The Forever Tree

by Rosanne Bittner

  He thought about what his mother had told him that his father had said. “From these ashes will come something better than we had before.”

  Will knelt down and scooped up a handful of blackened wood chips. “You’re damn right, Dad,” he muttered. “And I have a good woman to help me do it, just like you did.”

  Hernando left the table to answer a knock at the door, and Santana, who had been eating lunch with her brother and Teresa at their home, waited anxiously, hoping it was someone with news about Will. She didn’t have much of an appetite, for her stomach was too upset from worrying. The day Will rode off, she and everyone else had noticed a shift in the wind several hours later, and had stared at the distant smoke for hours until it finally dissipated. None of them, though, had any way of knowing for sure if the fire was at the mill.

  Santana waited, hearing voices at the door, and Hernando finally came back to the dining room. “That was Frederique, the stable cleaner. He ran here to tell you Will just rode in.”

  Santana breathed a sigh of relief. “Go to the main house and tell Father. I am going to the stables!” She ran out, her heart pounding. Was he all right? Had the mill burned? This was the fourth day since he had left, and oh, how she had missed him! She lifted her skirts and ran, and by the time she reached the stables, Will was already leaving them. She stopped, seeing how tired he looked, knowing by his eyes something dreadful had happened. Still, she could also tell that he was as glad to see her as she was to see him.

  “Will!” She ran to him, and he enveloped her in his arms, gripping her almost desperately.

  “The finishing mill is gone,” he said, “but the wind changed by some miracle and the main camp didn’t burn.”

  “It was my prayers,” she answered. “After you left I went to the chapel and I prayed so hard, carino mio.” She kissed his cheek. “I am so glad you are all right.”

  He grasped her arms, pushing her away slightly and studying her, agony in his eyes. “Our new home burned. I’m sorry, Santana.”

  “Our home! But how? It is far from the campsite, and on the east side…”

  “It was pretty damn obvious to me that it was deliberately set. Not just the house, but the mill fire too. Whoever set the fire at the finishing mill figured the wind would carry the flames all the way up to the main camp and the roughing mill, probably the cutting site as well. The wind saved us, but someone came on farther in and set the house on fire. There’s no doubt in my mind that whoever it was, he was paid by Hugo Bolivar.”

  Santana’s eyes widened in horror, and she stepped back from him, aching at the sight of her weary husband, who clearly had not slept much since he’d left. “Surely he wouldn’t—”

  “You know that he would, Santana. I can’t prove it, but it all makes sense, the fire starting right after we marry, our new home burning.” He shook his head. “I don’t think we should rebuild there, Santana. It’s too remote, too dangerous for you. We’ll build closer to the main ranch.”

  “No, mi esposo! I would not see you for days at a time.” She touched his chest. “Please do not decide this yet. We can talk about it.”

  Will sighed, too tired to argue. “Go on to the guest house and have Louisa prepare a bath for me, will you? I’m going to discuss this with your father and Hernando, see if they feel as I do that Bolivar could have done this, see what they think about where we should build.”

  He kissed her forehead and walked toward the main house. Santana felt her heart would break into a million pieces at the thought of being so far from her beloved, for that was how she thought of Will now. That first night and morning with him had been like a beautiful dream. She had felt so happy, so fulfilled. He had been as kind and tender as she had hoped, and she could not think of any man, Spanish or gringo, who would be a better husband.

  “Hugo!” she muttered venomously. She stormed on to the guest house. How she hated him! She would not let him keep her and Will apart by forcing her to have to live closer to home. He would not spoil the wonderful, beautiful thing she had found with Will Lassater, and soon Hugo would discover he had not destroyed the mill after all! He could not stop a man like Will, and neither would he stop her own resolve to live closer to the mill so she could be with her husband.

