Rescuing the Runaway Bride

by Bonnie Navarro

  He knew that he would never force her to accept him as Don Joaquín was attempting to do. No, he wanted to marry her but only if she wanted him. He loved her. He hadn’t said the words to her yet, but it was true. And she hadn’t exactly said she loved him either. At least not while she was awake. Was it just a dream or had she meant the words? Had she truly been talking to him?

  Even if she didn’t care for him in the same way, he could woo her and convince her to trust him. He knew what she wanted—to ride horses and live a simple life. Somehow, despite growing up in this palatial hacienda, she had not become a princess who dressed regally and turned her nose up at hard work. After all, she had made meals, cleaned the cabin and started to do the wash before Padre Pedro had arrived. Even the clothes he wore were proof of her diligence. The woman extolled in Proverbs 31 didn’t do anything more than what Vicky did. He’d noticed her hands were already work-roughened when she had arrived. His sister and mother would have had an attack of vapors if their hands had been calloused or their faces bronzed by the sun. Vicky was happy with who she was and fit perfectly in his life. As if she were designed to fit him.

  But if she didn’t care for him in the same way and she accepted his proposal anyway, he’d spend his life knowing that she would rather be somewhere else, with someone else. What kind of life was that?

  He’d been so lost in thought that when the door opened he almost knocked into the lady who emerged. She wore a long, satin evening gown in the color of one of the native flowers he’d seen on the coast, bright and cheery, too pink to be red but too dark to be pink. The woman’s hair had been caught up in wave after wave of intricately laced braids.

  “Excuse me, I didn’t see...” His words died in his throat as the lovely woman’s gaze raised to meet his. Deep sorrow shadowed her gaze, but then a spark of happiness illuminated the pools of dark coffee when she looked at him.

  “Vicky?” He couldn’t believe the transformation. She nodded, her forehead starting to wrinkle in uncertainty. She looked down as if embarrassed. His heart flipped over in his chest. He was surprised the walls of the hall weren’t vibrating with the pounding since it beat so loudly in his ears. “You’re beautiful. Truly exquisite.”

  Finally, all his mother’s lessons in comportment kicked in and he caught her gloved hand in both of his, knelt on one knee before her and brought her hand to his lips to kiss it lightly. “Would you do me the honor of letting me escort you down to dinner?” He waited with bated breath. He was completely enchanted with the brilliance of the woman who stood before him, and yet doubt came into his head. There was no way this vision of loveliness could possibly want to live in the backwoods on his ranch, even if he spent the next six or seven years building her a home to rival the grand one she had grown up in.

  “Why you on floor?” she asked, the cute little line between her eyebrows appearing as she tried to puzzle out what he was doing. There, in that half frown, he saw the young woman he’d fallen in love with. Could they ever go back to their simple life again? And yet, admittedly, he didn’t want to go back to that. She had been a friend, a charge, a responsibility but not his wife. He didn’t want to have to hold back from holding her close as he walked his lands. He wanted to live with her, grow old with her, share a life and a family with her. Did she want the same? And if she did, how did he go about asking her father?

  “Chris?” She squeezed his hand and brought him back to the present. “Why on the floor?”

  “Because a gentleman should take a knee when in the presence of a princess.” He punctuated his words with another kiss to her hand. “Will you let me escort you?” he asked again. “Accompany?”

  “Oh, acompañar.” She beamed a smile at him that could have blinded him if he hadn’t still been in shock. She pulled on his hand and he stood, turning to tuck her arm under his and threading it through his elbow as they started to walk down the hallway. Movement at the door caused him to glance back as Magda exited the room, an approving nod and smile encouraging him. Nana Ruth had always said he could charm the women. If Magda’s vote counted, and he hoped it did, then he was pretty sure she’d cast it in his favor.

  Juanito and Diego came charging up the stairs, shouting their greetings to Vicky.

  “Good evening, gentlemen.” He tried for the voice Nana Ruth used to stop him from his mischief. He purposefully stepped in front of Vicky.

