“Only that I beg to be allowed to sit here, that I might enjoy your beautiful company for just a short time.”
Oh, he was a handsome man, indeed, with thick black wavy hair and narrow mustache that enhanced sensual, slightly frightening full lips. From top to bottom, his garb embraced all the unusual aspects of his heritage: black bolero jacket, matching tightly fitted trousers, lots of braid and silver glitter. No wonder Rosa wanted him available, on the premises. He presented a perfect picture of the dashing Spanish caballero.
“Well…I reckon it can’t do any harm,” decided Emma, after several minutes of deliberation. “Do you work for James, as well, Mr. Alfaro?”
Suiting action to words, he took a seat opposite, on the facing bench. “No, Señorita. I have my own ranch, farther south. Or, I should say, my family does. The Alfaros have lived in this area for many generations, long preceding the white man’s arrival.”
“Oh.” Emma’s knowledge of the history of her own native state was hazy, at best; of another, on the opposite side of the country, it was completely nonexistent.
“Every few weeks I travel north to visit my sister,” he went on as explanation. “We are a large and close family, and mi madre feels great concern for the welfare of her oldest daughter. So I do my best to reassure her.”
Benito’s warm smile sent imps dancing in his liquid dark eyes and dimples flashing in his smooth-shaven cheeks. How very pleasant to be with a man who lent himself so easily to good humor. Not like James, grave and morose, who carried the weight of his war experiences around like a visible burden.
Just like that, Emma’s heart, thus far untouched, tipped over in her breast with an almost audible thud. Love, she thought dazedly. Is this how it feels to fall in love? So quickly, so simply?
“If I may be so bold, Miss Palmer…”
“Uh. Yes—?”
He reached across the intervening space to take her hand in both of his, as if for support and shelter. “Rosa told me you are very pretty and very nice,” he said lightly. “But clearly she did you a great disservice.”
“Uh. Yes—?”
“Beautiful, beyond pretty. And so kind and good.” His fingers were brushing over hers, then twining together in a tender clasp that, had she but known, mimicked love play.
Emma found herself suddenly as short of breath as if she had been running for a lengthy distance. Which was silly, for she never ran any distance anywhere, lengthy or not.
“So. Will you tell me all about yourself, my dear Señorita, and how you came to be in California?”
An hour passed, then another. As the sun moved overhead, shadows shortened; and, in the heat of the day, birds stopped singing. Emma talked, Benito listened, commenting now and then on her oh so delectable accent; pressed to confide about the comings and goings of his own life, Benito talked, Emma listened, commenting now and then on his own oh so different accent.
“So there you are.”
James’ quiet voice, emerging unannounced from the terrace door, sent Emma into a little female tizzy.
“Jim! Oh, good gracious, you gave me such a start! My heart is just palpitatin’ like crazy!” As if to prove the fact, she had jerked free the hand that, only seconds ago, had lain so trustingly in Benito’s, to rest it, trembling, upon her bare bosom instead.
“Ahuh.” Her affianced glanced from one to the other: Emma still ensconced on the bench, with her sumptuous silk skirts spread out so invitingly around her; Benito instantly and respectfully on his feet, to meet the master of this estate. “And you are—?”
“Benito Alfaro, Señor. The brother of Rosa, your housemaid.”
“Ahuh,” said James again, in a cool tone. “And you are sittin’ out here alone, with my intended wife, because—?”
“We have not met before, Señor Yancey, so I apologize if I have misstepped over your hospitality. I come this way, now and then, from our rancho near Soledad, to visit my sister. Today I happened upon your lovely bride-to-be here in the courtyard and paused for conversation. Truly, I meant no disrespect.”
James swerved his attention back to Emma. “Where’s Molly?” Because she’s s’posed to be keepin’ an eye on you, goddammit.
“I have no idea. Am I her keeper?” Emma’s tone was as frosty as his own.
“Huh.” His most usual response when he had nothing else to say. “We got our noon meal on the table, ready for eatin’,” he finally went on. “If you’d care t’ join me.”