  She went inside and asked Louisa to prepare a bath for Will. The woman quickly began heating water on the large wood-burning cookstove in the kitchen. Coals that remained from heating water for Santana’s own bath earlier were still hot. Louisa added more wood to the fire, and Santana went into the bedroom to lay out some clean clothes for Will. After setting out the copper bathtub, she checked that there was soap on the washstand, then took a clean towel from a dresser drawer and laid it on the stand. She turned to stare thoughtfully at the big mahogany bed where Will Lassater had made her a woman. She had slept alone in that bed the last three nights, and although she had slept alone all her life, she had felt lost and lonely. One night with Will beside her was all she’d needed to know she wanted him close every night.

  She sat down on the bed and waited for what seemed forever. Finally Will came into the house. She heard him telling Louisa he would help her carry the water, and moments later he walked into the bedroom and poured two buckets into the tub. Louisa followed with another bucket. Will glanced at Santana, and she knew by his expression that her father and Hernando had agreed she should be closer to home. She wished she knew more about men, how to argue with a husband, convince him…

  It came to her then. She said nothing as Louisa walked in with yet another bucket of hot water. The kitchen stove was big enough to hold six metal buckets, and it took all six to fill the tub, plus a couple of extra buckets to cool the water so that it was not too hot. As Will left to bring in the last two buckets of hot water, Santana quickly twisted her hair onto the top of her head and shoved in a couple of combs to hold it up.

  Will returned with the last buckets, and Louisa walked in behind him with the cold water. “I will set these beside the tub, senor,” she said. “You may not need them. The heated water was not quite as hot as it should be.” She turned and left, and Santana got up from the bed and followed her out, grabbing her arm.

  “Whatever you do, don’t come back into the bedroom,” she whispered.

  Louisa smiled, then giggled, and hurried to the kitchen. Santana went back into the bedroom to see Will was already stripped down to his underwear. She closed and bolted the door. His back was to her when he removed his underwear, then he stepped into the tub and slid down until the water met his chin.

  “This is just right,” he said, realizing Santana was in the room. “My God, I’m so damn tired.”

  “I can understand,” she said, walking closer. She began unbuttoning her dress.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I am getting into the tub with you.”

  Will frowned, but the look of weariness and defeat in his eyes turned to desire as he watched her shed her clothes. “Santana, I’m too tired and upset to be a husband to you right now. And we have a lot to talk about.”

  “Si, we most certainly do, mi esposo.” It felt strange to undress in front of a man in the daylight, but it was also exhilarating. She knew by his expression that Will liked what he saw, and she intended to remind him of what he would be missing if they lived far apart. She climbed into the tub. “Let me bathe you, carino mio.”

  “Santana…”

  She leaned forward and let her breasts brush against his chest, then met his mouth in a suggestive kiss. “Do not speak,” she said. She took the bar of soap and wet it, then began soaping his face and neck, shoulders and arms. “Later I will shave you,” she told him. She rinsed his face and neck, then soaped her hands again and slid them down his body. She smiled with pleasure when she found that part of him that had made her feel such wondrous ecstasy. Her touch quickly brought the swelling hardness she had hoped for. She sat closer, spreading her legs on either side of him, and carefully eased herself down, burying his shaft inside of her. Will gro
aned her name as she moved up and down slowly, trying not to splash water out of the tub.

  In only minutes she felt his life surge into her, and she smiled with delight at how easily she could stir her husband into making love. She straightened, still straddled over him. Taking his hands, she placed them on her breasts. “To make me live here, mi esposo, is to wait many days at a time to do this again. That is how it will have to be for now, until our new home is rebuilt, but I will not let it be like this forever. We will build exactly where we intended to build, so that we can be together. I will have Louisa with me, and we will hire a cook and a housekeeper, and we can hire men to watch the house. We will build stables so that I can have Estrella with me, and so that I can raise other horses, and I will often ride to the mill site to lunch with you.”

  “Santana—”

  “I will not listen to any more talk about building anyplace else. To do so would be to let Hugo accomplish what he meant to accomplish—make it difficult for us to be together. Do you wish to let him win this time?”