  Her brothers stopped all right, midstride, to stare at him with wide, black eyes just like Vicky’s. They even had the same furrow in their little brows as they tried to figure him out.

  “How are you both tonight? Juanito?” He turned to the older, sticking out his hand as if the boy was a grown man. Juanito glanced up at his sister first, gauging what his response should be, before placing his hand in Chris’s. He gave a quick squeeze and then reached to do the same for Diego.

  “Diego, you look very handsome tonight.” The lifting of both boys’ shoulders and their glances back and forth caused him to smile.

  “You sister hurt. No touch this way.” He struggled with the words. Shaking his head, he pretended to push Juanito, who stood on the same side of Vicky, and then rubbed his own ribs. They seemed to understand his meaning. Diegito lifted his arms to Vicky in the universal sign of “lift me” but Chris stepped in. He reached down and caught him up. Then he took Vicky’s arm and relinked it to his. Juanito went to Vicky’s left and, after studying how Chris had linked their arms, did the same with his sister.

  It felt right. Not only to be linked with her but to be in the middle of a family. A vision of them growing closer as the boys grew up and visited the ranch circled his head as they slowly made their way to the formal dining room. The doors to the room had been closed before but now had been flung wide open, and inviting smells of something savory and spicy reminded him just how long it had been since he’d had a warm meal.

  Chris set Diegito down, and her brothers tore off down the hall. He turned to Vicky just as an older woman approached them from across the hallway.

  Dressed in black from head to toe, contrasting her tawny-looking skin and odd orange tinge to the whites of her eyes, she might have once been beautiful, but the years had not been kind. Her sunken eyes and papery-thin skin gave an aspect of someone with little time left on the earth. Her elaborately done hair had as much white as black, and deep groves on both sides of her face and her forehead hinted at a permanent frown. At least twenty years older than Don Ruiz, she must be Vicky’s grandmother. Odd that Vicky had never mentioned her grandmother.

  “Hija.” The older woman came closer, an overwhelming scent of sickly sweet perfume and something else overwhelming his senses. Chris was puzzled for a moment as he watched her with Vicky, who tensed and drew closer to his side, as if bracing herself for an attack. What kind of relationship did she have with her grandmother? The woman stopped just at arm’s reach but didn’t reach out or touch Vicky.

  “Mamá, let me present you with Señor Chris-to-fer Samuels.” He loved the way even his plain name sounded more exotic when she said it. “Chris, this is my mamá.” For a second, the words didn’t register, and then he fought to keep the shock from showing in his face. This old woman was Vicky’s mother? The woman Vicky never wanted to talk about?

  “Pleased to meet you, Señora.” Chris concentrated on the words and gave her a kiss on each cheek.

  “A pleasure,” the older woman said, though her glare told him far more about what she actually thought than her words did. As her breath rushed past his face, he almost jumped back for fear of being pickled. She reeked of alcohol. Was that the reason she hadn’t come to greet her daughter earlier in the day? Had she been too inebriated? Did she need alcohol for pain, or had she been drowning her sorrow at losing her daughter? But no, Vicky had tried to convince him that this woman did not miss her and wouldn’t care if she ever returned. Perhaps it was another kind of sorrow she was drowning.

/>   She looked him over from head to toe and then latched on to his other arm, wobbling slightly as they continued toward the table. He glanced down at Vicky to find her eyes bright with unshed tears and her face drawn.

  “Vicky,” he whispered softly as he paused, supporting her mother with a firm hand under her elbow. “Sweet, sweet Vicky, don’t cry.” His heart broke for her as he thought about how she had been so affectionate with everyone, even the cowboys and her little brothers, and yet her mother had not touched her. Not even when she had been brought back from what they all believed to be the grave.

  She shook her head, but those tears didn’t fall. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. He squeezed her hand between his arm and his middle to try to give her some kind of comfort. When she opened her eyes, she didn’t look up at him but started forward, leading him to the table. The picture of a woman in control of her emotions. Poised and ready for a formal dinner. A true princess.

