Sarah sighed, snuggling closer. “I’m so glad we came, Caleb. That awful trip was worth it. I just pray God will be with Cale . . . and James. It’s so strange to think of them being so far away.”
“It wouldn’t have been any different if we had stayed, Sarah. Always remember that. They made their own choices.” He turned to face her, studying her lovely face in the moonlight, somehow always failing to see the age lines about her eyes and the gray that was overcoming the red-gold splendor of her hair. “This is the best place on God’s earth for you. We’ve only been here a month, and you already look so much healthier. There is more color in your cheeks, a brighter light in your eyes, and you’ve even put on a couple of pounds.”
She laughed lightly. “That’s because you’re all babying me and waiting on me hand and foot. Caleb, it’s absolutely pitiful! I am not an invalid, you know.”
He kissed her lightly. “I know. But you deserve to have servants doing things for you, so you can have time to just sit in the sun and read and sew and do all the things you haven’t had time for in years.” He put a big hand to the side of her face, gently caressing her hair. “This is the life I always wanted to give you. I’m just sorry I’ve had to do it through Tom.”
She grasped his wrist. “Caleb, you tried so hard. Don’t ever forget how well you did in Texas. None of the things that happened there were your fault. And you know as well as I that Tom absolutely loves being able to do this for us. He’s never been happier. He wants to give something back to you, and he needs your help. He’s in pain so much of the time. I’m glad we’re here for him, and for Juanita. I just want to forget all the ugly things from the past and enjoy this wonderful place and Tom’s good fortune.”
He gently stroked her hair, leaning closer and kissing her again. Neither of them needed to say it. It was said in the touching, the kissing. In these moments they were young lovers again. The magic had never left them, for their love went far beyond physical attraction. It ran deep, strengthened by years of hardships, by the memory of how it felt when each thought the other was dead. But some of the memories were beautiful, to be forever treasured and bringing a glorious excitement to their lovemaking in their later years—memories that could not be stolen from them no matter what the outside world did to them.
He searched her mouth, exploring with his tongue in the titillating way he always used to bring her desires to the surface, always a master at bringing out all that was woman about her.
She soon forgot the pain in her joints that had plagued her all day, thanking God for this beautiful man. Caleb’s big hands moved over her, touching places so familiar to him now, yet always touching her as though it was the first time with her, near worship in his gentle caresses.
He didn’t have to ask. Years together told him when she was ready for this and when she wasn’t. He said nothing. He only moved his lips down her neck, unbuttoning her gown and pushing one side off her shoulder, seeking out the pink fruit of her breast and cupping it higher with his hands to gently taste it, his lips and tongue so soft that increasing desire moved through Sarah in a rush that made her dizzy.
She grasped his hair, her breathing deepening, her eyes closed as he pushed up her gown. His lips lingered at her breast. His fingers explored, experienced in just the right ways to bring out the sweet nectar that would make intercourse soft and satisfying. She gasped when his fingers entered her in an intimacy she had allowed only this man to know. He moved them rhythmically, drawing out the moisture needed to enter her, and in moments he was on top of her.
She grasped his powerful arms as he pushed into her. She arched up to meet his thrusts. Caleb held out for a very long time, grasping her hips and moving in hard rhythm, letting her enjoy the sweet ecstasy of the moment before finally giving in to his own pleasure and releasing his life.
Sarah wondered for a moment how many children they might have had if they could have been together all those lost years they were separated. But she quickly swept away the thought, one that always saddened her. She could only thank God she had found Caleb again.
He stayed inside her a moment, raising up on his knees and moving his hands over her breasts and belly, then along her hips and thighs. “I was going to go right to sleep,” he told her.
Sarah grinned, moving her own hands over his hard thighs and up over his forearms. “I’m sorry I kept you awake.”
He came down on her, kissing her lightly. “I guess it’s all right.” He kissed her again, several times over, until suddenly someone tapped on their bedroom door.
Caleb moved off her, pulling up the covers. “Who is it?”