  Will studied her determined expression, then let his gaze fall to drink in the splendor of her nakedness, her slender body straddled over his own, her full breasts so firm and inviting, their brown nipples hard from excitement. How could he go for several nights at a time without his wife in his bed? Of course he could hire guards, and with a personal maid and a cook there, she would not really be alone. And she was right. He could not let Bolivar win this one. Bolivar…The thought of the man trying to spoil his happiness with Santana, the thought of him almost having this beauty for his own wife, stirred in Will a renewed determination not to let Bolivar spoil what he had found with Santana. “Let’s get out of here and dry off,” he said to Santana.

  She moved off him, and they both washed themselves. After she got out of the tub, Santana ran to the dresser to get another towel for herself, while Will dried off with the one she had left on the washstand.

  Will watched her bend over to get the towel, fire ripping through him at the sight of her firm bottom. He walked up behind her, took the towel from her, and rubbed it over her breasts. Turning her, he drew the towel down over her body, her belly, her bottom, her thighs and legs, then back up, pushing the towel between her thighs. He left his hand there and knelt, kissing the damp hairs between her legs.

  Santana grasped his hair, whispering his name. This was something new, something she had never dreamed of letting a man do. He remained on his knees, gently parting her with his thumbs. She groaned and spread her legs, whimpering his name as his tongue caressed secret places, igniting a fire in her as hot and wild as the fires that sometimes raged through California’s forests. She felt the wonderful, pulsating ecstasy he had brought out in her that first night when he toyed with the same spot with his fingers, only this time what he was doing was even more intimate. Somewhere deep inside she told herself she should feel ashamed, yet she did not. This was Will. This was her husband. He had a right to take his pleasure in whatever way he chose, and when it brought her this much pleasure in return, where was the wrong?

  She cried out with an aching climax, and in the next moment Will was laying her back on the bed. They did not even bother to pull the quilt away. He entered her almost violently, his shaft hard and hot. He smothered her with kisses, and she could taste her own sweetness on his lips.

  For Will, this was strangely like a victory over Hugo. Yes, this woman belonged to him. No other man had been this intimate with her, nor would any other man ever touch her this way, certainly not Hugo Bolivar! The thought of it brought out a fiery possessiveness that caused him to thrust in fast rhythm, making sure she knew to whom she belonged.

  He wanted the lovemaking to last forever, but finally he could hold back no longer. He grasped her hips and raised up to his knees, gritting his teeth and burying himself deep, groaning as his release came almost painfully. He finally relaxed and stretched out beside her, pulling her against him so that her head rested on his shoulder.

  “I’m so sorry about the house, Santana,” he said when his breathing had slowed, his heartbeat returned to normal.

  “It does not matter, as long as we can rebuild in the same place. Please say that you will.” She toyed with the hairs on his chest as she leaned back to look at him. “I do not want to be apart from you.”

  “I suppose you think you have tricked me into making a decision.”

  She smiled. “Perhaps.”

  He kissed her forehead. “Well, it worked. You’re a witch, Santana, a woman of magical powers. You have a way of affecting my mind so that I can’t think logically.”

  She touched his lips with her fingers. “Nothing will happen. Whoever did it would be a fool to try it again.”

  Will’s sensual ecstasy faded at the thought of Bolivar trying to burn him out and destroy him. “Yes, he would be a fool. And I intend to make sure he understands that.”

  Santana lost her smile, raising up on one elbow. “What do you mean?”

  Will touched her face. “Don’t worry about it. You just think about how you want to furnish our new home and start ordering things. I have to go to San Francisco to talk to some of my buyers and see if by some miracle the extra equipment I ordered from my brother has come in yet.”

  She frowned. “You will go to see Hugo, won’t you?” She shook her head. “Please do not do that, Will.”

