by Mimi Milan
Miguel froze. “Listen. There’s something I’ve been aiming to say. See, I think we may have gotten off on the wrong foot here. Now that won’t do at all with me working for your father, because we’ll be seeing an awful good bit of each other. Would be nice if we could at least be cordial when we do so. So, I apologize if I’ve offended you for some reason.”
“I’ll take that under consideration,” Araceli flatly stated. She briskly stalked out of the room. Miguel was quick to pursue.
“Is that all? Could you at least tell me what I’ve done… or is this simply how you treat all the men?”
“The other men aren’t murderers.”
Miguel nearly dropped the plate. He fumbled, catching it right before it hit the floor. He swallowed hard against the lump in his throat, but it didn’t do anything to help rid him of the feeling that the ground beneath him was about to swallow him whole. How did this woman know about his troubles? Was there a “Wanted” poster he was unaware of, hanging in town somewhere? Suddenly hot around his shirt collar, he tugged at it. It did little to cool him off or settle his nerves.
“I swear to you, I’m innocent. I didn’t kill nobody.”
Araceli spun around, eyes full of condemnation. “Of course you would be a liar, too. I saw your hands.”
“My hands? What does that have to do with anything?”
“They are rough—not soft like some politician’s son who served only to further his career, or like a general’s hands because he spent more time in his private railcar sipping brandy than he did firing a rifle. I don’t know how many you killed, Mr. St. James, but the number isn’t what matters. The fact remains that you helped murder my people.”
She dropped her plate in the bucket of soapy water and then sped off, leaving a confused Miguel behind as he pieced together what she was saying.
“Wait a minute!” He dropped his own dish into the wash basin and pursued her. She was already up the stairs and entering a room. She almost succeeded at slamming the door shut, but he caught hold of the handle. “Now just you wait a cotton-picking minute.”
“How dare you stand in my room. Get out!”
Miguel refused. “Not until you listen to what I have to say.”
She crossed her arms in front of her chest and glared. “Well, then? What have you to say for yourself?”
“How about the fact that I was in a war and doing as I was commanded to do? How about the fact that for as many men as I killed, I saved that many too? And in case you were wondering, it didn’t give me no pleasure to do it anyway. A lot of men—on both sides—signed up for the war, and a bunch of them were right sorry they did once it was all over.”
“That’s more than a lot of others got.” Araceli sniffed, her eyes threatening to spill tears. “Some of them never got a chance to be anything other than dead.”
She pushed the door closed on Miguel, forcing him to back up until it snapped shut.
“You’ll have to forgive her.”
Miguel spun around as his host climbed the last stair.
“You see, she was not an only child. She had brothers—three of them. All were lost in battle.”
“And they fought for Mexico?”
“They did.”
“But why? I mean, is that where y’all were living?”
“No. My children were born there, as were their mother and I. However, we moved to New Mexico when they were little more than babies. The boys returned to fight more out of principle than for any other reason. Also, we were afraid that we would be without a patria if America won—stuck someplace between the two with no country to really call ours. So, they chose the one that reflected our culture. It was an easy decision to make when their cousins contacted them, begging for help.”
Miguel mulled over the man’s explanation. He oftentimes felt at a loss for having lost his parents—people he never even met. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to lose three, close family members.
“I’m very sorry for your loss, sir.”
“Thank you, hijo. It’s been several years, though. Not that it makes it any easier. I will always miss my sons. However, at least I still have my Chel. She, on the other hand, has no one but this daft old man to care for and, one day, I’ll be gone and then she’ll have no one at all.” Silence grew between them for a moment. Señor Arroyo sighed deeply. “Well, come this way. I’ll show you to your room.”
“I hate to be a burden,” Miguel said but did as requested.
“You’re not being one,” Señor Arroyo insisted. “If I didn’t want you here, then you would have never received an invitation to begin with. I have a good feeling about you, though.”
Something about the man’s praise resonated deep within Miguel. He stood a little straighter. “Thank you, sir. I promise I’ll work hard for you.”
“I’m not worried about that. If today was any indication, then I’m sure you will.” He walked past one door only to open another on the opposite side. “This will be your room. It is beside mine. I’m in the middle.”
His host gave him a pointed look and Miguel bit back a smile. It was only natural for a father to be protective of his only child—especially when it was a beautiful daughter.
Again?
Miguel chastised himself once more for being attracted to her. She wasn’t quite a hellcat, but she had already proven there was a grouchy side to her. Nope. He best just leave that alone.
“I understand, sir. You’ve got my word that I’m every bit a gentleman and will continue to act as such while under your roof.”
“Good. Just remember, we’re all gentlemen in this town,” Señor Arroyo said and then began walking away, mumbling under his breath, “not saints.”
“What was that?”
“Uh, nothing. Have a good night.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Miguel entered his room and closed the door, surveying his surroundings. They were meek and modest, but comfortable. A small nightstand with an oil lamp beside a solid oak bed; wondering what in the world the man could have meant by that last remark. If he didn’t know better, Miguel could almost swear that had been an open invitation to pursue Araceli…
Not that he would, of course. Besides the fact that the woman held an obvious dislike for him, he had too many other things to worry about… like the law.