“Father, it’s me,” came Tom’s voice through the door. “I’m sorry to bother you, but Juanita has gone into labor. Can Sarah come?”
“Yes! Yes, I’ll be right there.” Sarah sat up. “Give me a few minutes to get dressed.”
“Thank you, Sarah. I’ll be in our room. Luisa is with her now.”
Caleb and Sarah both detected the near panic in his voice.
“Oh, dear, I hope this all turns out all right,” Sarah fretted, hurrying over to the washstand.
Caleb got up and began dressing. “I think I’ll have a harder time with Tom than you will with Juanita. Sometimes this is worse for the men than the women, you know.”
She laughed. “You’ve never had a baby, Caleb Sax. I’d be willing to bet the Sun Dance ritual isn’t much worse.”
Caleb walked over to where she stood, moving his arms around her from behind. “So much for our good night’s sleep.” She turned, looking up at him, and he embraced her. “I’ll be close by if you need me, Sarah.” He gave her a squeeze. “She’ll have a fine, healthy baby, and we’ll have another grandchild.”
“I hope so. It’s so important to both of them, Caleb.”
Antonio Galvez Sax was born in October, 1849, a strapping, healthy son for Tom and Juanita. Little “Tony” was a matter of great pride to the entire family, as well as another step toward a total healing for Juanita, who knew the moment she held her son to her breast that she had every reason now to live, and that she had done the right thing by marrying Tom Sax. There would be many more children for her husband. She vowed it would be so.
The entire family traveled to San Francisco, where Tony was christened by Father Juarez, whose own pride and joy were so evident the man looked as though he might burst with happiness. On the way home they all visited Jess and Lynda to see the small ranch near a town called Henderson where the two had settled.
Seeing how happy Jess was with his own place warmed Sarah’s heart, for having Jess happy made Lynda happy. It was good that they were living separate lives, good for Lynda to begin breaking the powerful need she had always felt to be close to her parents.
In all their years together she was sure that coming to California was the wisest thing they had ever done. She only wished Cale and James could be with them, too. So far away . . . over two mountain ranges and beyond. She fought to keep from allowing the nagging question to burden her heart, but still, it was always there, just beneath the happiness she now knew, the only thing that spoiled her present joy. Would she ever see her son James again?
Tom looked up from his desk as one of his men came inside with a Mexican who looked familiar to Tom.
“What is it, Daniel?” Tom asked his hired hand.
“This man wishes to speak to you alone, he says,” Daniel answered in Spanish. “I took his gun.”
The man scowled at the one called Daniel. “You got no right to take my gun.”
“When you come onto Sax land, you go by Sax rules,” Daniel answered. “You will get your gun back when you leave.”
The man sniffed. “You take orders from an Indian?”
Daniel’s eyes flashed with anger. “El señor Sax is a good patrón. He pays us well, and his heart is Spanish.”
The man nodded, a strange, knowing look in his eyes as he turned them to Tom. “Sí. So I am told.”
“By whom?” Tom asked. “W
hat do you want here? And what is your name?”
The man looked at Daniel, then back to Tom. “Make him leave first.”
“Go ahead, Daniel.”
Daniel cast the stranger a warning look, then left, closing the door behind him.
“Come and sit down. Who are you?”
“My name is Francesco Fajardo.” He moved closer but did not sit down, looking ready to run at any moment.
Tom eyed him challengingly, a warning, distrusting look in his eyes. “You look familiar. Do I know you?”
Fajardo fingered the hat he held in his hand. “Sí. I used to work for el señor Galvez. I remember you. You are the one who trained the black stallion for him . . . the one who was sweet on his pretty little daughter.”
Tom frowned, all senses alerted. “So?”
“So, they say in Sonoma the daughter of Antonio Galvez, who disappeared after her father’s ranch was attacked by Americans, and after those Americans were all murdered . . . is now your wife.”
Tom told himself to stay calm. He must not give anything away. “Why don’t you get to the point, Señor Fajardo?”