Emma’s cute little nose went up into the air. “Thank you loads for askin’, but I’ve decided to have a tray sent to my room. Suddenly I’ve gotten the most awful headache.”
“And your—comp’ny—?” The tilt of James’ head indicated her visitor, who was standing stiffly and uncomfortably off to the side.
A step forward, with outstretched hand. Surprised, James actually accepted and returned the shake. “I will take my leave now, Señor, with once again my apologies for any disturbance. Señorita.”
He clicked his heels together, with a formal little bow, and turned away.
Behind him, he left a strained and lengthy silence. Emma rose, gathered up her book and parasol, and prepared to depart as well.
“Emma.” A thundercloud lay over James’ frozen face, and roughened his smooth Southern voice. “What the hell was that all about?”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”
Muscles clenched from jaw to fist, he moved to bar her leaving. “I been tryin’ to show patience,” he said quietly. No hurt was discernible, but its bloody aftermath cut across his vitals like a knife. “I been wantin’ to spend time t’gether, gettin’ t’ know each other, b’fore we get married. And you’ve turned me down, every time I asked. Till here and now, when I find you sittin’ out with a man we ain’t never even met before and dunno from Adam.”
“He’s Rosa’s brother,” she flew to Benito’s defense like a bantam hen. “Certainly that should make him respectable enough ’round here, doncha think?”
His insides had emptied out, becoming a void into which this lifetime of sadness suddenly poured, like someone’s pitcher of pure poison filling up a bowl of crystal clear spring water. His tightened muscles unclenched and sagged, as heavily and wearily as an old man’s, and he nodded.
“Reckon you may be right, at that,” James said in a tone that had gone as dead as the expression in his eyes. “I hope you get to feelin’ better.”
As swift as shadow, as soundless as smoke, he disappeared inside.
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
“I’m so sorry, Jim, I should have checked with Emma before I went for a walk,” apologized Molly over the dinner table. “But she seemed to be in such good hands with Rosa, and she’s been sleeping later in the mornings, anyway, that I—well…”
“No need t’ explain,” James said. His mood was a dismal one, with so many doubts and questions fogging his judgment that even Molly’s cheery presence did little to dissipate the miasma hanging over his head since Emma’s very arrival. “It’s all right. You’re a free spirit, you c’n come and go as you please. In fact, you might even be thinkin’ of quittin’ this job altogether.”
“Quitting?”
“Well—yeah. If Rosa’s takin’ your place with the housemaid stuff, then there ain’t much call for you here anymore. Maybe head back int’ town, see what you can find there.”
Molly felt as suddenly cold inside as if an icicle had plunged straight down her gullet to freeze every particle of marrow in her bones. But of course. What else could she expect? Hadn’t she learned her lesson by now, through every segment of this cruel and uncaring marketplace? She was a disposable, like every other wage slave in the world. Once the need for any service was gone, so was the servant.
“I see,” she said stiffly, and put down her fork. The once delicious portion of refried beans and salsa tasted like ashes in her mouth. Almost nauseating, in fact. If she worked hard enough at it, she could probably even bring herself to purge
whatever was already coagulating in her middle.
Too buried in his own hurt and disappointment to fully take in her reaction, he went stupidly on.
“Prob’ly lotsa work available, once you get settled somewhere.”
“Of course. May I stay here until tomorrow morning? Or shall I leave once I’ve finished eating? Or would you like me gone right now?”
That reached him. “Oh, sweet Jesus Christ,” he said, eyes dilating in shock. “What a goddamned fool I am.” Shoving aside his plate and his chair, he clumped awkwardly over to plop down on the chair beside hers. “Molly. Don’t you pay no never mind to whatever I just said. Dunno where my brain was.”
“At this point, I’m uncertain as to the status of my occupation. Shall I give notice to Emma, as my present employer, or to you, as my future one? You see, I’m all confused, and I should really—I should really—w-w-w-work this—out—”
“Molly. Oh, Molly, no tears, please!” Distressed by her distress, he made the mistake of slipping one arm around her quivering shoulders and pressing her close. Zing! Something hit him hard and fast, like a blow to the chest. Or to the heart.