And the St. James gang.
Miguel could punch a no-good, low life over that one. It was the one thing that made him strongly consider changing his name back to his given “Christian” one. That would mean being a man he had learned to hate years ago. Really, how he ended up the leader of a gang when he wasn’t a criminal to begin with was a question he would love answered… especially since he hadn’t even known the man he was accused of murdering! In fact, the name of the town he stayed in was about the only thing the Wanted poster did get right.
The poster!
It was hidden in his sack, which he had conveniently forgotten in his pursuit to learn why the boss man’s daughter disliked him so intensely. The sack was still sitting beside his spot at the table. The last thing he wanted was for someone to accidentally find it and go rummaging through his stuff. It wouldn’t do at all for the good folk of Blessings to think he was a criminal before he even had a chance to clear his name.
Miguel sat down on the bed. It would be better to wait until everyone fell asleep before going down to search for it. He only hoped it would still be there.
Chapter 5
A sliver of moonlight gleamed through the living room windows, illuminating Araceli’s steps… and the rest of her, too.
Miguel had just approached the table when he heard footsteps. Ducking out of sight, he peered around the wall into the foyer, shocked to see her slip out the front door and quietly close it.
Where could she be going at such an hour?
He slung the sack over his shoulder and walked over to the window, looking out just in time to see her disappear around the house.
And out of his view.
He didn’t want to admit to himself why that bothered him so much, but it did.
Fool girl. Who knows what kind of trouble she’ll run into?
Hadn’t her father said that he expected nothing less than gentlemanly behavior? Well, what kind of gentleman would allow a young woman to wander around, alone at night?
Miguel quietly popped open the door and slid out. With the door secured again, he walked in the same direction he had seen Araceli head a minute earlier and rounded the house, walking along it until he was in the back. A dim light glowed from the barn. He approached slowly, coming to a full halt when he saw the image in the corner. In this light, he could see everything clearly now.
There she stood—the woman of his dreams. Rather, the woman of his memories. It was like a vision reborn in the dusting of light. Once again wearing trousers, her hair pulled back into braids piled on top of her head, she stood in front of an easel with a jar of paint in one hand and a brush in the other. Her hand moved with such long, languid strokes that he almost felt envious of the canvas she lightly grazed.
Would she recognize him, too?
He tugged at his beard. Probably not. Shoo, he had known there was something familiar about her and couldn’t quite put a name to it until only now—and she hadn’t changed nearly as much as he had in the past—what had it been? A little more than four years, if he recalled correctly. Still, he remembered it so well. The way she had bravely risked her very innocence to claim what she was obviously most passionate about.
He wanted a better view, but didn’t necessarily want her knowing he was there. He moved towards the stalls, thinking he could stand beside them and still stay out of sight. However, he had taken no more than two steps when he stepped on a rake and tripped. He fell forward, smacking his head against the stall door.
“Great goodness alive!” Miguel howled and slapped a hand to his forehead.
“Serves you right,” Araceli said. “That’s what you get for sneaking up on people.”
“I wasn’t sneaking,” Miguel countered. The look on her face told him she wasn’t convinced. “Oh, alright. Maybe I was just a little. That’s only because I saw you leave out the house.”
“And you decided to follow me? Sounds awfully nosey.”
“Well, it’s late out… and… and… Well, look at how you’re dressed! You shouldn’t be roaming around like that. No telling what might get in someone’s head.”
“You mean someone like you?”
“No! I mean someone else—like maybe that Bart fella who was at dinner tonight.”
Araceli snickered.
“What’s so funny?”
“Oh, nothing, except the fact that I’m standing on my own property in one of the quietest towns this side of El Dorado County… and let’s not forget that Bart went home quite some time ago.”
“It still don’t mean a thing. This here’s a growing town with the promise of gold. You never know who might ride in. Bottom line, this place is too dangerous for a face like yours.”
Araceli eyes grew wide. “I feel as if I’ve heard those words before.”
Miguel cleared his throat, concerned that he had divulged too much and determined not to reveal anymore. “What I meant to say is that it’s too dangerous to go wandering about at night. You never know what trouble you might run into—especially while alone.”
Araceli lifted a challenging brow.
“As I’ve told others before, I’m never alone.” She reached into the sack she had brought with her and pulled out a long six shooter. “There’s a lot more than paints in my purse.”
Miguel cracked a smile. Not only was she pretty, she was spunky too.
He liked that.
“That looks like a lot of gun for a little lady.”
“I can handle myself—and the gun—just fine.” She lifted it and aimed at a beam, taking a pretend shot at it. She quickly lowered it.
“I think I’d like to see that.” He crossed his arms and waited expectantly. “For you to hit that beam.”
“What? Right now?”
“Sure. Why not?”
“My father would surely wake!”
“If you think he’d be upset to hear you shooting in the middle of the night, you could just imagine how he’d feel if he were to awake and find you missing.”
“What do you care anyway?”
She was right. He shouldn’t have cared.
But he did.
