The vein in Grayson’s temple bulged and throbbed, blurring his vision. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose with thumb and forefinger as he crushed Elizabeth’s note in his other hand.

“Take a deep breath, Gray. You’ll give yourself a stroke.”

Grayson opened his eyes as Doyle emerged from the spacious walk-in closet. “There’s nothing noticeable missing from here or in her wardrobe—clothes, shoes, luggage—all neatly arranged with no gaps where something used to be. No sign of a struggle anywhere. It looks to me as if she just walked out and left everything behind. Including you.”

Grayson nodded, but he wasn’t really listening. I knew I should have killed the bastard myself. It was obvious that somehow she’d gone south after Valderas had contacted her through the priest.

“Amanda!” Grayson’s voiced boomed. There was no response. He looked around, irritated. “Where is that stupid girl?”

“You fired her for telling you Elizabeth was gone, remember?” Doyle eyed him cautiously. “You’re losing control, Gray. It’s not like you.”

Grayson turned in a slow circle, surveying the suite again, deep in thought.

Doyle prodded, “So, what’s the plan? The press will be merciless when they find out she left you. It’ll make front page headlines all over the country, which, I might add, won’t do your image any good. We need to come up with a plausible story to head this off.”

Grayson was preoccupied with his own thoughts and didn’t respond.

“Face it, Gray. Even though it was obvious you two weren’t exactly lovebirds, there’ll still be a lot of talk. People found her quite endearing. The rumors will run out of control. If my first reaction was that she left you, public opinion will run the same way.”

Grayson remained silent. I know damn good and well Elizabeth left me. The idea that she had walked out on him for Valderas filled him with a black, boiling rage. The hit to his pride was more than he could stand. His head pounded, and he wished Doyle would shut up. He knew full well how devastating the humiliation and damage to his political image would be when Elizabeth’s sudden and unexplained absence went public—

Even as the solution materialized, he was rifling through the desk drawers for the two letters Elizabeth had received, and he wasn’t surprised to find the drawers empty. He made a cursory search of the room with the same result. He gambled that the letters held enough sentimental value that she had taken them with her, which worked perfectly with the plan that was taking shape in his mind.

Doyle watched him for a few seconds, then said, “You’re searching, which obviously means you’re concocting something. Talk to me. What is it?”

Grayson didn’t answer right away. He was still thinking, scheming. Madeline’s letter was inconsequential. However, the other held potential ruin. It wouldn’t do to have a letter from a priest confirming her marriage to Valderas. Legal or not, a secret marriage would get tongues wagging, her sympathizers questioning, and give his political rivals ammunition to use against him.

“Elizabeth didn’t leave me on her own.” Grayson swung his gaze to Doyle. “She was abducted.”

Doyle stared at him. “What? By whom? When? And more importantly, why?”

“This is a clue.” Grayson brandished Elizabeth’s parting note in his fist.

“A piece of paper?”

“Elizabeth wrote a message to me. Somehow, she got it past her kidnapper. I was looking for more evidence.”

“How could she have possibly been kidnapped in this hotel? This is a busy, well supervised, public establishment.”

“I don’t know how she was kidnapped.” Grayson grasped at ideas, falling upon any and all possibilities that sprang into his head. “She could have been abducted on her way to or from church on Sunday.” He remembered the tunnels. “Her abductor must have been watching her.”

“He? Just one?”

Grayson barked, “He. She. They. It doesn’t matter. Whoever it was would have been watching her to find the opportune moment, and my absence worked right into their plan. They could have been observing her movements from a hidden location…say the tunnels. For all we know, her captors might have masqueraded as hotel staff just long enough to accomplish their mission. Call the concierge. We need the police.”

Doyle continued to shake his head skeptically. “Let’s think this through a little further before coming to any rash conclusions.”

Liking this more and more, Grayson nodded to himself with no thought to Doyle’s cautioning advice. Making it up as it came to him, he went on with enthusiastic abandon. “I know who kidnapped her, or at least, who arranged it. It’s doubtful that he came here himself. I suspect he sent someone to do it for him.”

“This is completely bizarre. Who would kidnap her?”

“Domingo Valderas.”

“And he is…who?” Doyle waved his hand in a beckoning circle in his need for more information.

“A former comanchero. She met him one night in Nuevo Laredo at a party. Not long after that, he made advances toward her. He became obsessed with being with her. I faced him down inside her house the first night I arrived and sent him away. It was a nasty ordeal. She still hasn’t fully recovered. Hell, you’ve been around her. It’s no wonder she’s been so irritable since we left Laredo. She’s been hiding her fear that he’d follow her here. Now that I look back, I’m sure that’s why she secluded herself in her room once we checked into the hotel. Only recently has she felt safe enough to start leading a normal life again.”

“All right, just for the sake of argument, I’ll go along with the possibility of the over-zealous admirer scenario, but Gray, she wasn’t irritable and she wasn’t scared. She simply didn’t—and I believe doesn’t—like you.”

Grayson was shaking his head before Doyle finished his sentence. “You weren’t around her in private. I’ve been worried that I’d have to commit her to a sanatorium for her own good until her nerves settled. I regret now that I didn’t have a doctor attending her. She’s so delicate and frail. I should have realized the depth of her terror much sooner.”

“Elizabeth is sophisticated and refined, and I’ll grant you she’s head-strong and independent, but delicate and frail are not descriptors that come readily to mind when I think of her.”

Grayson leveled an impatient gaze on him.

Doyle scoffed, holding his ground. “You aren’t really serious, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” Grayson handed him the wrinkled note. “Read it yourself.”

Doyle took the paper and smoothed it out. “‘Like Edmond Dantès, my mind is filled with a single thought—my happiness destroyed for no apparent reason. I, too, know what it’s like to be wrongly imprisoned in my own Château d’If’.” He looked at Grayson. “If this is some sort of clue, it’s a damn flimsy one. Besides, it doesn’t make sense. It’s more of a philosophical observation about her life.” He arched an eyebrow, reconsidering. “Or a parting goodbye shot at you. Where did you find this?”

Grayson assumed an air of grave concern and nodded toward the bed. “There, sticking out of that book.”

Doyle walked to the bed, picked up the book, and flipped through the pages. “The Count of Monte Cristo?” He gave Grayson a curious glance.

“It was her favorite book and the only gift she ever accepted from me. She left it here.” It struck a nerve that she’d left behind what he considered a treasured keepsake. After all, he had given it to her. It was beyond his belief that she’d have left it behind by choice.

“Gray, the note?”

Doyle’s voice brought him back from his musings. “Since I knew she was reading that book when we left Laredo, she would have counted on me to make the connection between her abduction and the plight of the protagonist.”

“I know the story. Edmond Dantès was wrongly imprisoned by a magistrate who threw him into a prison where innocent people were forgotten by the outside world.”

Nodding, Grayson retrieved the note from Doyle. “I’m certain she managed to leave this note to tell me she’s been taken away from her only happiness, which was here, with me.” He smiled. “Newsworthy enough for you? Heiress abducted by known criminal. I’m sure there’ll be a ransom demand soon” —I’ll make one myself— “unless Valderas plans to take her to Mexico where he can sell her. I’ve heard there’s a lucrative white slave market there.” Thinking on his feet had always been easy for him, and he was using that talent for all it was worth now.

“Nope, sorry.” Doyle shook his head. “You nearly had me for a minute, but this is bordering on preposterous lunacy. White slave market? Drop it and face reality. She simply put the note in the book to make her point that she’s finished with you. She’s probably just gone back to her missionary at that church across the border.”

“What missionary—?” Grayson caught himself. “No, she didn’t.” He shrugged him off. “I’m positive she was kidnapped. You just write it up and get it in the papers. I’ll contact the authorities. Valderas already has a three or four day head start on us.”

“Hold on, Gray, the words head start suggest travel.” Doyle cocked a suspicious eyebrow. “Where exactly are we going?”

“Why, to rescue her, of course. What else would we do?” Grayson grinned slyly. “Think of the headlines. Distraught Fiancé on Trail of Kidnapper. I’ll be a national hero.” Grayson’s face went slack, and his eyes took on a vacuous gleam in a momentary lack of presence as he pictured himself an errant knight right out of Le Morte d’Arthur. Blinking, he came back to himself and focused on Doyle’s face. “Hell, man, you’re the publicity expert. Just get me in the newspapers. That’s what I’m paying you for. We’ll use this to my benefit. Public empathy will be immeasurable.”

“I’m still not convinced. I need facts before I can go public with this.”

“Facts? Since when were you concerned with the truth?”

Doyle scowled. “I didn’t say the truth, I said facts. Without facts, there’s no place for a story to develop. There has to be a perfect balance of plausible viability underlying the story so it keeps the reader involved coupled with enough creative leeway for the writer to spin a good yarn. People want to read the sensational, not the mundane. The general reading public buys newspapers because they need to believe the world around them is exciting since their lives are ordinary and uninteresting.”

Grayson thought it over. “What sort of facts are you looking for?”

“Well, for one, can you prove this Valderas character was harassing her?”

“Absolutely. I can produce half a dozen eye witnesses, if it comes to that.”

“Reliable witnesses? Believable?”

Money will buy any lies I need. “Of course.”

Doyle considered this for several seconds then spoke slowly. “All right…but this had better not be some wild fabrication to get even with her for jilting you. I’m not above salting the story with tantalizing tidbits to make it more salable, but I do have a limit on how far I’ll go. I’ve worked too hard to build a credible reputation, and I won’t jeopardize that. Not for you or anyone else.”

“I will do anything to get my darling Elizabeth out of the hands of that notorious outlaw.” Grayson assumed a distressed demeanor. “My fiancée must be rescued. I will not rest until Valderas hangs.”

Doyle looked him over, nodding with his own plans seeming to take shape in his mind. “Then don’t change out of your hunting clothes. The story will carry more impact when readers see photographs of you arriving at the hotel and receiving word of Elizabeth’s disappearance. It will show that you aren’t thinking of yourself. Only her. It also gives you a more western, local appeal than in your usual expensive, tailored suit and tie.” He checked the time. “If I write fast, I can get the story in today’s edition.”

They left the suite and Grayson talked as they walked briskly along the hallway to the elevator. “Meet me in the Bonanza Bar later with a paper. We’re about to mount a rescue campaign, and you’ll be right there, reporting to my constituents in installments.”

“Are you sure you’re ready for the onslaught of newspaper reporters? They’ll be swarming in from miles around, flocking to this hotel just as soon as you notify the authorities.”

“Ready? I’m counting on it. And find me a guide— What do the call them out here? A tracker? Scout? At any rate, find some westerner who can lead us in a hunt for Valderas.”

“I’ll put the word out, but I can’t promise results.”

“I don’t care how you find one. Just make sure it happens. Offer whatever you have to. No price is too steep.” He laughed to himself that he’d not be out the expense anyway. Edward would cover it.

They took the elevator down, and Doyle left him on the second floor. When the doors opened at the lobby, Grayson’s public performance began.

“Concierge!” His voice resounded in the room, and everyone within earshot turned to stare. He crossed the lobby in long bold strides as the concierge rushed to meet him.

“Mr. Beal, what is the problem?”

“Summon the authorities. Miss White has been kidnapped.” Grayson waved his fist dramatically. “I have a note.”

“Yes, sir, right away, sir.” The concierge barked instructions to the desk clerk to notify the police and summon the manager then he turned his full attention to Grayson. “Please, Mr. Beal, come into my office. You can wait for the police in privacy. Let me get you a drink.”

Through the office window, Grayson saw the curious expressions of the people who had witnessed his fine show of distress, and he nodded in satisfaction at their excited chatter. Well, my dear, here’s a literary thought for you. A scheming smile tugged at his mouth as he read Elizabeth’s note again. Cry havoc, and let slip the dogs of war.

He was determined to have Elizabeth delivered to the altar as his bride and to watch Valderas die. He would make no mistake this time. He’d kill Valderas himself, and he’d have public sympathy and approval on his side when he pulled the trigger.