Against the fabric of his shirt, soft and sweet-smelling of horse and hay and the fresh outdoors, she babbled, “I won’t stay here, where I’m not wanted.”
“Molly.” James put both hands on her upper arms, deliberately and forcefully, and turned her, straight on. His expression was like nothing she had ever seen before. “This is my house. And I want you here.”
“But you said—”
“No.” His hands moved slowly up, one on each side, to cradle her face. “I was upset b’cause of somethin’—somethin’ that happened earlier, and I said things I didn’t mean. Not thinkin’. Other than, maybe, lookin’ at your own future, Molly, t’ see what you want, and where you wanna go. Does that make sense?”
In the short time James had known her, he had never seen this independent, spunky woman look so vulnerable as now. With several rapid blinks, she drew in a deep breath. “Yes, Jim. Yes, it makes perfect sense. Th-Th-Thank—you…”
He smiled, the open and winning smile that was beginning to replace that tight-lipped near-grimace of the past. “We’re good now, right? All right, then. Eat. Me, too, b’cause I’m starvin’.”
She dared not trust her voice to speak again; she merely nodded and hastily took a sip of water.
“When we’re done here, Molly, how ’bout we saddle up a couplea hawses and go out explorin’? I’d like t’ show you the property, and what’s all involved here.”
Another nod. Whatever had happened to him earlier, Emma, his betrothed, was being temporarily excluded. Molly wondered why.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
“So. You met her. And this went well, yes?”
“Well enough.”
“She liked you?”
“Well enough.”
“How far did you take it, mi hermano?”
“We sat together for two hours, Rosa. We held hands. We talked.”
“Ah. Very good. What is next?”
“Another meeting, perhaps. When or where, I know not. I told her of the family rancho, near Soledad.”
“Ha. And she believed you? Little fool. Señor James will be gone this afternoon. Out riding. I will arrange with Miss Emma to see you again, down by the vineyards. Profess your undying love and make plans to run away with her.”
“So soon?”
“I grow impatient, little brother. I want to marry the lord of all these acres; I want to rule this household. See that you follow my directions, and you will be well taken care of. If not…”
“I will let no harm come to her, Rosita. She deserves better.”
“She deserves nothing. Pampered, spoiled rich cow. Here, your dinner, Benito. Finish quickly; we have work to do.”
VII
After consulting with Hiram, at the corral, James had chosen the gentlest, quietest, easiest mare of the remuda for Molly to ride. “Like a rockin’ chair, she is, sir,” Hiram removed his unlit pipe long enough to proclaim. “Miss Buchanan’ll get along jist fine atop ole Palomar’s back.”
“That’s a relief, Hiram,” said Molly, crinkling her green eyes with amusement. “Because I’ve never in my life climbed onto a horse before.”
Hiram was at first shocked by such a lack, then complacent. “Well, don’t you worry. We’ll make a rider outa you in no time, ma’am.”
Both men were comfortable enough to help her aboard into the saddle, and tactful enough not to laugh at full skirts bunched up almost to the knees. From all her newfound height, Molly looked down with pleased surprise. “My, what a different outlook on things, being up here.”
“Huh.” James had turned to mount a big black stallion named Amigo. “We’ll see if you feel the same way, once we get back.”
“Why? Will I turn into a pumpkin?”
He grinned as they made their way out from the corral. “Uh—comin’ in contact with a hawse for too long can make for some mighty sore muscles. But that’s all right; we won’t be goin’ for a gallop, nor even a trot, and we won’t be gone long.”
Molly had borrowed a hat, but the boots she bravely shoved into the stirrups were her own; now she clutched hold of the reins all the while clutching hold of the pommel. Soon, riding alongside James, she felt she was getting the hang of this whole procedure enough to relax. He looked over at her with a grin of absolute bliss, and she grinned back.
“How you doin’?”
“Just peachy keen. Easy as falling off a log.”
