That made me giggle. And then laugh. My father a fine Mexican gentleman? I pictured the faceless man—a relative I’d never met—strolling around the yard at San Quentin. Nothing could be farther from the truth. “Forgive me,” I said, gathering myself as I caught his puzzled expression. “No, it wasn’t due to my father. It was due to my grandmother. She gave me…everything.”
Thinking about her made me so sad that I teared up. I swallowed hard, not wanting to cry in front of this man, but failing. Wordlessly, he fished a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to me. I had to look away again, his kind gesture making me want to cry all the more. Tears slipped down my cheeks.
“I take it she has…passed?”
“Yes,” I said. “Just—” What? A hundred-and-eighty-ish years in the future? “Yesterday.”
“How dreadful for you,” he said gravely, seeming not to notice my odd pause. “But you remember that much. That is a good sign. She must have been traveling with you. Perhaps in your grief, you tripped over something and fell overboard?”
“Perhaps.” I cast him a grateful smile, aware that he was treating me like a kind older brother would.
“Do you remember where your grandmother lived?” he asked, trying a different tack. “Rancho Ventura covers that cove and many more, including this one. Perhaps the ship was bringing you and your grandmother home. Do you think you are employed there? Perhaps that is why you have Javier’s mare? Did he lend her to you?”
“No,” I said, shaking my head and blowing my nose loudly, hoping he’d forget about Javier. I crumpled the handkerchief in my hand, embarrassed. What was a girl supposed to do with a handkerchief that had been used? Give it back?
We sat there in companionable silence for a bit, feeling the wind blow over our faces. “Is there more you wish to tell me?” he said at last.
I paused, still not sure of what else to say. What else could I tell him that wouldn’t paint me into a corner? But there was something trustworthy about John, something that told me that he really did look at me as he might his younger sister. I rose and went to the mare, petting her nose and then moved to the saddlebag. I wondered if it was wise to show him the lamp, but I desperately needed another person’s opinion, and he seemed to be a thoughtful kind of guy. Maybe he’d know what it was…and how I might use it to get back to my own time.
I pulled out the lamp and turned back toward him to find he’d followed me. “Señorita Ruiz…if I may,” he said, clearly feeling awkward. “Your neckline…The seamstress showed me the dress on a mannequin when I purchased it, and I believe…Well, I believe that the top is meant to be worn…” He coughed, and I saw the tinge of red at his lower cheeks again.
Oh. Got it. My earlier question answered at last. I pulled down the edges of the lace at my neck—noticing in relief that it alleviated some cleavage—and then looked to him for approval.
His color deepened, and he looked embarrassed over his own response.
What? Yeah, there was more shoulder-skin visible now, but far less boobage. What was the deal?
“Señorita Ruiz,” he said, his tone suddenly more firm. “We are scheduled to weigh anchor come daybreak. I believe…” His eyes fell on the object in my hands. “What is that?”
“It—it’s something I found on the beach,” I said.
He took it from my hands and shifted it, taking in the circumference, pulling it closer to his eyes to peer at the worn lettering. I waited, holding my breath. I wanted him to tell me he recognized it. Knew what it was and how I might use it to get home.
Instead he reluctantly handed it back to me. “It’s valuable. Clearly gold. Hold on to it. It could purchase you transport or supplies. You found it on the beach?” he added, looking out to sea.
“I did. But about four coves to the south. Do you suppose it came from that old shipwreck?”
He paused, thinking. “Possibly. Most wrecks are thoroughly salvaged, but valuables can always be missed.”
“Hmmm,” I murmured, rolling the lamp around in my hands anew. If I could just make out what the writing had once said…
“Miss Ruiz,” he said, after a pause, “as I was saying, we are poised to weigh anchor come morn. I cannot leave you here, a woman alone, injured. I must take you to friends, where you might find shelter and succor until your memory is fully restored.”
I had no idea what succor meant, but I could read his expression. His intent was to find me protection, help.
“Can I…can I not travel with you? To wherever you are going? Or even to…Maine?” He was at once my lifeline, my last hope. The thought of him leaving made my heart triple its beat.