* * * * *

Edward and Corliss Bradford White arrived in the midst of the police investigation and Grayson couldn’t have asked for a more advantageous occurrence. Assuming an appropriately distraught veneer, he excused himself from the police officers then elbowed through the bevy of on-lookers, newspaper editors, and photographers to reach Elizabeth’s parents.

“Edward. Corliss.” Grayson greeted them solemnly as he shook hands with Edward.

The smile Corliss initially had for him faded the moment she saw his face. “Is there something wrong, Grayson? You seem uncharacteristically distressed.”

Grayson embraced her, holding her in an overblown display of emotion. He heaved a great sorrowful sigh, and she stepped back, grasping his arms to study his face in earnest. Grayson looked back and forth between them to let the tension build.

“For God’s sake, Grayson, what’s wrong?” Edward demanded.

Grayson took Corliss’ hands in his. “There is no way to break this to you gently.”

“What? Tell us what? Out with it, man.” Edward removed his leather gloves and gripped them in one hand.

Grayson took a deep, fortifying breath. “I’m afraid Elizabeth had been abducted.” He let his words hang without elaboration as their expressions turned from incomprehension to the reality of what he’d said.

Corliss caught her breath, looked at her husband then back at Grayson. “Abducted? When?”

Edward demanded details as he slapped his gloves on the palm of his hand. “Is there a ransom? Who’s in charge here? I demand to see the manager and the police chief. What are the authorities doing to find her? How could this have happened? The security in this hotel is abominable.”

“I’d hoped to have more information by the time you arrived, but the police are still investigating. Everything has happened so quickly.” Grayson played the moment and indicated the concierge’s office with a gesture. Taking Corliss’ arm, he said, “Let’s talk in private.”

The crowd stepped aside as Grayson led them across the lobby. Once inside the office, he introduced them to the police chief and the hotel manager then stood back and watched the attorney in Edward take control. He’d not expected histrionics from Corliss, and he wasn’t disappointed. She was made of stern and sturdy American stock that didn’t crumble in a crisis, which was one of the few qualities Elizabeth had inherited from her mother that he admired.

When Edward had finished grilling the authorities to his satisfaction, Grayson stayed right beside them through the newspaper reporters’ questions, then accompanied them to their suite. Once he’d completed the niceties of settling them in and exchanging parting words of meeting later, he went downstairs and directly to his regular table at the back of the bar where he saw Doyle waiting. A waiter automatically followed with whiskey and a glass, and Grayson ordered a plate of cold meat, cheese, and bread. Doyle slid a newspaper to him without looking up from the one he was reading. Grayson downed a gulp of whiskey and read the bold headline. Shipping Heiress Kidnapped By Comanchero. He read the article in detail, nodding in approval at how masterfully Doyle had presented him as Elizabeth’s devoted champion and Valderas as a ruthless renegade.

“The dogs of war indeed.”

“Dogs of war?” Doyle glanced at him. “First Dumas and now Shakespeare? I didn’t know you were so scholarly.”

“Just amusing myself with private thoughts.” Grayson put the paper aside and tipped his glass to Doyle. “This news will spread across the nation. Maybe even the world.”

“That’s why you hired me, to get you into a state office, and then on to the White House.” Doyle folded his paper. “But something’s not quite right about this.”

Grayson eyed him placidly. “That being?”

“You. You’re a contradiction. On one hand, you’re playing the grieving, distressed fiancé, vowing that nothing will stand in your way—as I quoted you here—to rescue Elizabeth.” He pointed to the exact words in the article. “Then conversely, you don’t seem to care what happens to her as long as you get positive and wide-spread newspaper coverage.”

The waiter brought the tray of food and Grayson forked meat and cheese onto a chunk of bread. “Can’t I be both?”

“I’m still not convinced she was kidnapped. I don’t want to find out too late that you’re inventing all this for either the publicity or to get even with her. So I’m going to say it again. It’s obvious you and Elizabeth aren’t well suited for each other, and she’s a little too young for you anyway. Why not just find another rich woman to marry? You’d be better off with an older, wealthy widow anyway. Some of the unfavorable newspaper commentary you’ve gotten has been due to the difference in your ages.”

Grayson looked around then lowered his voice. “All right, I’ll level with you, but you don’t print it.”

Doyle nodded.

“I want her family’s name linked with mine. I want my children to have the Bradford White lineage. I want her father’s money, societal standing, and public image. Eventually, I’ll inherit part of the family shipping business and law firm. And it goes without saying that Elizabeth is the most attractive woman I’ve ever known, albeit not the most compliant or cooperative, but I can get that out of her given enough private, physical persuasion.”

A flicker of distaste passed over Doyle’s face and Grayson saw it, but Doyle didn’t comment.

“She looks good on my arm. Men envy me and women find me all the more attractive because of her.”

Doyle studied him, slowly shaking his head. “I don’t think that’s it at all. In fact, I’m convinced it’s not, and that makes me very nervous.”

“What are you talking about? Of course it is. Her father is paying my way to the White House, and I’m doing my part to help him get me there. Think of it as an arranged marriage with benefits. Her parents do.”

Doyle disagreed. “I still say it’s nothing more than she hurt your feelings. Spurned you. Kicked hell out of your pride. She went back to Laredo or Cleveland to get away from you. It’s no secret that you two can’t be in the same room together without bickering. You’re just a poor loser. Admit it.”

Grayson’s eyes narrowed, and he ran a finger around the inside of his collar. “Know this. As far as the public is concerned, and all you need to report, is that Elizabeth was kidnapped. My one and only purpose in life is to see her safely returned to my loving arms and to have Valderas brought to justice.” Silently, he fumed. I’ll have her now, if for no other reason than to teach her to respect me. She and that Mexican cowboy aren’t going to make me a public laughing stock.

Doyle’s eyes went dark. “Now you listen carefully. Don’t underestimate the sway I have to end your political aspirations and your entire career in politics if you sully my reputation with a specious scheme.”

“Elizabeth was abducted.” Grayson’s voice turned edgy. “An outlaw, a former comanchero named Domingo Valderas, is responsible. Don’t worry about your reputation. You’ll have the story of a lifetime at the tip of your pen, and I will see justice done and vengeance achieved.”

Doyle considered a few seconds longer before lifting his glass. “Then here’s to happy endings.”

They ate in silence for a few minutes then Grayson asked, “Did you find a tracker?”

“I put the word out.”

“That’s not good enough. I want a tracker now. Every moment wasted is a mile against us.”

Doyle shrugged. “Need I remind you that I can’t produce what I don’t have? Let the authorities find her. The law will catch Valderas sooner than we can. Just leave it at that. You read the article. Edward said he’s wired Allan Pinkerton. They’re personal friends. With a Pinkerton detective on Valderas’ trail, this will be over in no time at all. So why go to all the trouble? We’ll keep a vigil right here and report to the concerned and sympathetic public. You can give personal interviews and people can see your anguish themselves, right here, every day.”

Grayson slammed his whiskey glass on the table. “Damn it, man. Are you daft all of a sudden?” Grayson leaned forward as he glanced around at the men sitting nearby who had turned to stare. “I know the authorities will search for her. I can’t stop that, but that’s not what I want because it’s not enough. How much confidence will the voting public have if they only read about me waiting passively in this lavish hotel while Elizabeth endures unspeakable horrors and deprivations at the hands of her abductor?” He knew he had to balance cooperation with authorities with his private plans, and the last thing he wanted was the Pinkertons involved, but he also knew that was out of his hands if Edward had already contacted them. They’d only muddy up the glory he wanted for himself and complicate his plan to kill Valderas outright.

Grayson leaned back in his chair. “They need to see me as a man of action. A man who can get things done. A man who takes charge. I have to head up the rescue campaign, and you’ll write about it, first hand, emphasizing my discomfort and desperation to save her, which will make Elizabeth’s peril all the more real and heart-rending to the readers.”

“This is going to cost you more, Gray.” Doyle swirled his whiskey. “I create and destroy careers from comfortable accommodations, not from the midst of hardships that go hand-in-hand with chasing an outlaw from here to Mexico.”

“There’s a mighty big piece of country in between here and the Rio Grande.”

Grayson and Doyle turned as one person to stare at the man standing beside their table. He was a grizzled, unkempt man clad in weather-worn, dirty buckskins and a hat that was battered and sweat-stained. He carried a faded military haversack slung over one shoulder and a rifle with muzzle pointed down in the crook of his arm. Grayson’s initial impression was mountain man then he thought again. The stranger more closely resembled the descriptions Grayson had read of Indian scouts who rode with the cavalry. Although the man was starkly out of place in the swank surroundings, he didn’t seem to notice, or more importantly, care.

“Who are you?” Grayson demanded.

Chapter Twelve continues…

Until next time,

Kaye  — and don’t forget to read Sable Grey’s Chapter 11 of “Heart of the Storm” at her website: http://www.sablegrey.net

The next afternoon, the annunciator buzzed and the concierge’s voice alerted Elizabeth of the desk clerk’s imminent arrival with a delivery. At the clerk’s knock, she opened the door, and was pleasantly surprised to receive a letter from Madeline. She gave the door a half-hearted push closed in her eagerness to open the letter.

October 11, 1880 – Dear Elizabeth, I hope this letter finds you recovering from your horrible ordeal. I can’t tell you how sorry I am about what happened. It is still dangerous here and now both sides of the river are volatile. Soldiers from Ft. McIntosh were brought in to maintain what order they can. It isn’t safe to be out, especially at night, and few people are allowed to cross the river either way. Just last week, Dad was the first from town to go to Laredo Nuevo, and even then, he went with an armed escort and a white flag. Dad sends his love and wants you to know that Felipe and Sophia will have a new house soon. We both hope you will visit us even if you decide not to return here to live. I miss you so terribly much. Please write and let me know how you are. I am enclosing a letter from Father Bartolo. It just arrived, and I promised to send it on right away. Your dearest cousin, Madeline

Strolling into the main room, Elizabeth broke the wax seal on Father Bartolo’s letter, removed the folded paper, and began reading.

My dear Isabel, I do not know how long will be the time from the writing of this letter to when you will read it, but I write on behalf of one who loves you. Your husband, Domingo.

Elizabeth tripped over her feet, stunned, her heart pounding hard. It wasn’t possible. Mingo was dead. She began again.

…on behalf of one who loves you. Your husband, Domingo. I know you believe Domingo was killed while avenging the death of his little cousin, Camila, but that is not the truth. In killing the men who took the poor child’s life, he was gravely wounded. The danger was so great right after the attack on the town and following Camila’s death that I could not get a message to you and, when I could, it was too late. You had already departed. Please find comfort that Domingo remains safely hidden at the church, very slowly regaining his strength. But it was not always so. For two weeks, I did not think it possible that he would live. He lost much blood and could not fully awaken. He raved and  ranted. How he held on… Well, only God knows, but it seemed that in his constant calling for you, he kept death away. When he emerged from his delirium, he wanted very desperately to have you with him, and he cursed the sisters when they said the law would not allow you to cross the river.

While that may seem a lie to you now, there was not only truth in it at the time, but I had instructed the sisters to avoid telling him that you had left Laredo until he was strong enough not to succumb to what I believed would have given death all that was necessary to claim his life—hopelessness. It was only early this morning that he learned you had gone to Denver in your belief that he was dead. Great was his fury that you had been deceived. Deep was his anger at his helplessness to stop you. Even now as I write, he is so weak, he can barely lift his head, but he is determined to come to you. No amount of pleading or reasoning will change his mind.

Elizabeth stared at the letter. Her hands trembled. Bone-chilling shivers seized her then she flushed hot from head to toe. Stinging tears burned her eyes; guilt tugged at her heart. Mingo was alive, and she’d left him—abandoned him—when she’d promised never to leave his side. A lone tear splashed on the paper as she continued reading.

During the days Domingo lay near death, I learned that bandidos were hired to burn the Santino’s home and stampede the cattle to conceal their real purpose. Isabel, the man who took you from Laredo hired these men to murder Domingo. This same man is also responsible for the dear innocent child’s death.

She grabbed the back of a chair, staggered by the horror of his words. Grayson… His deceit was too awful for her mind to comprehend. Tears streamed down her cheeks.