  * * *

  Dinner felt endless to Vicky. Juanito and Diegito bickered and squabbled over every little thing. Papá sat at the head of the long table, Mamá at the foot with the boys on each side of her. Don Joaquín and Padre Pedro were on the opposite side of the table from Vicky and Chris. Don Gonzalez, Don Castillo and Don Hernandez and their wives sat closer to Papá. They had all arrived in the last couple of days to participate in the wedding that Don Joaquín had announced at Don Gonzalez’s daughter’s wedding last fall. Instead of their presence keeping Don Joaquín from making a scene, it seemed to egg him on. He continued his diatribe about why they needed to take over Alta California and revolt against Mejico’s corrupt government.

  “This is exactly why we need to push out all the Americanos immediately!” Don Joaquín had been very vocal about his opinions throughout dinner, ignoring Padre Pedro’s suggestion that the conversation was not suited to dinner with ladies and children present.

  “They have no culture, they come in and sweep our children away! They steal our lands and corrupt the next generation. They are uncivilized and barbaric! They don’t even speak our language.” He paused only long enough to pull a long draft from his glass of wine. “And they are heathen. They do not respect the Holy Roman Church or its representatives. Isn’t that so, Padre Pedro?” He gazed hard at the priest. Padre Pedro didn’t seem intimidated.

  “Actually, I find it interesting that you have not built a chapel on your hacienda in all these years nor have you invited me to conduct Mass for you except for your marriages, not even a Mass in celebration of the lives of your dearly departed wives, and yet you claim to know about the spiritual state of another man’s soul. A man who has made me feel welcome in his home despite our language and religious differences. He shows true Christian charity.” Padre Pedro returned an equally hard gaze. “Have you asked Señor Samuels if he is a devout man of God or the heathen you claim him to be?”

  “No, I can see it in the ridiculous clothes he wears and the fact that he kept Vicky with him for so long before you went and saved her. I can only imagine what she must have suffered at his hand.”

  Enough was enough. Before Vicky considered what her words might do, she interrupted his rant. “He’s behaved as a gentleman at all times. His elderly servant cared for my needs when I was too sick to take care of myself.” Her indignation at the words Don Joaquín hurled about Chris made her forget whom she was talking to. Had she been thinking clearly she would not have been so easily baited.

  “So I see he has already bewitched you, girl. What else has he done to you while he had you trapped in his little hovel?” the man sneered.

  “He’s not bewitched me! He’s been a gentleman. And that’s more than anyone can say about you. You’ve intimidated and mistreated our people here on many occasions. That’s why I left...” She paused but not before enough had been said to condemn her. What had she done? Had she just made Chris Don Joaquín’s next target? She could survive just about anything but that.

  “So you admit you left here with a purpose? Did you think I wouldn’t eventually find you? And I would have found you sooner had I known the Americano had lived. I heard that he had been killed along with his slaves last summer.” Don Joaquín turned a dismissive glance at Chris before retuning his glare to her. “Don’t be a fool. Your father is a wise enough man to know not to cross me, especially for a worthless daughter no one else wants. No, wench, you’ll be my wife and bear me a son or wish you had.”

  Her father was on his feet instantly, followed by Chris, who she could see was struggling to understand what was happening. “Get out!” her father raged. “You dare to speak like that to my daughter at my table!”

  Don Joaquín made a show of wiping his mouth with his serviette. “I think you may want to rethink your words, Manuel. Surely you are too wise to show me such disrespect.”

  “You miscalculate your own worth and power, Joaquín. I had many misgivings from the start with this arrangement, but you have now confirmed my worst suspicions. Get out now or I will remove you myself.” Papá pushed his chair out from behind him.

  Chris stared at Don Joaquín, clearly ready to remove the man at the first sign from her father. As quickly as they were talking, she knew he hadn’t been able to understand the words exchanged, but she could see that he now understood what was happening.

  She wanted to pull him back down and insist he stay out of all this. But she’d already caused trouble by opening her mouth, and now her father and her rescuer were going to pay the price. She gripped the arms of her chair as if hoping they would hold her wobbly legs up, but Chris put a hand on her shoulder and stilled her movements, a silent warning to sit quietly and not intervene. For a moment, she was concerned, hoping that no one else noticed his familiarity with her. But she also thrilled at his defense of her, his willingness to put himself at risk on her behalf without even thinking about it.