The grin broadened. “Ahuh. Just don’t go gettin’ too cocky, or that fallin’ off a log thing might come true. Listen, though, Molly, tell me if you start feelin’ tired, and we’ll head back soon’s you can say Jack Robinson.”
“Now why would I want to say that?”
Quiet for a few lovely minutes, as they proceeded on a dirt-studded trail through groves of maple and oak, where forested knolls began to give way to long rolling hills of green. In the distance cattle browsed contentedly under the afternoon sun, and from far away a meandering creek reflected sparkles of blue and silver.
“I suppose she can ride like an Amazon,” murmured Molly, shifting position on a saddle that wasn’t seeming quite as comfortable just now as earlier.
“Amazon? Who?”
“Emma. Your—” The word stuck in her throat, refusing to let itself be said.
“Emma. Don’t rightly know how well she rides. Seein’ her behavior with everything else I’ve tried doin’, it’s a tossup.” With only a few feet of separation, as they plodded serenely along, he could see and read every nuance of expression on her face. “She say anything more t’ you about a weddin’ date?”
Oh, did she really want to get involved in such personal details? Couldn’t they just enjoy being out and away, enjoying this private time on their own before he returned to being Emma Palmer’s betrothed?
“She hasn’t confided in me, Jim. Are you two not—um—talking?”
Frowning slightly, he was looking straight ahead. “Not s’ much. Can’t get her t’ open up t’ me, either. But…I dunno if we can even get things—squared away…” His voice trailed off, stilled, then brightened as he pointed out various landmarks and described what this place was coming to mean to him.
“Does this ranch compare favorably to the Carolina plantation your family once owned?” Molly asked curiously.
“Belle Clare? Same principle, I guess, but a whole different setup and different crops. Back home, it was mostly cotton, usin’ slave labor; here, it’s cows, usin’ free men bein’ paid wages.”
“And which do you think you’ll like better?”
His smile held the sweetness of an angel. “This’n here.”
She returned the smile. “Good. Because I would, too.”
Pause. A look exchanged of depth and unreadable emotion. Her breath caught in her throat.
“James—”
Another pause, while the look went on and on.<
br />
“Yes, Molly.”
She swallowed and dragged her gaze back front and center. “Sorry. Nothing.”
A few miles of meandering took them farther into the woods, past fragrant lodgepole and live oak, white pine and cedar, cottonwood and willow, through underbrush and native shrub, bluegrass and Junegrass and red fescue. He named off different varieties, explained the use for each, and answered any questions she posed.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen such enormous kinds of plant life as here,” she commented at one point. “It’s easy to fall in love with all your wonderful flowers, alone. Amazing how everyone takes the lush growth for granted.”
“Prob’ly the climate, Molly. California is a big state, with a lot goin’ for her. If you stay on, we could do some travelin’ some day, and see—uh. I mean, friends. You and your friends, travelin’… Frances, maybe, or—or—”
Another stab of melancholy, for what could not be.
“Yes,” said Molly. “Traveling, with friends. I’d enjoy that.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
From the front terrace, looking out from under the giant buckeyes and beyond, Emma watched them go. James had considerately left a note of explanation, presuming her to be indulging in another afternoon siesta. A horseback ride around the property, with Molly. Feeling alone, neglected, and bored, Emma had crumpled up the note with shaking fingers.
And then searched out Rosa.
“Ha. The two of them, eh?” The maid was tending to hand laundry in the wash house, mostly Emma’s delicate incidentals. “And what about you, Señorita? As the master’s betrothed, you have first right, do you not? Would you not have wanted to go along?”
“No. I got no great desire to be smellin’ of a horse if I can help it. No, Rosa, I’d rather—well, I was thinkin’ about—just sorta wonderin’ if it was possible that—”
Rosa put down the lightweight corset she had been scrubbing. “It is Benito, yes? You would like to see him again?”
Blushing at being read so rightly, Emma nodded. “I can’t imagine why. I mean, I hardly know him, and yet he—well, stars above, there’s just somethin’ about him…”
A Western Romance: James Yancey - Taking the High Road (Book 3) (Taking the High Road series) Page 7