Believing that you were just across the river and his determination to be with you is all that kept him in this world. In his fever, he called your name, fighting us madly in his delirium to reach you. Now he is desperate to save you from the treachery of the man who stole you away. I fear he will kill anyone who stands in his way. It was of no use to remind him that he cannot step foot on American soil without fear of arrest. Nothing will stop him. I have prayed for God to grant Domingo temperance in his anger, because it is deadly revenge your husband seeks as much as his desire to be reunited with you. You must find enough strength within yourself to carry you both through the trials that lay ahead. Isabel, remember these words and let them nourish your soul. Love beareth all things, believeth all things, and hopeth all things. I will pray and light a candle for your safe passage home. Vaya con Dios, Father Enrique Bartolo — October 10, 1880, Nuevo Laredo, Mexico

The letter and envelopes slipped from her trembling fingers and fluttered to the floor. She went to her knees, doubled-over and hugging herself, her body racked with deep sobs of grief and relief. In the space of a few seconds, her heart was rendered into pieces then mended all at once. Mingo, Mingo, please forgive me. I’m so sorry I left you. I’m so sorry. Now she understood why she’d felt her own life draining from her. Mingo had drawn upon her strength and love to keep him alive, and when she’d heard him call her name in the church, it must have been the moment when he’d learned of Grayson’s deceit.

“So, the bastard’s alive after all. It appears I paid good money for naught.”

Elizabeth twisted around, choking back a startled gasp. Grayson held the letters, and his nasty smile sickened her so that she had to look away. Offhandedly, he tossed Madeline’s letter and both envelopes aside, but he crushed Father Bartolo’s letter in his fist. Then, deliberately dropping it, he mashed it under his boot on his way to the mahogany sideboard.

“Interestingly enough, marriage is exactly what I came to talk about.” The smirk on his face was unmistakably triumphant. “Did I forget to mention that we have an actual wedding date?” He shot a devious glance at her as he opened a front compartment and took out a decanter of whiskey and a glass. “A month from Sunday. I’ll admit, though, back in Laredo, I wasn’t sure I’d get you here in time. Valderas threw me. I didn’t expect that particular obstacle. I’d already heard of your work at the mission, and I’d half expected you’d hide yourself in a convent when you returned home, not lose your head over a Mexican cowboy. Even up to this fortuitous moment, I had my doubts that I would actually get you to the altar without more” —he cut a sidelong glance her way— “persuasive measures.”

Elizabeth couldn’t look at him. She couldn’t think. She could only feel the awful pain inside her heart and her blinding hatred for Grayson growing.

Coolly pouring whiskey into the glass, he elaborated. “We’ll marry at the Van Doren mansion. The invitations have already gone out. It will be quite a celebration and a rather clever publicity move on my part, I might add.”

“You read the letter. I’m already married.”

“Yes, so the dutiful Father said. An insignificant detail.” He waved it off, tossed back the whiskey then dropped an imperious gaze on her. “Do you have proof?”

She didn’t respond. She didn’t need to. His expression told her he already knew her answer.

“I thought not. As far as I’m concerned, a marriage in Mexico is no marriage at all, and without documentation to verify its legality, this conversation is moot.”

He poured another drink and held it up to the window for scrutiny. “I see he couldn’t even afford to buy you a wedding ring.”

She almost smiled at his cheap, underhanded attempt to hurt her because she had a sharper knife to drive into his pride. “I’m pregnant.” There was insolent gratification in her voice.

The glass stopped at his lips, his arm momentarily frozen before he finished off the amber liquid in one gulp. When he looked at her, his eyes held a deadly chill, and his words took every bit of warmth from her blood.

“The life of a newborn is tenuous at best. It will never take its first breath.”

Stricken, she stared at him. The depth of his cruelty was beyond her comprehension.

“Don’t give me that poor, pitiful me act. Women frequently lose their firstborns. You’ll have many more, I promise. Besides, kept pregnant, you’ll be less apt to cause me trouble.”

Her stomach churned, but she didn’t look away from his leering smile. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

“Besides, do you really think any other man would want you after that cowboy had his hands on you? I’ll have you because our marriage will further my political career and, eventually, I’ll inherit at least half of your father’s shipping business and, very likely, his law firm. Other than that, I have no use for a woman who whores herself to the likes of Valderas. At least now I know you can produce heirs for me. He actually did me a favor on that account.”

He paused to look her over. “I might even consider letting the child live if you remember your place with me…that is, of course, if it has blond hair, blue eyes, and fair skin, which is highly unlikely.” He uttered an amused grunt. “And laughably absurd.” He dropped a menacing glower on her as he crossed the room to hover over her. “Pray that Valderas never shows up, because if you deny me marriage or either of you cause me any embarrassment or public ridicule, I’ll kill him myself. Or maybe I’ll have him arrested so he can rot in a Mexican border jail, which is more than he deserves.” He grabbed her arm, yanking her to her feet. “Now get up. Enough of this nonsense.”

At his touch, she regained her nerve and jerked free. “You didn’t kill him the first time you tried, and you’ll never have another chance. He’ll kill you. You are un cobarde. A coward.”

His face reddened, and his eyes bulged as he lifted his hand.

Boldly daring him to hit her, she took a deliberate step closer. “Go ahead, strike me. The picture will make a spectacular front page story.”

With obvious effort, he lowered his arm. “Not another word from you about Valderas. We marry in a month. I’m leaving for a hunting excursion in the morning, and I’ll be gone until Tuesday. Wednesday at the latest. Hopefully, your parents will be here soon to look after you and keep you in line. Our wedding goes off as planned or Valderas pays with his life. Do you understand me?”

The threat bit into her heart, but she held herself unbending and stared him down. “I understand perfectly.”

“Good.” He turned away but, as an afterthought, said, “This will actually work to my benefit. We’ll travel in the spring and, when we return to Cleveland, the long, difficult trip will be the perfect precipitant for the unfortunate loss of your baby.” He assumed the façade of addressing an audience, his voice sardonically compassionate. “Yes, it is very sad. The trip was too much for Mrs. Beal. She was determined to stay by my side, even though I begged her to rest, she simply wouldn’t hear of it. I’m afraid the baby didn’t survive.”

His mood shifted instantly, and he checked his fastidious reflection in the mirror. “The sympathy votes gained from the lamentable loss of our firstborn should be substantial.” He spoke as he straightened his tie and smoothed his hair, neither of which needed attention. “Now, do as I say. Change your clothes and fix yourself up.” He gave his pocket watch a quick glance. “Meet me in the lobby for dinner in two hours.” He walked away then at the doorway, he paused and looked back. “And do something with your face. It’s ugly. Don’t show up with your pathetic tears wetting your cheeks.”

The door slammed, and she flinched. Staring straight ahead, she listened to his heavy footsteps receding down the hallway. Undoubtedly going to wait in the bar.

Fury steeped in fear for Mingo and her baby’s life gripped her. Tears blazed down her cheeks, and a sob caught in her throat. Black spots floated in her vision, and she braced her hand on the back of the chair to steady herself. With murder in her heart, she wished she had Mingo’s dagger or his Colt revolver in her hands right then. She visualized Grayson dead and the sight gratified her, but it also brought her back to reality. She wasn’t a man, and she had no weapon. Her parents would not listen to her explanation, and the police would think her story ludicrous. Flight was her only alternative.

She dabbed her face with an embroidered handkerchief, retrieved the crumpled letter, and smoothed it as best she could. Picking up Father Bartolo’s envelope, she spotted the corner of a small piece of paper poking out and pulled it out, skimming its contents. Her breath caught; her hand flew to her mouth. The last words brought fresh tears to her eyes. It was from Mingo.  Tienes mi corazón, Mingo.

Frowning and wiping her tears to clear her vision, she struggled to translate the message into English, but once she deciphered the meaning, she realized he’d written it in his native language to make it difficult for anyone—specifically Grayson—to understand it without some effort. His few words fortified her determination and bolstered the last bit of courage she needed. What she had to do suddenly didn’t seem so daunting. Expecting Amanda to return any minute with her laundry, Elizabeth gathered herself together and tucked the letters out of sight in her handbag. Sitting at the desk, she took out her stationery and began writing.

Dearest Madeline,

Please forgive the brevity of my letter, but there is no time to explain in detail. In the event that something should happen to me, I need Lowell to have this information. Perhaps he already knows—Mingo is alive. We’re married, but I have nothing with which to prove it. I’m also pregnant. Mingo sent a message that he is traveling to Albuquerque (or by the writing of this letter, has already arrived) where he will wait for me under the confidential protection of friends until the first of November, but no longer. If I do not meet him by then, he is assuming I did not receive his letter or that Grayson is preventing me from leaving. Either way, Mingo will come for me, and I do so fear for his life if he does, not only from legal authorities, but from Grayson as well.

I have an opportunity to separate myself from Grayson for a few days, but when Grayson finds out that Mingo and I are reunited, he will undoubtedly try to catch us. Grayson admitted responsibility for Mingo’s attack. Grayson has also threatened to arrange Mingo’s arrest if he comes into the States. Grayson will personally attempt to kill Mingo if I refuse his marriage plans or if Mingo interferes in any way. Please, please have Lowell talk to Father Bartolo. He will know more about Mingo. I will write again when I can.

All my love,

Elizabeth – October 22, 1880

Addressing and sealing the envelope, she dropped the letter into her purse just as Amanda returned. Then two hours and five minutes later, which made her purposely late for dinner, Elizabeth took her time descending the massive grand stairway. As she neared the last step, she saw Grayson pacing impatiently, so to add to his irritation, she paused and ran her gloved hand along the handsome black walnut hand railing, pretending to admire it as a ploy to waste even more time. When he finally noticed her, she abandoned her dallying, and walked straight to the desk clerk and handed him the envelope.

“Please see that this goes out with the very next mail pickup.”

“Certainly, Miss White.”

“What is this?” Grayson snatched the letter from the startled clerk’s fingers.

Elizabeth smiled pleasantly. “A letter to Madeline. You read her letter. She asked me to write and let her know how I’m doing. So I did. I told her we’re getting married in a month, and I asked if there was any possibility that she could be here. I miss her, and she’s the only friend I have. Surely you wouldn’t deny me an attendant at my wedding.”

He eyed her suspiciously, and she offered a careless shrug that belied the twisted knot in her stomach. She was gambling with her future, and Mingo’s life was the bet. “Open it and read it for yourself.” Turning away, she sauntered toward the dining room, banking that his superior arrogance wouldn’t allow him to open the letter. He’d never considered her very clever, and he wouldn’t think it now. She stopped in the doorway, taunting him. “Grayson, must I walk into dinner alone? How will that look?” They were already late to dinner, and he abhorred tardiness.

Reluctantly, he relinquished the letter to the clerk and crossed the lobby with brisk steps. He grabbed her arm roughly. “Now would be the perfect time to begin minding your manners. This is an important night for me.”

“You made yourself quite clear earlier.” She gave him a complacent smile to appease him for the moment. “I know what’s expected of me in exchange for Mingo’s life. I wouldn’t dream of causing you public embarrassment…tonight, anyway.”

“Good. See that you don’t. It’s about time you realized your place.”

Dinner was agreeable enough and quiet piano music added to the pleasant ambiance of the evening. Three after-dinner bourbons later, Grayson said their goodnights to the dinner party and looped his elbow with Elizabeth’s as he escorted her to the elevator. But once the doors closed, she pulled away. At the third floor, she walked straight to her room without waiting for him. As expected, he followed and as she inserted her key into the lock, he laid his hand over hers, holding her fingers a little too tightly.

“You conducted yourself commendably tonight. You were charming and witty, as befits a politician’s wife. I’m very proud of you.”

“Thank you so much.” The arrogance of his left-handed compliment rankled. “Would you like to pat me on the head and rub my ears now?” She turned the handle and pushed the door open.

Grayson blocked her with an arm across the doorway and leaned into her, the carnal sneer on his lips as palpable as the fervent lust gleaming in his eyes. “There’s no need for us to keep separate beds any longer. Pregnancy certainly isn’t a concern.”

“I may be kowtowing to you to spare Mingo’s life, but I haven’t lost my self-respect.” She held his gaze with a hard glare. “The thought of sharing your bed disgusts me. Either arrange for a mistress or employ the services of a prostitute, you’ll get no conjugal satisfaction from me.”

