer at last, and already she was at a disadvantage because of her feelings about the treatment of his wife. What kind of man was this who consigned her to her room like an animal? Who couldn’t see that she needed sunlight on her face, the scent of flowers, the drone of bees and the flight of butterflies around her?
Her pulse was racing with the injustice of it. She must not be so upset, she reminded herself, or she wouldn’t be able to present a case for her care or even appear suitable to be her companion. She forced herself to take the stairs slowly, then she stopped before the salon doors, settled her skirts and adjusted the scarf once more. After taking a deep breath to calm herself, she entered.
A fire flamed orange in the grate on the far side of the room. Don Miguel Navarro, her new employer, stood near it, the light dancing off the dark surface of one boot as it rested on the hearth. He gazed into the fire, his thoughts apparently elsewhere for he was not aware of her presence.
Cara stood quietly just inside the door, studying this man who looked every inch the noble in black velvet breeches and a close fitting jacket that ended at the waist. The tails of the wide, scarlet sash he wore lay on his lifted thigh, and there was a sensuality about him she could not deny. It drew her in, tugged at her, interested her. He was younger than she’d expected, tall and broad shouldered. The flickering firelight below locked his finely chiseled profile in mystery, and his lashes cast a shadow on the sculptured cheek nearest her.
She drew closer, speaking in the soft Spanish of the gentry, just as Papa had taught her. “Excuse me, señor. Your aunt said you wanted to see me.”
Withdrawing his foot from the hearth, he straightened, turning with a fluid grace of movement that stopped her breath in her throat and made her heart race. But then her hand flew to her mouth to hide the tiny gasp that escaped her, for the face she had just seen in profile, and which now she saw fully, was the face of the man on the roan. She stood with her mouth open, seeing in her mind’s eye the wide hand raised once more, feeling the sharp slap of a glove across the other vaquero’s face. She completely forgot her intention of keeping her eyes decorously lowered.
In those brief moments of shock, his dark gaze bored into hers, and she wondered if he could read her thoughts and knew the distaste she’d felt at his action that day.
Yet Cara could not look away. His eyes held her, pulling her into their depths, their darkness, and the attraction she had felt when she first saw him on the roan flooded her now. Now, if he motioned with just one finger to come to him she would go, she realized with shock, into his arms.
The worst of it was she sensed he would welcome her there.
Horrified at her feelings, she closed her mouth and pushed the thoughts away. She was behaving like a school girl besotted by a man she did not even know.
“Welcome to Rancho Navarro, Señorita Lindsay. Our house is your house.” He inclined his head slightly in recognition.
His voice matched his body, unintentionally yet unaccountably sensual, and the invitation of welcome in his native language was sincere. He motioned to her now, but it was an invitation to be seated, and she moved forward as if drawn by him. It was as if his hand had touched hers, searing it with sensations she had never known before. Certainly not with Baird.
Yet she could not sit. Instead, she stood behind the chair and gripped its back for courage.
He turned again to the fire and spoke. “You have met my… wife?”
The spell broke.
“Yes. I have. And you cannot keep her like that, you just cannot.”
There was astonishment on his face as he turned to her.
She had his full attention. Her control evaporated, and all her concerns poured out like a spring flood. “Your wife needs sunshine. She needs to be in the open air. To run and laugh, not be kept shut up in that dark room. Your people are giving in to her every whim. She is perfectly capable of feeding herself, but today I saw her throw a tantrum so Lupe would be forced to do it. Soon she will forget how to take care of her simplest needs.”
Again the gaze of the dark eyes held hers. There was no escape. He said nothing, and she felt adrift on a sea without a lifeboat in sight. Yet she plunged on, garbling her words, knowing she spat fire yet unable to stop because the images of that morning had seared her memory. When she had run out of accusations and was spent, the only sound left was the crackle of the fire and the harshness of her breathing.
She looked away from the depths of those eyes, embarrassed by her lack of control.