“Ahhh, no,” he said firmly, turning his face toward the Emma Jane. “A ship is no place for a woman.”
No place for a woman. His words registered on several levels. As a woman—What, I couldn’t go wherever I wanted? Anytime I wanted? Try me…—as a girl lost in time—should I stay right here, closest to the doorway to my own?—and as just a normal human…wondering if I should pay attention to his cautious tone.
“You can protect me,” I said, looking up into his face, wanting to bring out that older brother mode again. “Take me with you.”
“No,” he said abruptly, reaching out as if to lay a hand on my shoulder and then thinking better of it when his eyes took in my bare skin. “No,” he said, more softly, shaking his head. “I will take you someplace you will be safe, protected, until your head clears. My friends will watch over you. I know a family. Within their walls, they shall treat you as their own.”
I stared into his blue eyes, feeling his words as a promise.
“All right,” I said, looking up into his face. “I am trusting you.”
“Your trust, Señorita Ruiz,” he said, swallowing visibly, “shall not be misplaced.”
CHAPTER 3
I began to doubt Captain Worthington’s decision as we passed by several doleful vaqueros that evening, watching me with suspicious eyes. It was clear that they recognized my stolen mare, and I saw at last that her brand matched their own.
“Captain,” I said to him in alarm as he rode ahead of me, “you are taking me to Rancho Ventura?”
He cast me a soft smile. “We’ve been on their land since we met. Indeed, we’d be hard-pressed to pass out of their boundaries. I thought you would be eager to return the mare to them.” He dropped back, letting me catch up. I struggled with riding bareback in the luxurious gown, with my legs to one side, as was apparently the polite way to do it. Javier’s fine saddle was strapped behind John’s. “Trust me, Señorita Ruiz. It is far better for you to find rest at Rancho Ventura, rather than in a town such as Santa Barbara. The priests have abandoned their missions. Mexico does precious little to support the presidios, and what soldiers remain are disreputable. And therefore, all that is left to us…” He took a deep breath. “There are far more women here,” he said, nodding ahead of us, “than you’d find in town. And where there are women, there is civility.”
I swallowed my sarcastic retort. You’d be surprised. I’d always gotten along better with boys than girls…
With each hill we crossed between the harbor and where we were going—deeper and deeper into the hills—I paused and looked back, trying to keep track of the way back to the beach. And with each hill we crested, John nodded, as if coaxing me forward.
“This is all Ventura land?” I asked, letting my eyes sweep across the hills that seemed to go on for miles.
“Indeed,” John said. “And a good portion of that beach too, including Bonita Harbor. That’s the real prize. The only decent land-approach beach between Santa Barbara and Monterey. Everywhere else we trade along the coast is far more challenging for my men. They have to carry hides and crates of tallow above their heads and through big waves to the boats.”
I absorbed that, but mostly I was trying to keep my mouth from falling open. The rancho was huge. As in humongous-huge. I was pretty sure a hundred subdivisions could fit in it in modern times, and that was
only the land I could see. I got the impression that it went on from there.
We passed hundreds upon hundreds of cattle, tended by half-naked, brown-skinned Indian boys atop mules, then followed a serpentine river north and east, toward the mountains in the far distance. After half an hour or so of riding, we at last saw a sprawling, three-story villa, nestled against a bank of rolling hills. In the distance, behind it, the mountains rose. Their familiar presence helped me breathe.
“Javier de la Ventura is the eldest living son of a soldier who helped establish this territory,” John said. “His father secured this tremendous land grant—but then he died a few years later. Javier went to Mexico to study at university. But when his elder brother died last year, he had to return home to see to the rancho. Javier is by turns a rake and an honest man, yet I am honored to call him a friend. But then you likely know that already, on account of the fact that he lent you his horse.”
I rolled his words over in my mind, unsure of what a rake was, but pretty sure it was the opposite of an honest man.
“My uh…last encounter with Señor de la Ventura didn’t go well,” I said nervously, remembering him writhing on the ground, “despite the fact that he lent me his horse. Are you certain he will welcome me?”