“Look. I’m new here and I’ve got an employer to impress. The last thing I’d want is for something to happen to you and for me to somehow be blamed. So, answer me at least this much. Do you know how to shoot that thing? I mean, really know how to shoot it… or is it more for show?”
Araceli squared her shoulders, her expression indignant. She looked ready to shoot off something alright—her mouth. However, she held back.
“I suppose I could work on my aim a little.” She glared at him. “How did you know anyway?”
“First, because of the way you held the gun. It wavered too much—probably because it’s a bit on the heavy side and you aren’t used to shooting it. Second, your father doesn’t seem the sort to be teaching his daughter to learn how to shoot. Am I right?”
“Maybe a little.” Araceli shrugged. “So, what? Are you saying you’re willing to teach me to shoot?”
He hadn’t actually thought of that and wasn’t entirely sure it was a good idea. How would her father react to find out he was teaching her how to shoot? At the same time, maybe it wasn’t a bad thing either. It could be a good idea to get to know one another a little more. That might make things a little easier for the both of them while he was employed by her father. Besides, everyone needed to know how to protect themselves—especially a young woman with the habit of roaming around at night.
“You know what? I’ll do it. I’ll teach you how to shoot. Here’s the deal, though. For every shot you miss, you’ve got to say something nice to me.”
Araceli laughed. “If that isn’t the saddest attempt I’ve ever heard for trying to get a compliment, then I don’t know what is.”
“What? Are you afraid you couldn’t do it? You couldn’t find even one nice thing to say to me?”
Araceli squared her shoulders. A grin stretched across her face. “Mr. St. James, I won’t have to say anything nice to you. I’m not going to miss a single shot.”
Miguel matched her smile, chuckling under his breath. “Then I guess you’ve got nothing to fear. Just name the time and place and I’ll be there.”
“How about tomorrow? During the siesta?”
“Siesta?”
“What? You don’t know what a siesta is?”
“Yeah, I know. It’s when you take an extra-long lunch so you can nap like a newborn. You folks do that around here?”
“My father is from another place and time. So, yes. He likes to rest for a while in the afternoon, which is why you all worked—and ate—later today than most normally would have.”
“I was wondering about that. Except I didn’t see anyone take a nap.”
“Of course not. He was too busy showing you around—introducing you to the other workers, the mill, explaining jobs he has lined up. Your arrival meant more work.”
He eyed her for a moment. She spoke matter-of-fact, but with a tone to her voice that equaled her cool manner. He nodded assuredly. “Don’t you worry none. I’ll make up for any time lost in the job that I do for your father. In the meantime, we’ve got our own dealings to sort through. Do we have an accord? One kind word for each missed shot.”
“And if I don’t miss? What will you do for me?”
“Anything you want. Just name it.”
“Anything at all?”
“That’s right. You name it and I’ll do it. You’ve got my word on that.”
Her expression changed to that of a challenging one that was sure of winning. “Then you best pack your bags, señor, because you’ll be leaving on the next coach out.”
Migu
el sized her up for a moment, measuring her words against her stand. He finally thrusted a hand out and they shook.
“You’ve got yourself a deal, Ms. Arroyo.”
Chapter 6
They had found themselves a nice little clearing in the middle of the forest—a spot Araceli’s father and his crew had previously worked. It was far enough out to be secluded so that no one would know she was learning to shoot, but close enough to hear the sawmill whistle. Miguel took the last bite of the packed lunch she had brought them and stood.
“Alright, you’ve got that thing loaded?” he nodded at the gun sitting on the blanket beside her.
“You’ve got your bags packed?” she countered and pulled herself up off the ground.
Miguel let out a hoot. “You’re a real spitfire, Araceli. You know that?”
She ignored his comment about her personality, focusing instead on his way of informally addressing her. “I didn’t know we were on a first name basis.”
“Why wouldn’t we be? We jumped past the niceties when I agreed to teach you how to kill a man like vermin.”
“You’re not going to teach me anything, sir. You’ll see.”
“Alright then, Ms. Arroyo.” He addressed her formally, but there was a slight tone of jest to his voice. “Let’s see what you’ve got. Go ahead and shoot.”
She lifted her gun, a mumbled prayer on her full lips, and aimed for one of the cans he had lined up for target practice. She squinted one eye to narrow her focus, the gun still wavering a bit in her hand. She pulled the trigger and the gun popped, her arm flinging above her head.
A chuckle escaped Miguel and she quickly turned to glare at him.
“Think you can do any better?” One hand rested on her hip. She cocked her head to the side and saucily said, “Oh, wait. You were a soldier. I’m sure you got plenty of target practice.”
“Ouch. And after such an enjoyable afternoon filled with some of the best taquitos a man could possibly hope to find in this town. Really, that comment wasn’t very nice, Ms. Arroyo… which isn’t part of our deal. Remember?”
Her hand slid of her hip. She stood up a little straighter. Far be it for anyone to accuse her of squelching on a deal she shook on—especially if a compliment to her cooking was attached to it. “My apologies. What I meant to say is that you are obviously far more knowledgeable than I when it comes to this. I await your instruction.”