“I’ll have you whenever I want once we’re married, and you will produce many children for me.”

“If you take my baby’s life, I promise you, I will never bear you a child.”

He scoffed, almost laughed. “You presume to threaten me? I can easily keep you pregnant.”

Self-righteousness swelled in her heart, and she smiled. “As you said yourself, pregnant doesn’t equate to a full-term, live birth. The life of an unborn child is tenuous at best. I believe those were your exact words.” She removed his hand from the door jam, as if discarding soiled linen.

Once across the threshold, she turned to gloat at his red-faced, seething ire. “I see we understand each other more clearly now. I’ll take Amanda with me and begin my wedding shopping tomorrow, but it’s going to cost you dearly from this moment on, Grayson. In more ways than money. And don’t bother saying goodbye when you leave for your hunting excursion in the morning. I don’t care.”

She closed the door in his face.

* * *

At daylight, Elizabeth heard Grayson’s heavy footsteps pause outside her door, and she readied a caustic greeting should he have the gall to summon her, but he went on down the hallway without knocking. When Amanda arrived with breakfast, Elizabeth sent her out for train and stagecoach schedules on the pretense that she wanted to make honeymoon travel plans.

With Amanda running errands, Elizabeth used her time alone to steal down the hallway to the stairs. She was thankful that the plush Brussels carpeting muffled her careful footsteps, and she slipped unnoticed into the hotel’s cavernous basement. It took her a few minutes to locate the tunnel that Amanda used in order to avoid ruffians between the Windsor and where she lived. Amanda frequently complained that Holladay Street was unsafe for a lady because of the unsavory types lurking there. Drunks and panderers, she called them.

Mindful that she might need an alternate exit, Elizabeth also wanted to see if rumors of a pedestrian tunnel to the basement of the Barclay Block under 18th Street were true. Within a few minutes, she confirmed the rumors when she located the door rather cleverly concealed behind a false front of stacked boxes and chests. Curiosity kept her exploring a bit longer, and she wandered around the artesian wells and the generator that provided the electricity for the elevators and came across the lavishly stocked wine room and the much celebrated cigar room. The steam washing machines, the ironer, and the steam powered ice cream machine fascinated her, but there was no more time to dawdle. She’d had to hide twice to avoid being seen by hotel staff, and she needed to get back to her suite right away.

When Amanda returned with the schedules, Elizabeth had already arranged for a hotel carriage and driver to take them around Denver even though Amanda reminded her not to go about without a male escort as per Grayson’s directive. Elizabeth assured her the carriage driver was chaperone enough. Elizabeth rejected every ready-made dress she tried on then finally stood for a fitting just to take up time. She talked to caterers and cake makers and looked at hand-painted, imported China table settings and coordinating flatware.

It was well past the dinner hour when they finally arrived back at the hotel with nothing to show for their hours of shopping except a new pen and ink set, but Elizabeth was pleased with her timing. She’d dismissed the thought of taking the stage out of town for the expediency of rail travel, and it was just two hours before the next southbound train left Denver.

“Is there anything else I can do for you tonight, ma’am?” Amanda’s voice hinted that she hoped they were finished for the day.

“No. Thank you, Amanda. I’m too exhausted to do anything except draw a hot bath then climb into bed and sleep.”

“Yes, ma’am, it has been a busy day.” Amanda sighed. “Shall I prepare your bath?”

“No, thank you. I can manage.”

“Yes, ma’am. Well, I’ll be going now. Will you be needing me tomorrow?”

“Good heavens, no. Sunday is your day off. In fact, let’s take the next couple of days off.” Elizabeth sprawled on the bed, faking a yawn. “I’m going to bask in the joy of Grayson’s absence by staying in bed for at least two days, and you haven’t had but Sundays off since you were hired. I’m sure you wouldn’t mind extra time to yourself.”

“I’d like that very much.” Amanda’s face brightened. “I am a bit tired.”

Sitting up, Elizabeth reached for her handbag where she’d dropped it beside her and took out a few coins. She patted the mattress for Amanda to sit beside her then took the girl’s hand, pressing the money into her hand. “Here, take these. Think of it as a bonus.”

Amanda stared at the money then at Elizabeth. “I couldn’t possibly accept—this is too much.”

Elizabeth hugged her. “Nonsense. You’ve worked so hard to take care of me, and I don’t know how else to show you how much I appreciate what you do for me.”

“Thank you, Miss White. That’s very kind of you.”

“You’re certainly welcome. Remember, enjoy your days off, and don’t worry about me.”

Elizabeth remained on the bed until she heard the outer door close then went immediately to her desk, satisfied that her plan was progressing perfectly. She wrote a brief note to Grayson, all the while wishing she could see his face when he read it. It would be a gratifying sight to behold.

She called the front desk through the annunciator and explained that she was ill and wanted no visitors or meals until further notice. This having been her typical behavior when she’d first arrived, she was confident the staff would think it nothing more than a spoiled, rich eastern woman’s eccentric behavior. In passing, she also mentioned that Amanda wouldn’t be in until Tuesday or Wednesday so the girl’s absence wouldn’t be questioned when she didn’t arrive for work as per her habit on Monday morning.

Hastily, she changed into her warm, woolen traveling outfit and packed a travel case that she could carry easily with two changes of clothing and the extra personal items she couldn’t fit into her satchel. She wrapped a heavy wool scarf around her head and shoulders and positioned her satchel across the front of her body then donned her long woolen cloak. With one more look around the suite, she made her last preparations to leave, pulled the hood over her head, and took up her bag. A glance at the Eight-Day clock reassured her that she was right on schedule.

Opening the door a crack, she peeked up and down the deserted hallway before stepping out. Chin up, shoulders back, and single-minded in her mission, she took the staff stairway to the basement and walked confidently and unchallenged through the tunnel to freedom. Cold Rocky Mountain air nipped at her cheeks and rustled her cloak as she resolutely set her course to the train station. She didn’t know how she’d find Mingo’s friend, Juan Villalobos, once she got to Albuquerque. She didn’t care about the details. She simply trusted in her love for Mingo and in his love for her that they would overcome all obstacles in their way in order to be together again.

All that mattered was Mingo was riding to Albuquerque by the old outlaw trails, and nothing short of her own death would keep her from meeting him there. She whispered a prayer to St. Christopher for protection on their separate journeys. Just a few days more and they’d be together. Just a few days more…

Chapter Eleven continues…

Read Chapter Ten of Sable Grey’s Revolutionary War story, Heart of the Storm – http://www.sablegrey.net

Until then,

Kaye

Chapter Nine

Amanda hurried to unlock the hallway door in response to the insistent pounding. As she passed the breakfast table where Elizabeth sat drinking tea and reading, Amanda’s wide-eyed apprehension prompted Elizabeth to shake her head in exasperation.

“Yes, I’m sure it’s Grayson. I’m surprised he waited this long. I embarrassed him last night. He’s undoubtedly here to put me in my proper place.”

When Amanda opened the door, Grayson burst in with a force that knocked the girl against the wall. Without apology, he stormed across the room. “Elizabeth!” He stopped a few feet from her.

Although she noticed his glowering displeasure from the corner of her eye, she didn’t look up from her book, but rather calmly sipped from her tea cup and resumed reading. She remained deliberately silent. His patience waned then expired into the outburst she fully expected.

“I waited until a decent hour to come here—”

“How very thoughtful of you.” Elizabeth turned the page, enjoying more than a little satisfaction in provoking him.

He flung the book across the room.

She merely glanced to where it lay face down and opened with several pages bent. After taking another sip of tea, she said, “Really, Grayson, that was very rude. I was still reading, and now I’ve lost my place.”

“Rude is exactly why I’m here. Never, but I mean never, contradict me in public or leave my side as you did at dinner last night. And furthermore, your comments were tactless. Mrs. Evans is particularly nosey, and you simply gave her gossip ammunition.”

Elizabeth finally looked at him. “Do not presume to chastise me if you’ve been caught in the backlash of your ludicrous lies.” She made a scoffing, derisive laugh. “Charitable missionary work indeed.”

“I simply gave them a viable story in an attempt to stop the rumors which you have thus far done nothing to squelch.”

“Perhaps it is because I prefer the truth. I left Cleveland to get away from you because you’re an egotistic, boorish, and cretinous sycophant who hasn’t a shred of conscience or compassion.”

The vein bulging in his temple gratified her. He took an angry step toward her, and she thought for a moment he’d strike her, but he regained control and ran a finger around the inside of his shirt collar with a cautious sideways glance at Amanda where she watched attentively from across the room.

“Be mindful of your saucy mouth and watch what you say in public from now on. I won’t have you creating more scandal than you already have.”

Elizabeth finished her tea. “Grayson, you can’t control what I say or do. You never could. It is useless to persist.” She sauntered to her bedroom where she paused in the doorway to cast a spiteful smile his way. “You might like to know that because of your outrageous prevarications last evening, I’m actually looking forward to the social activities you’ve arranged for me. It will keep you nervous about what I might be telling the ladies in order to gain their collective sympathies.”

She closed the door and crossed to the window, bolstering herself for further confrontation since she’d dared turn her back on him. Muffled conversation ensued followed by his departing footsteps and, a few seconds later, Amanda knocked then opened the door and peeked inside.

“Miss White, Mr. Beal left this engagement book. He’s instructed me to make sure you don’t miss any appointments, and he’s holding me personally responsible for your attendance at all of them. Shall I read them to you?”

Elizabeth heard the hope in her voice and relented in her impulse to say no. “Certainly.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” Amanda entered the room then opened the pocket-sized book and ran her finger along the page. “These are the October activities he’s marked as critical: breakfast with the Sisters of the Holy Cross on Tuesday the twelfth, then afternoon tea at the Creighton Hall mansion on the fourteenth. Mr. Beal said to remind you that an invitation from Mrs. Hall is a highly sought after prize and that he’s quite proud to have accepted the invitation on your behalf.”

Elizabeth’s eyebrows arched. “I’m sure he is. Why is Mrs. Hall so important?” She took up a brush and idly ran it through her hair as she paced about the room.

“She’s the leader of the very elite of Denver. She considers herself the absolute authority of fashion and good taste here. She has elaborate all-night parties, and she always has the most popular music. One doesn’t receive an invitation to the Creighton Hall mansion without an acceptable background. It takes more than money to get through her front doors.”

“Ah, yes, the upper echelon who only value family names from old money. I know their ilk. I was raised to become one. Mother belongs to a similar group that has traced their ancestry back to the Mayflower. They call themselves the Mavens of the Mayflower or some such silly name.” She brandished the hair brush in the air to accentuate the frivolity.

Amanda consulted the engagement book again to hide her giggle. “You have a formal dinner at the Tabor residence on the fifteenth and a dinner with a fund-raising ball the next evening here at the hotel. Another dinner at the Creighton Hall’s on the twenty-first, dinner downstairs in the restaurant on the twenty-second, and there are several lesser appearances interspersed.”

“When is Grayson going on his hunting trip?”

Amanda checked the calendar. “He’s leaving the morning of the twenty-third with a tentative return on the twenty-sixth.”

“Hmm. I was hoping he’d be gone longer.”

Amanda flipped the pages. “He does have a week-long hunting excursion marked in mid-November.”

“Well, hopefully my parents will arrive by then, and I’ll be well on my way back to Laredo soon afterwards. Are there any other critical appointments I should know about right now?”

“No. There aren’t many engagements down for November, so I suspect Mr. Beal will arrange many more. However, a tea at the Cooper mansion and a holiday campaign dinner and ball in early December at the Governor’s Mansion are all marked in red. Mr. Beal specifically instructed me to remind you that all the well-heeled families, and everyone he considers influential to his career, will be there. I’m to make sure you purchase the most expensive gown available for the occasion. From Paris or London, if possible.”

Elizabeth replaced the hair brush on the dressing table then went to her spacious closet and opened the doors. She rummaged through her wardrobe and commented sarcastically, “I wonder. Should I wear this black dress?” she pulled it out and looked it over, then replaced it beside a nearly identical one. “Or this one?” Still undecided, she held another dress in front of her and turned to Amanda with an impish grin playing on her lips. “Perhaps this one is the more flattering. What do you think? I just can’t make up my mind. They’re all so…black.”