  He left the bed and walked over to the tub to wash himself. “That is one area over which you truly have no control, my love.” He returned to the bed and pulled back the covers, crawling under them. “Right now I am going to sleep. We’ll spend one more night together, then I have to leave for San Francisco. I have a lot to do, Santana. We won’t see much of each other for the next several weeks, but when the house is finished and I have things straightened up at the mill, we can get around to living a halfway-normal married life.” He kissed her cheek before settling down into bed. “I’m sorry it has to be this way, but I intend to make sure this never happens again.”

  He turned over and closed his eyes, and Santana knew he was too tired to get into an argument about it now. In fact, she supposed she could do nothing to stop him. His feelings about Hugo were not something she could trick him out of, as she had managed to change his mind about her having to live close to her father. He would take care of Hugo in his own way, and there was nothing she could do but pray for him. She could only hope this was the last trouble Hugo Bolivar would give them.

  Hugo raised his wine glass to toast the several San Francisco businessmen and their wives who had joined him for dinner and to talk about investing in a railroad being discussed in Congress. “Some say it would be impossible to build a railroad all the way from the East to our beautiful state of California,” he said. “But we all know what such a railroad would do for us. Our city would grow beyond our wildest dreams. If we make plans now, gentlemen, we could all end up much richer than we already are.”

  “I fully agree,” one of the others said, raising his own wineglass.

  They all toasted the railroad and their host. Hugo smiled, knowing that most of the men did not like him, but were eager to socialize and do business with him because of his money and power.

  “I don’t believe it’s possible,” said another. “I think that sometimes our Hugo has some rather farfetched ideas, but if it does happen, I don’t want to be left out.”

  They all laughed.

  “You will not be left out, mi amigo,” Hugo said. “All you need to do is promise your investment. I will speak with the railroad representatives when they—”

  His words were interrupted by shouts, someone yelling, “You can’t go in there!” In the next moment Will Lassater barged into the elegant dining room, his eyes blazing, his complexion dark with rage. Everyone turned to stare, and when one of Hugo’s butlers tried to grab his arm, Will turned, yanking a hatchet out of his belt and waving it at the man.

  “Get the hell out of here!” he growled.

  The wide-eyed butler turned and r
an, and Will headed toward Hugo, hatchet in hand. Women gasped, and one screamed when Will suddenly flung the hatchet. It narrowly missed Hugo’s head and landed in the ornately carved wooden mantle behind him.

  “My God!” one man exclaimed. They all stepped back when Will reached Hugo, who stood there looking terrified and frozen in place. He dropped his wineglass as Will grabbed him around the throat and shoved him backward, knocking over his dining chair. He practically carried Hugo by the neck with one hand as he forced him to the fireplace and pressed his back against its stones.

  “You set those fires, didn’t you!”

  “What—what fires?” Hugo stammered. “I do not know—”

  “You know damn well what I’m talking about!” Will ripped the hatchet from the mantle and laid it against Hugo’s nose and forehead, his powerful hand still against Hugo’s throat in a viselike grip. “Don’t forget that I have every right to kill you.” He flicked the razor-sharp edge of the hatchet just enough to nick the skin and draw blood on Hugo’s forehead. The man whimpered, sweat breaking out on his brow, his eyes wide with terror. “You mess with me or Santana one more time, you arrogant bastard, and I’ll not hesitate to put this blade right through your skull!” He grabbed Hugo’s shirt and jerked him forward, pulling downward so that he sank to his knees. Blood ran down his face and onto his white shirt, and Hugo lifted a shaking hand to his wound.

  Will turned to the others. “Sorry to interrupt your dinner, ladies and gentlemen, but if you’re looking to do business with this man, you’d better think twice about it. He’s a liar and a cheat, a coward and a back-shooter. He shot me in the back in a duel, before we reached the count to turn and fire. I spared his life, but apparently he didn’t appreciate it. He hired someone to set fire to my logging mill and the new home I was building for myself and my wife. I can’t prove it, but I know he did it. Hugo Bolivar is no man of honor and not a man to be trusted.” He turned to Hugo. “And if he ever gives me trouble again, he’ll be a dead man, even if I have to hang for it!”