Fajardo shrugged, glancing at the corners of the room as though there might be men there watching. “My point is, señor, that two or three years ago, after Juanita Galvez disappeared, there were many attacks on Americans by a gang of guerrillas called Los Malos. You have heard of them?”
Their eyes held challengingly. “I have heard of them. They were all killed.”
“All but their leader—who was, by a strange coincidence, an Indian. At least he painted himself as one.” The man’s eyes moved over Tom. “And they were not all killed. One called Rico lived to hang. I was the cleaning man at the doctor’s office where they kept him. I talked to him often when he was in great pain and needed a friend.”
Tom struggled to show unconcern and irritation, rummaging through some papers. “You are wasting my time, Señor Fajardo. I could not care less about Los Malos. It is all a legend now, from what I hear in town.”
“Sí. The people like to talk about it—like to wonder whatever happened to the leader, who has never been found. He was”—the man glanced at Tom’s game leg—“wounded, so they say, the day the rest of them were killed. And this Rico, he said once in great pain, he said, ‘Tom. Tom.’”
Tom glanced at him and Fajardo smiled. “Now perhaps you see what I am driving at, Señor Sax.”
Tom’s face darkened with rage. “How dare you insinuate I would be that man!”
“I do not insinuate,” the man growled. “I accuse!”
A fearful look of bitter hatred came into Tom’s eyes. “I might remind you that you are alone here, Señor Fajardo, and I have many men. If I were this man, don’t you think you are taking a great risk by coming here to accuse me?”
Fajardo fingered his hat more vigorously, swallowing before speaking. “I thought of that. So I told many of my friends where I was going. I told them that I was coming here to look for work. If something happens to me, they will wonder and come looking for me. This would draw much attention to you, señor, if something happened to me. There would be many questions asked. Perhaps it would upset your poor wife.”
In an instant Tom was storming around the desk toward him, towering over the shaking Fajardo as Fajardo inched back toward the door. “You make trouble for my Juanita, and I don’t care what happens to me—you’re a dead man, Fajardo,” he sneered at the man, his dark eyes showing then all the fiery revenge they once showed as the leader of Los Malos. “You are insinuating I could be this Indian leader of The Bad Ones. But you have no proof, and if you pursue this, I will crush you!” He raised his fist close to the man’s face, and Fajardo backed up more.
“I need no proof. You are surrounded by American settlers, Señor Sax, many of whom still hold much hatred for The Bad Ones and want very much to catch their leader for once and for all. I have never told anyone what the man Rico said in his pain. I was saving it, so that I could be the one to find out who this leader was. When I heard Tom Sax was back and had his own ranch and was married to Juanita Galvez, I thought and thought, until it all made sense.” The man took a deep breath for courage. “It would not take much to set them all to thinking the same thing I am thinking. That could lead to a hanging for you, Señor Sax, if the people were angry enough. I could make them that way, and you would be hung, probably without even a trial. Your poor wife would be left all alone.”
Tom stepped closer again.
“Or I could say nothing!” Fajardo quickly finished.
Tom scowled, then broke into a grin that showed only hatred. “It’s money, isn’t it? You want money, you son of a bitch!”
Fajardo cleared his throat and swallowed, wondering if he had done the right thing by facing this man. If he truly was the leader of The Bad Ones, the man was capable of savage murder. “You are a rich man now. They say in Sonoma how Tom Sax has much money—what a big ranch he has, with a gold mine right on his own land. What would it hurt you to give a little of that gold to Francesco Fajardo, if it would save you from disgrace and hanging, save your wife from being left all alone.”
Tom’s jaw flexed in rage. He couldn’t kill this man, and yet he despised the idea of paying him. That was no more than an admission of guilt, which Fajardo might still turn around and use against him to get him hung anyway.
“You see the situation, señor? Even if I am wrong”—a slow smile moved across Fajardo’s mouth—“it does not matter. With so much hatred left for The Bad Ones, it would be easy to turn the Americans against you and make them think you are the one. But for”—he shrugged—“maybe fifty thousand dollars, all the trouble can be avoided.”
“Fifty thousand!”