Amanda giggled, sharing Elizabeth’s jab at Grayson, then she quickly sobered. “Please, Miss White, Mr. Beal was insistent about the gown.”

Elizabeth responded to the urgency in Amanda’s voice. “Now?”

She nodded. “He impressed upon me not to wait in case a dress has to be ordered. There’s a dressmaker not far from here who carries ready-mades and some European styles. I purchased one of your dresses there.” Her tone held hesitation.

“And?”

The girl shuffled her feet uncomfortably. “He specifically forbade me to let you buy a black dress.”

Elizabeth laughed delightedly. “Grayson knows better than to forbid me anything.” The color of the dress was immaterial given she’d be in Texas long before December arrived. “Very well, we’ll go shopping for the most expensive dress available, color notwithstanding. I think I want a blood red dress. Something brazen and completely scandalous. Since tomorrow is your day off, let’s not tarry so you’ll be able to leave early this afternoon and have some extra time to yourself. You certainly deserve it.”

* * * * *

The familiar knelling of Sunday church bells brought Elizabeth slowly from sleep, but with this new day came a sudden, stinging rush of guilty tears for having left Laredo without saying goodbye to Mingo where he lay buried at the little adobe church. Although she’d not sensed his ethereal presence for several days, her longing to be with him was particularly strong this morning.

Curling around her pillow, Elizabeth hugged it tightly to her chest, choking back the sobs that lurked right under the surface of her sorrow. She buried her face in the pillow and beat a clenched fist against the mattress, railing against the aching emptiness in her heart for fear she’d never stop crying if she succumbed to her soul-wrenching grief. Sitting up, she wiped a few errant tears from her cheeks then violently threw back the bedclothes as if to force away her heartache. The church bells reminded her that she hadn’t attended Mass since the week before her wedding, and the comforting sanctuary of the little church in Nuevo Laredo called to her.

After dressing, she pinned up her hair, slipped a floor-length woolen cape around her shoulders, and left the hotel. Once outside, she paused on the boardwalk. Not knowing where the churches were, she stood a while and listened to the call of the bells while breathing in the crisp, clear morning air until she identified the direction of the sound. She hadn’t walked far when she spied the tip of the solitary steeple over the entrance of the red bricked Sacred Heart Parish.

Taking the few steps up to the front door, she entered the church then looked around to orient herself and to let her eyes adjust from sunshine to muted lighting. As expected, the font was near at hand, and she dipped her fingers then crossed herself. She moved silently to a pew at the back, knelt for a moment and took her seat against the far wall. She’d missed early service, and the church was empty save for a handful of people, mostly women and children.

As she loosened her cape, Elizabeth swept her gaze over the open, cavernous interior. She knew enough about architecture to recognize the Gothic style of the large wood-framed windows of colored glass that let illuminating light fall upon the wooden altar. The shiny deep hues of polished wood stood out against the intricately and ornately gilded moldings. The furnishings appeared new, and the lofty, arched cathedral ceiling and white walls exhibited an elaborate magnificent. Shoes shuffling, clothes rustling, and hushed voices in prayer echoed against the glass, sending the sounds resonating to the back doors. When she glanced over the choir loft and the organ, the hint of sweet incense came to her and, coupled with the sight of burning candles, it reminded her of her beloved little adobe church, but the similarities ended there.

She pictured the mission church with its warm candlelight and rustic, practically primitive adornments, the blankets draped on the walls, the low ceiling with the rough cut wooden crossbeams, and the wrought iron that swallowed and muted sound. Glassless windows let in the light and the dry clean desert air. An atmosphere of practical functionality swathed the little church in peaceful harmony, and the meager decorations symbolized the ordinary lives of the parishioners. The church mirrored their simple lives, their honest worship, and their humility. There was an unpretentious intimacy inside those cool walls, and she’d felt welcomed, wanted, and that her life had had purpose.

Elizabeth breathed deeply to clear her mind and to accept the comfort of her surroundings. Closing her eyes, she bowed her head, and prayed for strength to face each coming day without Mingo.

Isabel!

Startled, she jerked her head up. Sitting very still and straight, she surreptitiously glanced around. There was no one nearby, and the people in front appeared undisturbed. Brushing a hand across her forehead, she dismissed it as being overwrought with sadness, and besides, no one in Denver knew her as Isabel. Reassured, she closed her eyes to resume praying.

Isabel! No! Isabel!

She reeled from the force and desperation in the words. Her heart pounded. Shivers coursed along her arms, down her back. There was no mistaking Mingo’s voice. Jumping up, she gripped the back of the pew in front of her as she scanned the church for a tangible sign of him, anything to give substance to the disembodied voice. In her mind, she called to him. Mingo, Mingo! Where are you? Come to me! From the depths of her soul, she poured out her love and longing to be with him. A breath of air stirred, and she felt him at her side, his fingers lightly brushing her cheek. She lifted her hand to grasp his ethereal caress, but with another breath of cool air, he was gone. All that remained was a melancholy weight hanging heavily upon her heart.

She sat down, her rosary clutched tightly in her fist, and her mind struggling to grasp what was happening. Why was he reaching to her outside of her dreams? What was he trying to tell her?

Then another thought filled her with cold, icy fear. She’d heard stories of women losing their minds after the death of loved ones. Was she one of them? Was she succumbing to the horrors of madness in her guilt for having left Mingo when she’d vowed she never would?

No! She shook her head to drive away the dark terror of guilt-ridden insanity. It was real. She had heard his voice, had felt his presence. But what did it mean? Was she selfishly clinging to his spirit, preventing him from passing on to his eternal rest and peace? Would absolution for abandoning him not be hers until she returned to his grave to say a proper farewell?

Tears threatened. She swallowed hard, blinking furiously to keep them at bay. The one-month anniversaries of the two most important days in her life would arrive in a few days—her wedding day and the day she’d been widowed. There was nothing for her here and nothing keeping her here, despite what Grayson thought. It was agonizingly obvious to her now that she should have never left Laredo. Her instinct had practically screamed at her to stay, and she’d ignored it. She made up her mind to leave at the end of the month with or without seeing her parents.

Shaken, Elizabeth left the church and took her time walking back to the Windsor. The prospect of facing the empty Sunday morning silence in the lobby was oppressive as her dread of returning to the stifling confines of her suite. The hotel clerk’s friendly greeting brightened her mood a little, but it was still with leaden steps that she made her way up the wide stairway. The sound of heavy, hurried footsteps growing closer prompted her to move closer to the handrail to allow the person to pass, but she didn’t turn to look behind.

“Elizabeth! Where have you been? I’ve been asking for you.” Grayson bounded up the stairs and grabbed her arm, spinning her around to face him. “Don’t walk away when I’m speaking to you. Where have you been?”

Several seconds passed before she recognized the suspicion in his eyes for what it was, and it gratified her that she’d made him nervous with her absence. “I hadn’t entertained the notion of simply stealing away, but now that I know the possibility worries you, it does have a certain appeal.” Shaking off his grip, she continued up the stairway. Glancing over her shoulder, she said, “However, since my plan is to make quite a newspaper and photographic fanfare when I leave, you’ll know the exact moment of my departure.”

Striding along with her, he demanded, “Explain.”

Elizabeth remained sanctimoniously mute.

When she reached her floor, Grayson stopped her. “I asked you a question. I expect an answer.”

She stepped around him, and walked on toward her room. When he didn’t follow, she knew he was silently fuming, but by the time she reached her door, he was beside her.

“Elizab—”

“Don’t you remember?” She cut him off curtly. “The children in Nuevo Laredo need me. I intend to devote the rest of my life to helping the less fortunate and, in doing so, I’ll make the sacrifice never to marry. After all, a greater cause beckons. I have never seriously entertained the idea of becoming a nun, but I find I’m attracted to the possibility now. It will make quite a human interest story, don’t you think? Your lies inspired me, by the way. Thank you for giving me the means to be free of you.” She inserted the room key into the lock and turned it, but he grabbed the door knob before she could open the door and escape inside her room.

“Goddamnit! You’ll do no such thing.”

He spun her around and pushed her against the closed door. She cringed at his repugnant proximity, and a nosy face peered at them from a few doors away then quickly disappeared at Grayson’s frosty glare.

Despite her revulsion, Elizabeth smirked. “You’re presenting an unfavorable impression of yourself again, Grayson. Cursing in public, and on the Sabbath.” Clicking her tongue, she scolded, “You really should show a bit more restraint.”

He leaned into her, demanding through gritted teeth, “Where were you?”

Her expression was hard; her voice impatient. “Let go of the door and step back, or I’ll not tell you.”

The vein in his temple pulsed and his eyes narrowed. He released the door handle, but didn’t move. “Well?”

“I went to church, which is where you should go more often. You profess piety, but you don’t practice it. Why is that, Grayson? Perhaps you should go to confession. Or is your conscience too guilty to ask for forgiveness in the true spirit of contrition?” The flash of surprise on his face intrigued her. “What was that in your eyes? Fear?”

He ran a finger around the inside of his collar. Hastily, he said, “Nothing. Nothing at all. Your parents expect me to watch over you, and I can’t do that if I don’t know where you are. Denver is not as civilized as Cleveland. You have no business walking the streets alone. It’s unseemly for a lady to go about unescorted, church attendance not excluded.”

He leaned into her. “You are mine, do you understand? Do not leave this hotel unattended or without making prior arrangements with me so I can send someone with you. And you will not go to Laredo or anywhere else unless I allow it, which is not going to happen. Ever.”

Elizabeth felt for the door handle and opened it. She took two steps backward and stopped just past the threshold, one hand gripping the edge of the door. “If my manners were as disgraceful as yours, I’d have three words for you.”

“Enlighten me anyway.”

“Go to hell.” She swung the door closed in his face and locked it.

* * * * *

Friday morning after another tedious dinner at the Hall mansion the night before, Elizabeth returned to her bedroom to dress after her bath. The scant breakfast she’d nibbled had settled heavily on her stomach, leaving her queasy and out-of-sorts. Situating her corset over a cotton chemise, she hooked the top, but as she fastened the next several hooks, she couldn’t arrange the corset in an acceptably tolerable position. Although never very comfortable, this morning it was unusually constraining. She thought it might be that she’d gotten out of the habit of wearing one while in Laredo and was simply not used to it.

As she passed the full-length mirror, her reflection caught her attention and she stopped. She smoothed her hands over her tender breasts and across her abdomen. Many seconds ticked off before her thoughts came together and realization slowly materialized.

I’m pregnant.

Memories of her wedding night drew her away, and she closed her eyes. In her mind, she recalled the smoldering, fiery passion in Mingo’s eyes, felt his gentle, arousing caresses on her body. He’d wanted to please her, and he had. Many times. She flushed at the memory of seeing his lean, naked body and his hard, masculine beauty for the first time. Breathing deeply, she summoned up the musky scent of his skin where she’d laid her head drowsily upon his chest.

Reality intruded upon her bittersweet visions, and she opened her eyes. A baby with Mingo. Pregnancy presented a new set of dilemmas she knew she was ill equipped to handle given her current circumstances. Her immediate feelings were a mixture of panic and joy, but the one thing of which she was sure was her family’s reaction. They would not accept this child. It would be an embarrassment to have a grandchild of mixed blood, and they would treat the child as such, just as they would her. Abhorrent as the thought was, even if she married Grayson today and passed the baby off as premature when it was born, she’d never be able to convince anyone that Grayson had fathered a child who would very likely have dark hair, indigo blue eyes, and olive-colored skin.

Obsessed as Grayson was with her, she feared he’d find some way to keep her with him, baby or not. But knowing the sort of man he was, she knew he’d make her pay for the rest of her life for bearing another man’s child. Now, even if she wanted to tell her family about Mingo, they’d never believe the child wasn’t illegitimate. She had no document to prove her marriage existed, just Father Bartolo’s handwritten notation in the church records, and that small bit of evidence was hundreds of miles away in a different country. Ironically, she recalled her father’s staunch advice about getting everything in writing. It was certainly too late for that.