There was a long moment when he said nothing, when he seemed to consider what she had said. When he spoke, his voice was as cold as polished metal. “If you are accusing me of neglecting my wife, I fail to see that it is your concern.”
Cara was undone. She had gone about this without tact or understanding, and now she would lose his support in working with his pitiful wife. Taking a deep breath, as Papa had told her to do when her feelings ran amuck, she said quietly but firmly, “Yes, I guess I am. From what I hear, you are the great Miguel Navarro. You manage…is it seven…leagues of crops, horses and cattle. The people who work and live on this estate are your responsibility, yet you have washed your hands of how your aunt and the servants run this household in regard to your wife.”
She emphasized this because now she was a snowball running down hill with nothing more to lose. “I will wager you have turned your back on a problem no one knows how to solve. Why else did you hire me as her companion without telling me the truth?”
“And you know how to solve it?”
Gone were the wonderful sensations she had felt with this man. The sarcasm in his voice stung her like an angry wasp, and for a moment she was speechless. But she would not back down. Not after what she had seen upstairs. “I know how to try. I worked beside my father in a school for children, and some of them were difficult. At least I know how to begin.”
He stared into the fire for a long time. Cara grew restless, thinking she would have to pack her bags tomorrow and return to El Pueblo. And then where would she go? Back to Boston?
To her surprise, when he spoke again he was all business. “What would you have us do?”
Joy sprang up inside her. In spite of her outburst, she’d been given a chance. Swallowing hard, she spoke in a normal tone
and as rationally as she could. “I will begin by making her feed herself. At present she has learned that if she throws a tantrum they’ll give in and feed her. For now she refuses be bathed, to have her hair brushed or wear clean clothing. Those are the basics that need to be accomplished. Eventually, I would expect her to join us at table.”
Something, possibly pain, leaped into the remarkable face and was instantly subdued. His dark eyes held her gaze again, and then he said, “You describe a child in a woman’s body. Is she able to endure the distaste some members of this family may not be able to hide if she brings her crude, child-like manners to our table?”
Cara gasped. The reactions of the family had not occurred to her for she had assumed they would accept Desira. She had been so eager to make her as whole as possible that to her his wife was not an object of pity or distaste. His words made Cara realize that her feelings might not reflect those held by the family, not even if they cared deeply. How naïve she had been. To her this young woman was Desira as she was now, but to them she had once been a normal woman. The contrast must be unbearable.
Cara looked up at him. “I had not thought of that.”
“I did not think you had.” His tone was harsh. “What can you do to avoid this kind of reaction?”
Now it was her turn to be silent as she thought this through. It was all important to protect Desira from such a calamity. “I’ll work with her first. That is, if you give permission. The staff will listen to me about her tantrums only if you order it. First, she must resume feeding herself. The dining room will come later. Perhaps it and other small things that please her can be rewards for her cooperation.”
Her eyes locked on him, Cara waited as he weighed her suggestion.
Miguel knew she was not aware of how he had studied her. Of how he had observed her startling green eyes, and skin so fair it was almost luminescent beneath a faint spattering of freckles. She was taller than Desira, and ever so much stronger despite her slender frame. He knew just how much her full breasts had risen when emboldened by her passion for what she viewed as an injustice. He imagined how soft the curve of her hips and how silken her skin would be minus the impediment of all those petticoats and pantaloons.
Passion of a much different sort from what she’d exhibited stirred his loins, something seldom experienced since his wife’s injury—not even when Rosita flaunted herself at him, danced with him. He rested his booted foot on the hearth again to ease the tightness in his pants and take his mind off that part of his male anatomy.
He had known how young and reportedly lovely Cara Lindsay was when he’d hired her. He admitted that in his loneliness he had wanted someone of her gender and age on his ranch. A woman he could talk to, not a child.
He liked her, liked her fire and the way she made him feel alive again. But she was not to know this. At least not now. He sighed. Not ever.
End of the Excerpts
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