“I have checked around. Bank tellers sometimes talk when they are drunk. I know you have much more than that. Surely you can spare fifty thousand—and perhaps another fifty thousand next year.”
“And the year after that?”
Fajardo only grinned more. “You should be grateful, señor, that I have never said anything about this to anyone else.”
“Oh, I’m very grateful,” Tom sneered. “Perhaps some day I can show you just how grateful.”
Fajardo swallowed. “Think of your family, señor—all that you have here.”
Tom held himself in check, scrambling to think straight. He eyed the man squarely. “You have had a lot of time to think this over and decide what you will do. Give me the same privilege—a day or two at least.”
Fajardo looked around the room again. “All right. But remember you would have some explaining to do if any of your men should harm me when I leave here. All of my friends know I am a peaceful, hardworking man. They would not believe it if you said I came here and made trouble.”
“Don’t worry, Fajardo,” Tom sneered. “You’re safe—for now. But I would advise you that if I pay you any money, you had better go someplace very far away from here—very very far. And if you should still make trouble for me even if I pay you, I or my men will make sure you die!”
Fajardo took a deep breath, straightening his shoulders. “For my own safety, señor, I think you should come to Sonoma to pay me—in two days. I do not want to come back to this place. I live in a room at the Gold Coast Hotel. Do you know it?”
“I know it. It’s a dump, where only trash stay,” Tom sneered.
Fajardo reddened. “I live there with friends. I told them I came here to look for ranch work. That is what I do best. I do not like working in the town. They will suspect nothing.”
“I can’t meet you there. They’ll wonder why someone with my money is meeting a worthless gusano there!”
Fajardo clenched his fists at being called a worm. “Two o’clock, the day after, tomorrow. Behind Stuart’s Livery then. Bring the money, Señor Sax, or hang.” He moved quickly to the door.
“Fajardo.”
The man hesitated, wanting nothing more now than to get out fast, wondering if he was too much a fool challenging this man who could v
ery well be the real leader of Los Malos.
“I find it amazing the dangerous and stupid things a man will do for gold,” Tom sneered. “You had better ask yourself if this is worth it, Fajardo. It is possible I will pay you, but you will spend the rest of your days looking over your shoulder. I don’t care to have a man walking around who is capable of destroying me with his lies.”
Fajardo quickly left, and Tom stared at the door, shaking now with the realization of what one man with a big mouth could do to him. He waited a few minutes, watching Fajardo ride off with Daniel, then went outside to speak to another man.
“Miguel!”
“Sí, Señor Sax?” The man hurried over from where he was trimming roses.
“My father is out helping build more fence. Have someone ride out and tell him I must see him right away.”
“Sí.” Miguel put down his trimmers and hurried away to get a horse, and Tom went back inside to wait, glad Juanita and Sarah were both napping. Neither of them knew of Fajardo’s visit. He didn’t want Juanita to see the distress that at the moment he could not hide. Somehow he had to think what to do, to keep this from Juanita. Nothing must happen to bring back all the ugliness for her.
He went back to his study and poured himself some brandy, nervously pacing in spite of the pain he suffered today that had kept him out of the fields. Caleb was over two miles from the main house, and it took nearly a half hour for him to arrive. He came through the door of the study without knocking, sweat on his forehead. He wore buckskin pants and vest, and the dark skin of his arms was growing even darker from working out in the sun. He stopped short at the sight of his son drinking in the middle of the day and pacing on his painful leg. More than that, it was the look in Tom’s eyes that alarmed him.
“What the hell is going on, Tom? I just got back to work from lunch. Is something wrong with Sarah?”
Tom sighed, setting his empty glass on his desk and stepping closer to Caleb. “Father, a man was here. He calls himself Francesco Fajardo. He used to work for Juanita’s father, the same time I did. I never really noticed him, but that’s beside the point.” He turned, running a hand through his dark hair. “He knows, Father. He figured it out—who I am. He wants money or he says he’ll turn the people in Sonoma against me and get me hung.” He began pacing again.
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