John looked me in the eye, clearly wondering just what had passed between me and Javier and how I ended up with the mare. “All I know is that Don de la Ventura will be relieved to have his fine mount back,” he said at last. “He takes great pride in her. Whatever transpired between you, that will buy you a certain amount of grace.”
Don de la Ventura. As in, The Man. The dude who claimed all of this—I paused to look around again—as his own.
We rode between two crude posts and down a road that I supposed marked the formal entry, following along two tracks cut by wagons, closer to the U-shaped house in the distance. As we drew nearer, I could see that the gates could be closed and fortified, but were now open to us in welcome. A massive, twisting bougainvillea vine—heavy with purple flowers—climbed to one side of the front door, nearly reaching the top of the second story. I noted two armed men on the roof—clearly guarding the villa. Were we in danger here? Did it have to do with the guys who’d been chasing Javier early this morning? A stately, silver-haired woman, a younger woman with a baby on her hip, and four children gathered in the center of the U, turning to look our way, but it was Javier who strode forward. Behind him, the older woman—his mother?—and the others hung back, near a bank of rose bushes.
Javier was in a clean jacket, his curly hair pulled into a ribbon at the nape of his neck. But seeing the man I’d met on the beach again, with the bruise from my knee clearly visible on his face, made my heart race.
John and I both spoke at once. But I pushed through when he hesitated. “I wished to return your horse,” I repeated in Spanish, aware, now more than ever, that I needed Javier to think of me as a friend. “Thank you for lending her to me.”
He paused, looking from my bare feet, then across my fine gown, his eyes seeming not to miss an inch of it, to my face. “I do not recall lending her to you.”
I tried to swallow again, but found my mouth was dry. “I…well, I—Yes. But is it not better that I brought her to you than had I not?”
“Or would it have been better for you not to steal her at all?” he said, moving closer to yank the mare’s reins from my hand. He rubbed his hand along her head and neck and then stooped to examine her legs as if he suspected I’d injured her somehow. “Theft of a man’s horse is a hanging offense.”
My eyes moved to the captain.
“Come now, Javier,” John said, dismounting. “Cease your press. No matter what has transpired, a horse rustler never returns what he captures, does he? You and Señorita Ruiz clearly got off on the wrong foot. And this young woman is in need of your hospitality…she’s been injured in a fall and cannot quite remember all she ought.” He handed his reins to an Indian child dressed in a jacket far too small for him, with no shirt beneath, and only a leather-like diaper below. “Perhaps that led her to act rashly. I thought your mother and sisters might see to her until she regains her full faculties.”
He strode toward me and reached up, taking hold of my hips. He wants to help me down, I belatedly realized, when he glanced up, a puzzled look in his eyes over my hesitation. I took hold of his shoulders, and he lowered me gently to the ground, giving me a small, encouraging smile. Urging me to continue to trust his decision in this, no matter how it might feel at the moment.
“Now. Shall we begin again? Don Javier de la Ventura, master of Rancho Ventura, may I present to you Señorita Zara Ruiz?” John asked, his voice high and tight. I wanted to look his way, but my eyes were drawn solely to this Javier de la Ventura. The guy I’d kneed in a couple of different ways. Luckily, he appeared to have made more than a full recovery, other than the bruised cheek. He sniffed, straightened, and peered down at me intently, as if deciding whether or not we could begin again.
I fought to not squirm under his heated gaze.
Suddenly deciding, he took my hand, bent and slowly kissed it, looking at my face all the while. He knew he was making me feel uncomfortable, but still he lingered, clearly loving that it threw me. There was something tangible between us, a pull that both drew and repelled me in panic.
I hurriedly pulled my hand from his and took a step away.
But he followed after, his fingers sprawling across my lower back, gently guiding me forward. “Please, Señorita Ruiz. Captain Worthington is correct. Accept my hospitality, and we shall begin again. You are welcome here at my home,” he said, in a falsely sweet tone, gesturing toward the villa, “for as long as you have need of shelter and support.”