Considering her options, she decided there was only one thing she could do. She’d go to Mexico and raise the baby with Mingo’s family. She was confident they would welcome her. If she could get to Lowell, Father Bartolo, or even Felipe and Sophia, she could send a message to Javier or Luis. They would help her travel the remainder of the way to their ranch since she didn’t know where it was. Her old life was gone as was the new life she’d wanted with Mingo—this she’d realized when she left Laredo. There was certainly nothing in Denver she’d regret leaving.

Her planning mind began working out the details. What she needed most was time, but time was something she couldn’t waste. She had to make her move soon or her advancing pregnancy would complicate traveling, or worse, prevent her from leaving altogether.

Money was not an issue, but escaping Grayson’s stifling domination then staying out of his reach until she was safely across the border into Mexico and within the protection of Mingo’s family was a daunting challenge that would take cunning and scheming to achieve. What was it Madeline had said? On the Mexico side of the Rio Grande, the States have no legal authority.

Maybe, just maybe, she could get away while Grayson was on his hunting trip in November.

Chapter Ten continues next time…

Read Chapter Ten of Sable Grey’s, Heart of the Storm at http://www.sablegrey.net

Until then,

Kaye

Chapter Eight

Elizabeth was numb. She refused breakfast, but Rosa insisted she take tea while waiting for Lowell to bring Grayson from the hotel. Rosa refilled her cup and left a plate with a hot buttered muffin. Elizabeth felt Rosa’s silent sympathy, but she lacked the energy to thank her. She couldn’t even smile.

From the overstuffed chair, Elizabeth gazed through the front room window toward the river, just as she’d done at her bedroom window for hours into the night until she could deny her heartache no longer, and she’d succumbed to the sobs she’d cried into her pillow until exhaustion claimed her, and she’d slept.

As she watched the surrey drawing nearer, it struck her that Lowell and Grayson’s arrival was a symbolic statement that the life she’d come to love here was over. No matter what lay in her future now, even when she returned, it would not be with the same lighthearted zeal for life that had filled her all the wonderful months she’d lived in Laredo. She was sure she’d never laugh again. The laughter in her heart had died with Mingo. With a sigh, she stood and rearranged her canvas satchel, situating it diagonally across the front of her black traveling attire with the long strap around her neck and over her shoulder. She took up her other small personal handbag and waited dutifully near her two larger pieces of luggage already by the door.

Grayson came into the house, his smile of greeting dissolving into disapproval the moment he saw her. “What is that hideous contraption hanging around your neck?”

A flippant retort came easily. “I’m rather fond of it. The sisters at the mission gave it to me for carrying my personal effects.”

Grayson grunted displeasure and fingered the veil folded back over the front of her hat. “Mourning attire is overdoing it a bit, don’t you think?”

“That you object makes it all the more appealing.” Elizabeth snatched up her cape and swept past him.

He grasped her arm. “This is it? Only two bags? Surely you have more. You left Cleveland with several traveling trunks.”

“I don’t need much.” She spoke flatly and pointedly removed his hand from her arm. “I’ll not be away for long.” She let the screen door bang in his face.

Rosa and Madeline followed her outside, and they hugged each other amid tears of goodbye and Elizabeth’s promise of return. “I’ll be back soon. This is just a brief holiday to visit my parents.”

Grayson took Elizabeth’s elbow to guide her to the surrey, but she brushed him off and went with Lowell who helped her to the front seat with him and deliberately delegating Grayson to the back seat with the luggage. Grayson leaned forward to speak at the same moment Elizabeth pulled the tie that unloosed the divider curtain between the seats and it dropped between them. As they drove to the river to take a shallow-draft barge upriver, Elizabeth looped her arm through Lowell’s and rested her head on his shoulder.

He patted her leg. “I promise…you won’t always be this sad. It will get easier with time. You won’t ever forget him, but eventually you’ll be able to think of him without feeling like your insides are all twisted up. Maggie and I had been married twenty years when she passed on two years ago, so I do know something of how you’re feeling.”

“Is there anything we can do for Felipe and Sophia?”

“I’ve already taken care of it. Just as soon as I can get over there, I’ll make sure they get a new house and anything else they might need.”

She nodded and squeezed his hand to say thank you.

When they reached the boarding dock, Grayson gave orders to a deck hand to take their bags ahead then spoke over his shoulder. “Hurry along, Elizabeth. I don’t want our departure delayed while waiting for you to say goodbye.”

Lowell just shook his head, and Elizabeth purposely didn’t respond. Arm-in-arm, she and Lowell followed Grayson at their leisure and when they reached the barge, Lowell looked at Elizabeth for several long seconds.

“I won’t say goodbye. You just take care of yourself and come back anytime, you hear? There’re a lot of folks here—especially children—who’ll sorely miss you.”

“I’ll miss them as well. And you.” She hugged him. “I won’t be away for long.”

Lowell cleared his throat. “If you need anything, don’t be too proud to ask. You know how to reach me.” His voice was deep with the emotion of parting.

Tears stowed away, she gazed across the river toward Nuevo Laredo and, for a moment, she thought she heard Mingo’s voice weakly calling her name at the same time sensing his presence beside her, but when she reached out to him, he was gone. My darling, darling, Mingo. I’ll only be gone a short while. When I return, I’ll never, ever again be far from you. Mingo’s earthly home was the mission’s cemetery now. When she returned, the mission would be her home as well and there she would remain until her dying day. Arranging the dark veil over her face, she walked onto the barge alone, her head up and shoulders set.

* * * * *

Elizabeth and Grayson steamed up the Rio Grande where and when it was navigable then took a grueling stagecoach ride where it wasn’t until reaching El Paso and the Camino Real. Continuing by stage, they finally boarded the train south of Albuquerque and stayed with it through Santa Fé, over the mountain pass between Raton and Trinidad and on to Colorado Springs until reaching their destination in Denver.

Throughout the trip, she ignored Grayson whenever possible, endured his presence when she couldn’t, and spoke to him only when absolutely necessary. Grayson promoted himself philanthropically along the way, taking advantage of opportunities to get his name and photograph in the local newspapers. Much to Grayson’s consternation, Elizabeth pointedly avoided public appearances and when she couldn’t avoid them, she kept her heavy mourning veil over her face to minimize recognition.

She didn’t smile and seldom ate. She wanted only to sleep because it was then that Mingo came into her dream world. In her dreams, he was alive. More and more, she dreaded waking and losing him, and she willed herself to stay in the refuge of her sleeping fantasies where Mingo cradled her in his arms as they dozed in the peaceful bliss following love-making. But there were times even in her waking hours when she felt him with her. Sometimes she extended her hand to grasp his from where he seemed to reach out from the Otherworld, beckoning her to join him.

It was as if Mingo’s death was drawing the very life from her body, and with her waning strength, she cared little if she lived or died. Relinquishing her tenuous hold on her earthly life lured her, but deliberately ending her life meant never being reunited with him in death. Believing she would eventually be with him throughout all eternity was all that kept her among the living.

By the time they arrived at Denver’s new Windsor Hotel, Elizabeth had withdrawn into herself, paying little attention to anything or anyone. She was physically and emotionally exhausted, as if in the clutches of a grave illness. Her cheeks were hollow, her color sallow, and her petite frame frail and gaunt. Grayson checked them into separate, but adjoining third floor suites and arranged for the services of a young woman on the hotel staff to attend her. Elizabeth was certain her personal comfort wasn’t the reason. He undoubtedly wanted someone to report her actions. She lacked the energy and interest to care, but the girl, Amanda, was congenial and helpful, and would serve nicely as a buffer to keep Grayson at a tolerable distance.

A telegram from her parents awaited them with apologies for their continued delay, which didn’t set well with Grayson. Disappointment hit her and, until that moment, she hadn’t realized—or at least hadn’t admitted to herself—that she’d been secretly looking forward to seeing them. She wiped away a tear of homesickness as it occurred to her that she wasn’t too old to need her mother, even a reserved, unemotional, and pragmatic one.

In the immediate days that followed, Elizabeth stayed in her suite with the draperies closed, sleeping, dreaming, and emotionally healing. She ate only because Amanda pleaded with her, and she took all her meals in her room alone. Under Amanda’s watchful care in conjunction with her own innate vigor, her strength quickly returned, but Grayson’s annoyance increased with her refusal to accompany him in public now that she wasn’t wasting away before his eyes.

Days later on a chilly windless morning, Elizabeth finally opened the draperies to watch the snow falling from where she sat at her breakfast table. She nibbled without appetite, but for the first time since leaving Laredo, she had an interest in something outside herself.

Amanda came into the room and waited politely beside the door. “Mr. Beal is here to see you, ma’am.”

With her back to the doorway, Elizabeth replied, “Tell him I don’t care to see him.”

“Tell me yourself.” Grayson strode up beside her, clicking his tongue in condescending reproach as he would to a misbehaving child. “Elizabeth, you continue to lock the door between our suites. Since you’ve not complied with my instructions, I’ve specifically ordered Amanda to leave it unlocked.”

Elizabeth sipped hot tea and without looking at him. “That is useless effort, Grayson, because I will continue to lock it.” She placed her teacup on the saucer and dabbed her mouth with a linen napkin.

“I’m paying for this room. I’ll have the door taken off the damned hinges if I have to. You’ll do as I say.”

“I doubt you’re paying for anything. I’m sure my father will take care of the hotel bill when he arrives, which, by the way, precipitates my return to Laredo after I’ve spent a few days with my parents.” She glanced at him with impassive boredom then looked out the window again.

He stepped in front of her and clutched the point of her shoulder, pushing her against the back of her chair. “Enough. I’ve left you alone so you could mourn your cowboy. Moping around won’t make him any less dead. It’s time to get on with your life and take your place by my side.”

“I will mourn Mingo for the rest of my life, and there is nothing you can do about that.” Elizabeth stood and moved away from him, but he pulled her to him in a tight embrace. Against his body, she was a tiny object, a China doll dwarfed by a hulking giant.

“It is imperative for us to be seen together socially, and in the company of the right people. Your father has made substantial monetary donations to several fund raising activities on my behalf this winter, and we must attend to show our interest and respect. Your arrival in town has been written about in the papers, yet no one has seen you and people are talking. Stories are spawning that I can’t quash.”

“I don’t care.” She pulled back, but he held her trapped in his bear-like hold.

In his fervor, he shook her to make his point. “This is completely unacceptable, and your mysterious seclusion is becoming a favorite topic of gossip, which is potentially damaging to my future. Yesterday’s paper carried an article about your absence at Mrs. Palmer’s afternoon tea. People are speculating about the reasons. They expect to see you with me and at functions on my behalf. You are embarrassing me. You do want to make it to the governor’s mansion someday, don’t you? Then to the White House?”

Her arms throbbed where he gripped them, but she refused to let him know. “People can expect to see me all they want. I have no obligation to you. I’ve explained repeatedly that I don’t care about your political career.”

He pinched her chin and kissed her roughly, but she just stood there, accepting his assault without emotion. Anger and impatience exploded at her apathy. “You will accompany me to a late reception in the second floor ballroom this afternoon and then to dinner in the restaurant. Both events are formal so adorn yourself accordingly. I’ll be back at four-thirty to check on you. I will dress you myself if I must.” He shoved her away and left the room.

When the door slammed, Amanda rushed to Elizabeth. “Please, ma’am, please. Let me help you dress. Mr. Beal frightens me when he shouts so. I know it’s not my place, but he’s not a nice man. Sometimes, the extra money he’s paying me above my salary doesn’t seem worth enduring his temper.” She took Elizabeth’s hands in hers, her eyes wide with worry and fear. “I’ve grown very fond of you, and I don’t want you to be hurt…although I think something happened that hurt you very badly before you came here. Please, just go with him. You should get out of this room anyway. It’s not healthy to stay here with the curtains closed and no fresh air. Please, ma’am.”

Elizabeth saw the genuine concern on the girl’s face and relented. Amanda was kind-hearted and considerate, and she certainly didn’t deserve to be caught between them. Elizabeth hated to admit that Grayson was right about anything, but wishing to be with Mingo wouldn’t bring him back. She knew she had to move on without him even though in her heart, he’d never be far away.