  Don Joaquín’s face turned an alarming purple color as he finally pushed his chair back with such force it toppled with a loud thud. “Well, you both just signed your own death warrants,” he shouted. Pointing to Chris, he shook his head. “They’ll pay for not having done their job last time. You won’t be spared again, American dog. I’ll make sure you’re dead myself.”

  Vicky couldn’t help the gasp that escaped her at the unveiled threat. The men who had killed Jeb...

  Turning haughty eyes on the others at the table, Joaquín raised his nose and sniffed. “Once we are free from the Mejican rule, I will be ‘El Presidente.’ You will all answer to me. Make certain you choose your friends carefully.” Reaching for the priest’s arm, he took on a civil tone. “Padre, I’ll escort you out so you don’t have to associate with the likes of these traitors.”

  Padre Pedro pulled his arm free. “I’m perfectly capable of choosing when and with whom I travel, and I think I’ll be staying a while longer, Don Joaquín de la Vega. I would not threaten so many men at one time and then turn your back. The Almighty says ‘Vengeance is mine,’ but He just might choose to use one of the men here to bring about His wrath.”

  With a snort, Don Joaquín left the room, his gait unsteady. Surely he’d been drinking most of the day. If he were able to saddle, much less mount up, Vicky would be surprised.

  “Berto,” Papá called out. Berto, José Luis, Alfredo and Guillermo from the stables appeared at the door, cutting off Don Joaquín’s escape. “This man needs an escort to his horse. Please make sure that he is saddled, mounted and leaving in the correct direction. Then we will post guards like we had spoken about for the duration.”

  Papá’s words brought a mix of relief and concern to Vicky. He’d been planning to say no to Don Joaquín and had started to prepare for the backlash before this dinner.

  “No, don’t leave without her!” Mamá screeched. “She is a reminder of my disgrace and misery!”

  Papá pivoted from where he stood watching José Luis and Alfredo, the two bi
ggest men on the hacienda, crowd Don Joaquín out the door. “Woman, don’t try my patience!” he roared, and Vicky wondered just how her parents had ever survived all these years together.

  “Why her? Why not take her and leave me Angelica? Couldn’t God have left me a beautiful child instead of her?” Mamá turned her glare to Padre Pedro. “Why does God hate me so?” She punctuated her wail with the crash of her crystal decanter against the wall where it smashed into a thousand pieces, its golden liquid spilling down.

  Vicky wasn’t aware of standing, but suddenly Chris had an arm around her shoulders and was leading her out of the room, up the stairs. He stopped at the top of the balcony, as if catching his breath, and then pulled her toward the windows that overlooked the courtyard in the middle of the building. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders, sharing his warmth and taking some of the sting of Mamá’s words away. His voice, soft and reassuring, soothed something deep inside. The roaring in her ears subsided as he bestowed a kiss to her forehead before he released her and she found herself wrapped in the loving arms of Magda. Magda led her the rest of the way to her room.

  “Don’t let her words poison your soul, child. She’s bitter and hurting, but you are not what she says. You are a gift from God. A princess.” Magda had always been the one to comfort her when her mother’s words had devastated her. Her arms still had the strength of a woman many years younger and the ability to soothe, but she missed Chris’s arms around her. She feared he would leave, as well. After all, she had gotten him into this mess. He didn’t deserve to be caught in the middle of a war between the noblemen of Alta California. It would change the way life had been. No more would she be free to ride and go out with the men. And what about Joaquín’s threat? Would he go back and kill Chris as he had vowed?

  While she might have gotten a pardon from having to marry Don Joaquín, he’d still effectively taken away her freedom. And now Chris’s life was in danger, thanks to her. It was no way to repay the man for all the kindness he had shown her, for everything he had done on her behalf. For a moment, she wished she’d never laid eyes on the man she now loved. Because she could cost him everything.