Paloma and the Horse Traders

by Carla Kelly

  He rode beside Claudio and Graciela next. Cecilia sat in front of Claudio now, her eyes earnest as she grasped the high pommel.

  “I believe she thinks she is in control of your horse,” Marco whispered to his brother-in-law.

  “I’ll let her believe that.”

  He edged his horse between Claudio and Graciela and reached inside his doublet. “Here you are, Graciela.” He leaned over and set the money pouch in her lap.

  “This is not mine,” she said.

  “It is if I give it to you,” he replied. “You are free. I hope you will marry Claudio because he needs a good wife.”

  “Even a wife who is a little worse for wear?” Graciela asked. “Some men wouldn’t consider me a prize.”

  “No one around here. Ask Paloma: we already see you as we hope someday you will see yourself.”

  He looked away, the better to give her time to collect herself. If she had any questions, Paloma probably had answers.

  Thank God for Claudio. “Graciela Tafoya,” Claudio said, “I have a beating heart.”

  Marco had no idea what they were talking about. Obviously it wasn’t his business. When he fell behind, their horses came together. Claudio leaned over and kissed Graciela.

  “That is a good start,” Marco said.

  Claudio, man of doubts, wasn’t quite done. “Marco, do you really have room for us in the hacienda? It’s starting to fill up. Provided I get that land grant, I still have to build a house.”

  “We have to build a house,” Marco corrected. He smiled at Claudio, a man with as many faults and failings as himself who was about to be greatly improved by a wife. “Until then, we’ll add another bed to the children’s room, and you and Graciela can have your old room. When the new baby comes, I might have to reclaim my office by the horse barn.”

  “Are we a bother?”

  “You are a blessing.”

  They arrived at the open gates of the Double Cross as the sun was setting. Paloma stood there, a child holding each hand. Her smile lit the evening lamps.

  “O God, I am blessed above all men in New Mexico,” Marco whispered.

  A mere month ago, he would have raced ahead to be first. Now he sat on his horse and ushered Lorenzo and his team through. He sat there, an idiot grin on his face, as Sancha Villareal, his dignified and proper housekeeper, ran to the wagon, put her foot on the wheel and pulled herself up next to the horse thief, trader, and general bad man. She murmured something not intended for any ears but Lorenzo’s and kissed him soundly.

  “Another good start,” Marco said. He gestured Graciela and Claudio through next, smiling even wider as his brother-in-law handed a sleeping child down to Paloma. She kissed Cecilia, then handed her to Graciela, who stood beside her now.

  Again more words passed that Marco could not quite hear. He watched a brother and sister hold each other close, then laugh, and add Graciela and her half-Comanche child to their embrace. Close together, Claudio Vega and Graciela Tafoya followed Lorenzo and Sancha through the gates.

  Finally it was his turn. Marco dismounted and grabbed Paloma in such a fierce hold that she squeaked in protest and reminded him that the Mondragón he couldn’t see yet wasn’t used to bear hugs.

  That didn’t explain why she held him so close to her body, but he already knew that logic escaped her when they embraced, as when they did other things. And here was Soledad, joy of his heart, demanding to know why he had no eyebrows. He kneeled down to hug her, which meant Claudito climbed onto his back and rested his head against Marco’s neck with a huge sigh of welcome.

  He was home.

  Epilogue

  Tired, so tired. Still, after supper Marco had children to cuddle, talking all the while with Paloma. As he held his little ones, she just sat beside him and watched, sizing him up for weight loss, or injury, or some other sign of his ordeal. He wanted to tell her there would be nightmares, but she would know soon enough, and be there.

  Marco knew his intelligent wife saw something in his eyes, because her hand went to his thigh and she moved closer to him. In another moment, she leaned against his arm, her eyes closed, which made him speculate how difficult it must be to stay home and wait.

  “I love you, Paloma,” he whispered.

  “And I, you,” she said. “I do not like myself when I worry.”

  What could he say to that? He kissed her and felt her sigh.

  Paloma still had the power to amaze him. When the children were in bed, she took him by the hand and walked him to the sala. Touched beyond words, he stood in the doorway as she took down her brand from its place next to his on the wall.

  Marco followed her down the hall as she went to Claudio’s closed door and knocked. “Paloma, you are magnificent,” he said.

  Bless her, she was also practical. “This is the right time,” she assured him. “A few weeks ago, no. Now, yes.”

  Claudio opened the door.His eyes fell on the Star in the Meadow brand, too long unused, and he swallowed.

  Paloma held out the heavy brand with both hands. “Marco tells me you will be going with him to Santa Fe soon to see about the Castellano land grant. Here. What better brand than this one?”

  Claudio took it from her. “It’s not Vega land,” he began, but she put her fingers to his lips.

  “Al contrario,” she chided him gently. “It will be.” Paloma put one arm around Marco, her other hand against Claudio’s chest. “I doubt we can restore what is lost, but what is land, compared to family?”

  Claudio leaned against the door frame, at ease now and smiling at his sister. He tried to speak, but his eyes filled with tears. He set down the brand and held out his arms for both of them. He looked over his shoulder, spoke softly, and Graciela joined them.

  The four of them stood close together, no words needed.

  Paloma broke the spell in her sweet way, looking at Marco, her expression earnest. “My love, do our parents really know that Claudio and I are happy?”

  Marco wondered how many times Paloma would ask that of him. He was no theologian, but he had faith in his answer, because it put to rest his own sorrow. And if she asked again, what did it matter? In turn, she would be there each night to comfort him through dreams not of his choosing. He had his strengths; she had hers.

  “They know, my dear ones. Of this I am certain,” he told the brother and sister. “How, I could not tell you. I leave that to Him. Will that do?”

  Paloma nodded, her face hidden against his chest. His heart told him she smiled.

  * * *

  A well-known veteran of the romance writing field, Carla Kelly is the author of thirty-one novels and three non-fiction works, as well as numerous short stories and articles for various publications. She is the recipient of two RITA Awards from Romance Writers of America for Best Regency of the Year; two Spur Awards from Western Writers of America; two Whitney Awards, 2011 and 2012; and a Lifetime Achievement Award from Romantic Times.

  Carla’s interest in historical fiction is a byproduct of her lifelong study of history. She’s held a variety of jobs, including public relations work for major hospitals and hospices, feature writer and columnist for a North Dakota daily newspaper, and ranger in the National Park Service (her favorite job) at Fort Laramie National Historic Site and Fort Union Trading Post National Historic Site. She has worked for the North Dakota Historical Society as a contract researcher. Interest in the Napoleonic Wars at sea led to a recent series of novels about the British Channel Fleet during that conflict. Of late, Carla has written two novels set in southeast Wyoming in 1910 that focus on her Mormon background and her interest in ranching.

  You can find Carla on the Web at: www.carlakellyauthor.com.

 

 

 
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