“All right. I suppose it won’t hurt me to go out, especially since I’ll be leaving soon. However, I haven’t an appropriate dress.” With more than a bit of private pleasure, she decided to make a memorable Denver high-society appearance and provide worthwhile gossip fodder for the society pages while adding to Grayson’s consternation.

She went to her bedroom and returned with her handbag. “I need you to purchase several ready-made black dresses.” She looked pointedly at Amanda. “Only black.”

“I understand. Just black.”

“Choose different styles for day and evening. Simple to elegant. Conservative to risqué. I have shoes and under clothing, but I need more stockings. Tell the merchants you’re shopping for me, and you’ll return the dresses that don’t fit or that I don’t want. Estimate the dress size by what is just a bit smaller than would fit you.” She gave the handbag to Amanda. “There’s plenty of money here if you need it, but I’d prefer the dresses be taken on credit. Just explain you’re shopping for me and the dresses are to be billed to the hotel and this room. Use Grayson’s name wherever you need to.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Amanda took her cloak from the coat tree beside the door and left the room.

Elizabeth smiled as she imagined Grayson’s disapproval when she joined him for dinner wearing black, and it made preparing for the evening’s activities much less distasteful.

* * * * *

Elizabeth was dressed and waiting when Grayson arrived. She met his frowning dissatisfaction with stoic silence and the hope of a challenge. She wasn’t disappointed.

“Must you persist with this mawkish charade?”

“Black is always appropriate evening attire. If my choice of clothing doesn’t suit you, you’re certainly at liberty to go without me.”

“Or you could change into something less maudlin.”

“If I have something more to your liking, by all means, I’ll wear it.” She gestured toward the other side of the room.

“Your dress is fine. Elegant and expensive. It accentuates your figure just enough without being garishly revealing. However, under the circumstances, it is the color I find distasteful.”

He crossed the room to her bedroom in a few long strides and went straight to the armoire. Elizabeth didn’t follow him. She heard the armoire doors open and shut.

A few seconds passed before Grayson spoke. “This is empty.”

The curt tone in his voice was satisfying to her.

“Yes. The closet was much roomier.”

She heard him take a few steps toward her closet then stop. Another several seconds went by before he reappeared at the door, his eyes narrowed and his jaw tensed.

“They’re all black, aren’t they?”

Elizabeth allowed herself a smug smile. Grayson ran a finger around the inside of his collar and took a deep breath. She’d learned long ago it was an unconscious habit when he needed a moment to gain control. Striding back to her, he grasped her arm and dragged her across the room.

“Enough. This is an important night for me. Do not muddy it with your silly games.” He yanked the door open and led her down the hallway to the elevator.

The reception and dinner were tedious and interminable, just as she’d anticipated, but her good breeding and years of practice in the art of social hypocrisy served her well as she managed to appear interested during the ensuing hours of polite small talk and aimless conversation. She wondered how she’d ever endured these inane activities with the shallow and superficial people who were impressed with Grayson’s political connections and pseudo charm. She no longer had anything in common with her former life, and she longed for her simple and unpretentious life in Laredo.

Grayson stood up and the change in his voice as he addressed the guests brought her out of her daydream. “Before the meal, I had introduced my special guest Doyle Randall. Now I would like to tell you why he’s here tonight.” He indicated the man across the table. “Doyle is a man of world renown, and he possesses great political acumen. He is the epitome of the maxim ‘the pen is mightier than the sword’.”

Grayson paused, and Elizabeth knew it was a ploy to build anticipation.

“I’m sure by now you’re all wondering why he’s here tonight.” Murmurs and nods went around the tables. When Grayson looked the group over, Elizabeth wondered if he was assessing his importance to them or their worth to him.

“I wanted all of you, my new Denver friends, to be here for the announcement that I have hired Doyle as my public relations manager in my election campaign to be the next governor of Ohio. Once that is achieved, the next campaign will take me to the presidency.”

Applause ensued and Grayson beamed. That he had hired Doyle initially surprised Elizabeth, but after a little more thought, she realized it shouldn’t have. It did, however, bring home to her just how powerful and influential Grayson had become in the months since she’d left Cleveland. She watched Doyle as he and Grayson accepted the well-wishes from the dinner guests. There was no doubt that together, the two men were a formidable partnership.

She’d read Doyle’s work, but hadn’t met him until tonight. He was a dapper, handsome man completely at ease in the limelight. There was a cunning and deeply intelligent gleam in his eyes as he watched everything around him. He didn’t miss a side-long glance or an off-hand comment. He knew people and how to manipulate them through the printed word. She recalled that he’d started out many years ago as a newspaperman, and he now had an internationally acclaimed political commentary in many newspapers as well as occasionally writing for The Atlantic Monthly. It was common knowledge that he’d orchestrated the successful publicity campaigns for at least two governors, three senators, and a president. Brandishing his two razor-edged literary weapons—the press and his pen—he’d also contributed to the downfall of twice that many politicians.

As she observed the reactions of the guests, it struck her that Grayson only thought he had influence. Doyle wielded the real power. She felt a little shiver as her father’s words came to her about never trusting a newspaperman. He’d often said they lived only for fame, and they’d do anything to gain it. Their modus operandi, he said, was manipulating words and twisting facts to achieve their self-serving end: immortality through print.

She watched Grayson and Doyle ingratiating their way into the Denver political lime-light, and it sickened her. Was she the only one who saw them for what they were? Why was everyone so blind to Grayson’s true character? She nearly dropped her water glass when the reality that, through her own acquiescence to him, she was slipping into old habits and shackling herself to Grayson. She could have refused to attend dinner tonight; he had no power over her. But by giving in, she’d lost a good deal of the control she’d worked so hard to gain. It had to be her grief that had softened her thinking. From now on, she would choose when and if she made appearances, not Grayson.

Ridding herself of Grayson suddenly became critically urgent. She hastily excused herself to the people seated nearby, but before she managed a step away from the table, Grayson grabbed her hand, halting her departure.

With a forced smile, he asked, “Darling, where are you going? Don’t you have a few words for our guests?”

Her gaze didn’t falter from his. “No, darling, I don’t. You’ve said more than anyone really wanted to hear, I’m sure.”

A woman nearby stifled a giggle and low mumbling began. Grayson’s eyes narrowed, but he quickly regained control of the situation and looked at the dinner guests. “You may have read in the papers that Elizabeth has been in Texas these past several months visiting a close family friend, and you may have asked yourselves why. Perhaps now is the appropriate time to let you know that her parents deemed it important for her to experience a less cultured and underprivileged side of life.”

She’d heard enough, but when she pulled away, he clamped his hand around her fingers until she thought they’d break. Knowing Doyle’s keen gaze watched her every move, she masked her discomfort. While embarrassing Grayson in public gave her great satisfaction, she wasn’t willing to fight her way out of his grip to make a spectacle of herself for Doyle’s written commentary benefit.

“Edward and Corliss wanted Elizabeth to give something back to those less fortunate. She’s been volunteering her time, her energy, and her compassion to help the poor peasants in a Mexican border town just across the Rio Grande from Laredo. It was in a quaint little adobe church that she spent countless, selfless hours in missionary work.”

Grayson put his arm around her shoulders and gazed into her eyes in a dramatic display of pride and affection. “We’re so very proud of her selfless, personal sacrifice for the benefit of others. When I arrived in Laredo, she wasn’t ready to leave. She argued that her work had just begun and to leave right then felt unfinished, but I convinced her to channel her humanitarian efforts toward the poor in Cleveland.”

Approving nods and murmurs stirred among the guests.

To pay homage to those less fortunate, Elizabeth has taken a vow of simplicity and mourning for a time, as you can see by her attire. You may also have noticed her fatigue. She worked herself nearly to exhaustion in her single-minded dedication to serve others.”

Elizabeth stared at him, speechless at his flagrant, yet artfully crafted fabrication. Mrs. Evans, sitting next to her, touched her arm.

“Oh, my dear, you have such a generous and compassionate heart. You must come to one of our luncheons soon and tell us all about your experiences in Texas and Mexico. However did you manage? I do so admire you, dear. Given your delicate and privileged upbringing, it must have been terrible for you at times.”

Elizabeth locked her gaze with Grayson’s. “Only the circumstances under which I left Laredo.” She saw a flicker of anger in his eyes and a smile touched the corners of her mouth that she’d gotten under his skin. They both knew he was powerless to reprimand her right then.

To Mrs. Evans, she replied sweetly, “I would be happy to share my experiences with you. It could prove quite,” she mulled over the perfect word as she looked back at Grayson, “enlightening.” Extricating herself from Grayson’s grasp, she addressed the guests. “You really must excuse me. Grayson is correct. I am in mourning, and I’ve also reached the end of my social endurance for this evening. I’m retiring to my room. Goodnight.”

“Elizabeth, dear, now isn’t the time to leave. You need to stay and visit with our guests.” Grayson attempted joviality to lighten the harsh finality of her words. “I’m sure they’d like to mingle so they can become better acquainted with you.”

Elizabeth held herself very still and defiantly regal. Peripherally, she was aware of Doyle’s curious, if not amused, scrutiny along with the complete attention she’d garnered from every person within hearing range.

“I’m sure your,” she paused and surveyed the group, “minions won’t mind if I retire for the evening. After all, I am still so exhausted from all my charitable work.” Gathering her skirt, she left the table without a backwards glance.

****

Chapter Nine to be continued

&

Chapter Eight

Elizabeth was numb. She refused breakfast, but Rosa insisted she take tea while waiting for Lowell to bring Grayson from the hotel. Rosa refilled her cup and left a plate with a hot buttered muffin. Elizabeth felt Rosa’s silent sympathy, but she lacked the energy to thank her. She couldn’t even smile.

From the overstuffed chair, Elizabeth gazed through the front room window toward the river, just as she’d done at her bedroom window for hours into the night until she could deny her heartache no longer, and she’d succumbed to the sobs she’d cried into her pillow until exhaustion claimed her, and she’d slept.

As she watched the surrey drawing nearer, it struck her that Lowell and Grayson’s arrival was a symbolic statement that the life she’d come to love here was over. No matter what lay in her future now, even when she returned, it would not be with the same lighthearted zeal for life that had filled her all the wonderful months she’d lived in Laredo. She was sure she’d never laugh again. The laughter in her heart had died with Mingo. With a sigh, she stood and rearranged her canvas satchel, situating it diagonally across the front of her black traveling attire with the long strap around her neck and over her shoulder. She took up her other small personal handbag and waited dutifully near her two larger pieces of luggage already by the door.

Grayson came into the house, his smile of greeting dissolving into disapproval the moment he saw her. “What is that hideous contraption hanging around your neck?”

A flippant retort came easily. “I’m rather fond of it. The sisters at the mission gave it to me for carrying my personal effects.”

Grayson grunted displeasure and fingered the veil folded back over the front of her hat. “Mourning attire is overdoing it a bit, don’t you think?”

“That you object makes it all the more appealing.” Elizabeth snatched up her cape and swept past him.

He grasped her arm. “This is it? Only two bags? Surely you have more. You left Cleveland with several traveling trunks.”

“I don’t need much.” She spoke flatly and pointedly removed his hand from her arm. “I’ll not be away for long.” She let the screen door bang in his face.

Rosa and Madeline followed her outside, and they hugged each other amid tears of goodbye and Elizabeth’s promise of return. “I’ll be back soon. This is just a brief holiday to visit my parents.”   Grayson took Elizabeth’s elbow to guide her to the surrey, but she brushed him off and went with Lowell who helped her to the front seat with him and deliberately delegating Grayson to the back seat with the luggage. Grayson leaned forward to speak at the same moment Elizabeth pulled the tie that unloosed the divider curtain between the seats and it dropped between them. As they drove to the river to take a shallow-draft barge upriver, Elizabeth looped her arm through Lowell’s and rested her head on his shoulder.

He patted her leg. “I promise…you won’t always be this sad. It will get easier with time. You won’t ever forget him, but eventually you’ll be able to think of him without feeling like your insides are all twisted up. Maggie and I had been married twenty years when she passed on two years ago, so I do know something of how you’re feeling.”