“Thank you,” I said, taking hesitant steps forward as he pressed. We paused to meet his mother, Doña Elena, dressed in a severe, black gown; his black-clad sister-in-law, Adalia—a pretty, round-faced girl with baby Álvaro in her arms; and his sisters, Francesca and Estrella, as well as his brothers, Mateo and Jacinto. The girls—about fourteen and twelve—each curtsied to me. The boys—maybe fifteen and ten—both gave me a bow. But his mother…she only stared at me. She reminded me of a couple old ladies in our barrio, exuding power with only the use of her eyes. Javier pressed my back again. “This way, Señorita Ruiz.”
“Zara,” I said. “You may call me Zara.”
He lifted one perfect black brow, and his dark, chocolate-colored eyes twinkled with curious mischief. “So informal, Señorita! Are you certain? We’ve but just met.”
“Yes, I’m certain,” I insisted, irritated that he seemed to be reveling in any chance he could grab to unnerve me—his own special brand of payback? I didn’t miss the fact that he did not invite me to call him Javier as we continued to walk down the hall and into a grand sitting room.
“Please, sit,” he said, gesturing to a chair before us, with leather stretched across the seat, a cowhide pillow at the back. All of the furniture appeared as such—handmade of rustic pine and leather. But of good quality. At last his hot hand left my back, and I sat down across from John.
The captain pulled off his gloves and set them on the table between us. “Thank you for looking beyond your unfortunate introduction,” John said to Javier, glancing toward me. “I knew I could count on you to look after Señorita Ruiz.”
I am right here, I thought, irritated that they talked about me as if I wasn’t. And I didn’t need a babysitter! Why did they talk about me like that? Everyone seemed to be staring at me—the maids, the manservants, as well as Javier’s mom and sisters and brothers as they took their seats. I imagined Doña Elena had x-ray vision, she was staring at me so hard.
“I am more than capable of discussing my predicament myself, Captain.”
“But will you freely discuss it?” Javier jumped in. “When we first met, it seemed that you had your share of secrets.”
“Not secrets,” I said, gratefully taking a cup of tea from a maidservant. “It was only that I was confused, my memo
ries largely absent. You alarmed me with your advances.”
Doña Elena’s laser vision shifted to her son.
“No, Mamá,” he said, lifting a hand to her. “It is not as it sounds.”
“No?” Her dark eyes shifted to his cheek.
“No,” he said firmly.
It warmed me, her sudden shift, the protective stance, her willingness to believe that I might have had cause to strike him. That wasn’t like any Mexican mama I knew, but there was something in that automatic belief in me and my intentions that reminded me of my own abuela. Still, thinking back, I did regret hurting Javier. In all fairness, he likely had reason to doubt me. My abrupt appearance, right after he’d been chased? A strange girl miles away from any known town?
But why would Doña Elena take my side? Be willing to doubt her own son? Unless her son was a troublemaker...
“Who was it that was chasing you this morning?” I said to him sweetly, reaching for my teacup to take a sip and praying no one noticed my trembling.
“Chasing?” he said, leaning back and taking a sip from his own cup. “There was no one chasing me this morning. We were but a few friends out for a morning’s race.” His dancing eyes settled on mine. Leave it alone. Say nothing more. Doña Elena’s narrowed, keen gaze surveyed us both.
“Oh, I, uh…of course. A race. I was mistaken.” I let out a hollow laugh. “It appears my head is more muddled than I thought.”
I felt a tiny glimmer of appreciation from Javier. I’d covered for him. He was keeping some sort of secret from his mother in regard to those guys…
John leaned forward, nodding encouragingly. “Don’t fret overmuch,” he encouraged. “As I said, it will likely all come back to you in time. And then Javier and his family can help you get back home to your own.”
“Sí, sí, my own,” I repeated. They moved on to the subject of tallow and whether the ranch could sell him ten more crates of candles, but my mind kept repeating his last words to me: your own.
Three Wishes (River of Time California Book 1) Page 4