“Is there anything we can do for Felipe and Sophia?”

“I’ve already taken care of it. Just as soon as I can get over there, I’ll make sure they get a new house and anything else they might need.”

She nodded and squeezed his hand to say thank you.

When they reached the boarding dock, Grayson gave orders to a deck hand to take their bags ahead then spoke over his shoulder. “Hurry along, Elizabeth. I don’t want our departure delayed while waiting for you to say goodbye.”

Lowell just shook his head, and Elizabeth purposely didn’t respond. Arm-in-arm, she and Lowell followed Grayson at their leisure and when they reached the barge, Lowell looked at Elizabeth for several long seconds.

“I won’t say goodbye. You just take care of yourself and come back anytime, you hear? There’re a lot of folks here—especially children—who’ll sorely miss you.”

“I’ll miss them as well. And you.” She hugged him. “I won’t be away for long.”

Lowell cleared his throat. “If you need anything, don’t be too proud to ask. You know how to reach me.” His voice was deep with the emotion of parting.

Tears stowed away, she gazed across the river toward Nuevo Laredo and, for a moment, she thought she heard Mingo’s voice weakly calling her name at the same time sensing his presence beside her, but when she reached out to him, he was gone. My darling, darling, Mingo. I’ll only be gone a short while. When I return, I’ll never, ever again be far from you. Mingo’s earthly home was the mission’s cemetery now. When she returned, the mission would be her home as well and there she would remain until her dying day. Arranging the dark veil over her face, she walked onto the barge alone, her head up and shoulders set.

* * * * *

Elizabeth and Grayson steamed up the Rio Grande where and when it was navigable then took a grueling stagecoach ride where it wasn’t until reaching El Paso and the Camino Real. Continuing by stage, they finally boarded the train south of Albuquerque and stayed with it through Santa Fé, over the mountain pass between Raton and Trinidad and on to Colorado Springs until reaching their destination in Denver.

Throughout the trip, she ignored Grayson whenever possible, endured his presence when she couldn’t, and spoke to him only when absolutely necessary. Grayson promoted himself philanthropically along the way, taking advantage of opportunities to get his name and photograph in the local newspapers. Much to Grayson’s consternation, Elizabeth pointedly avoided public appearances and when she couldn’t avoid them, she kept her heavy mourning veil over her face to minimize recognition.

She didn’t smile and seldom ate. She wanted only to sleep because it was then that Mingo came into her dream world. In her dreams, he was alive. More and more, she dreaded waking and losing him, and she willed herself to stay in the refuge of her sleeping fantasies where Mingo cradled her in his arms as they dozed in the peaceful bliss following love-making. But there were times even in her waking hours when she felt him with her. Sometimes she extended her hand to grasp his from where he seemed to reach out from the Otherworld, beckoning her to join him.

It was as if Mingo’s death was drawing the very life from her body, and with her waning strength, she cared little if she lived or died. Relinquishing her tenuous hold on her earthly life lured her, but deliberately ending her life meant never being reunited with him in death. Believing she would eventually be with him throughout all eternity was all that kept her among the living. By the time they arrived at Denver’s new Windsor Hotel, Elizabeth had withdrawn into herself, paying little attention to anything or anyone. She was physically and emotionally exhausted, as if in the clutches of a grave illness. Her cheeks were hollow, her color sallow, and her petite frame frail and gaunt. Grayson checked them into separate, but adjoining third floor suites and arranged for the services of a young woman on the hotel staff to attend her. Elizabeth was certain her personal comfort wasn’t the reason. He undoubtedly wanted someone to report her actions. She lacked the energy and interest to care, but the girl, Amanda, was congenial and helpful, and would serve nicely as a buffer to keep Grayson at a tolerable distance.

A telegram from her parents awaited them with apologies for their continued delay, which didn’t set well with Grayson. Disappointment hit her and, until that moment, she hadn’t realized—or at least hadn’t admitted to herself—that she’d been secretly looking forward to seeing them. She wiped away a tear of homesickness as it occurred to her that she wasn’t too old to need her mother, even a reserved, unemotional, and pragmatic one.

In the immediate days that followed, Elizabeth stayed in her suite with the draperies closed, sleeping, dreaming, and emotionally healing. She ate only because Amanda pleaded with her, and she took all her meals in her room alone. Under Amanda’s watchful care in conjunction with her own innate vigor, her strength quickly returned, but Grayson’s annoyance increased with her refusal to accompany him in public now that she wasn’t wasting away before his eyes.

Days later on a chilly windless morning, Elizabeth finally opened the draperies to watch the snow falling from where she sat at her breakfast table. She nibbled without appetite, but for the first time since leaving Laredo, she had an interest in something outside herself.

Amanda came into the room and waited politely beside the door. “Mr. Beal is here to see you, ma’am.”

With her back to the doorway, Elizabeth replied, “Tell him I don’t care to see him.”

“Tell me yourself.” Grayson strode up beside her, clicking his tongue in condescending reproach as he would to a misbehaving child. “Elizabeth, you continue to lock the door between our suites. Since you’ve not complied with my instructions, I’ve specifically ordered Amanda to leave it unlocked.”

Elizabeth sipped hot tea and without looking at him. “That is useless effort, Grayson, because I will continue to lock it.” She placed her teacup on the saucer and dabbed her mouth with a linen napkin.

“I’m paying for this room. I’ll have the door taken off the damned hinges if I have to. You’ll do as I say.”

“I doubt you’re paying for anything. I’m sure my father will take care of the hotel bill when he arrives, which, by the way, precipitates my return to Laredo after I’ve spent a few days with my parents.” She glanced at him with impassive boredom then looked out the window again.

He stepped in front of her and clutched the point of her shoulder, pushing her against the back of her chair. “Enough. I’ve left you alone so you could mourn your cowboy. Moping around won’t make him any less dead. It’s time to get on with your life and take your place by my side.”

“I will mourn Mingo for the rest of my life, and there is nothing you can do about that.” Elizabeth stood and moved away from him, but he pulled her to him in a tight embrace. Against his body, she was a tiny object, a China doll dwarfed by a hulking giant.

“It is imperative for us to be seen together socially, and in the company of the right people. Your father has made substantial monetary donations to several fund raising activities on my behalf this winter, and we must attend to show our interest and respect. Your arrival in town has been written about in the papers, yet no one has seen you and people are talking. Stories are spawning that I can’t quash.”

“I don’t care.” She pulled back, but he held her trapped in his bear-like hold.

In his fervor, he shook her to make his point. “This is completely unacceptable, and your mysterious seclusion is becoming a favorite topic of gossip, which is potentially damaging to my future. Yesterday’s paper carried an article about your absence at Mrs. Palmer’s afternoon tea. People are speculating about the reasons. They expect to see you with me and at functions on my behalf. You are embarrassing me. You do want to make it to the governor’s mansion someday, don’t you? Then to the White House?”

Her arms throbbed where he gripped them, but she refused to let him know. “People can expect to see me all they want. I have no obligation to you. I’ve explained repeatedly that I don’t care about your political career.”

He pinched her chin and kissed her roughly, but she just stood there, accepting his assault without emotion. Anger and impatience exploded at her apathy. “You will accompany me to a late reception in the second floor ballroom this afternoon and then to dinner in the restaurant. Both events are formal so adorn yourself accordingly. I’ll be back at four-thirty to check on you. I will dress you myself if I must.” He shoved her away and left the room.

When the door slammed, Amanda rushed to Elizabeth. “Please, ma’am, please. Let me help you dress. Mr. Beal frightens me when he shouts so. I know it’s not my place, but he’s not a nice man. Sometimes, the extra money he’s paying me above my salary doesn’t seem worth enduring his temper.” She took Elizabeth’s hands in hers, her eyes wide with worry and fear. “I’ve grown very fond of you, and I don’t want you to be hurt…although I think something happened that hurt you very badly before you came here. Please, just go with him. You should get out of this room anyway. It’s not healthy to stay here with the curtains closed and no fresh air. Please, ma’am.”

Elizabeth saw the genuine concern on the girl’s face and relented. Amanda was kind-hearted and considerate, and she certainly didn’t deserve to be caught between them. Elizabeth hated to admit that Grayson was right about anything, but wishing to be with Mingo wouldn’t bring him back. She knew she had to move on without him even though in her heart, he’d never be far away.

“All right. I suppose it won’t hurt me to go out, especially since I’ll be leaving soon. However, I haven’t an appropriate dress.” With more than a bit of private pleasure, she decided to make a memorable Denver high-society appearance and provide worthwhile gossip fodder for the society pages while adding to Grayson’s consternation.   She went to her bedroom and returned with her handbag. “I need you to purchase several ready-made black dresses.” She looked pointedly at Amanda. “Only black.”

“I understand. Just black.”

“Choose different styles for day and evening. Simple to elegant. Conservative to risqué. I have shoes and under clothing, but I need more stockings. Tell the merchants you’re shopping for me, and you’ll return the dresses that don’t fit or that I don’t want. Estimate the dress size by what is just a bit smaller than would fit you.” She gave the handbag to Amanda. “There’s plenty of money here if you need it, but I’d prefer the dresses be taken on credit. Just explain you’re shopping for me and the dresses are to be billed to the hotel and this room. Use Grayson’s name wherever you need to.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Amanda took her cloak from the coat tree beside the door and left the room.

Elizabeth smiled as she imagined Grayson’s disapproval when she joined him for dinner wearing black, and it made preparing for the evening’s activities much less distasteful.

* * * * *

Elizabeth was dressed and waiting when Grayson arrived. She met his frowning dissatisfaction with stoic silence and the hope of a challenge. She wasn’t disappointed.

“Must you persist with this mawkish charade?”

“Black is always appropriate evening attire. If my choice of clothing doesn’t suit you, you’re certainly at liberty to go without me.”

“Or you could change into something less maudlin.”

“If I have something more to your liking, by all means, I’ll wear it.” She gestured toward the other side of the room.

“Your dress is fine. Elegant and expensive. It accentuates your figure just enough without being garishly revealing. However, under the circumstances, it is the color I find distasteful.”

He crossed the room to her bedroom in a few long strides and went straight to the armoire. Elizabeth didn’t follow him. She heard the armoire doors open and shut.

A few seconds passed before Grayson spoke. “This is empty.”

The curt tone in his voice was satisfying to her.

“Yes. The closet was much roomier.”

She heard him take a few steps toward her closet then stop. Another several seconds went by before he reappeared at the door, his eyes narrowed and his jaw tensed.

“They’re all black, aren’t they?”

Elizabeth allowed herself a smug smile. Grayson ran a finger around the inside of his collar and took a deep breath. She’d learned long ago it was an unconscious habit when he needed a moment to gain control. Striding back to her, he grasped her arm and dragged her across the room.

“Enough. This is an important night for me. Do not muddy it with your silly games.” He yanked the door open and led her down the hallway to the elevator.

The reception and dinner were tedious and interminable, just as she’d anticipated, but her good breeding and years of practice in the art of social hypocrisy served her well as she managed to appear interested during the ensuing hours of polite small talk and aimless conversation. She wondered how she’d ever endured these inane activities with the shallow and superficial people who were impressed with Grayson’s political connections and pseudo charm. She no longer had anything in common with her former life, and she longed for her simple and unpretentious life in Laredo.

Grayson stood up and the change in his voice as he addressed the guests brought her out of her daydream. “Before the meal, I had introduced my special guest Doyle Randall. Now I would like to tell you why he’s here tonight.” He indicated the man across the table. “Doyle is a man of world renown, and he possesses great political acumen. He is the epitome of the maxim ‘the pen is mightier than the sword’.”

Grayson paused, and Elizabeth knew it was a ploy to build anticipation.

“I’m sure by now you’re all wondering why he’s here tonight.” Murmurs and nods went around the tables. When Grayson looked the group over, Elizabeth wondered if he was assessing his importance to them or their worth to him.

“I wanted all of you, my new Denver friends, to be here for the announcement that I have hired Doyle as my public relations manager in my election campaign to be the next governor of Ohio. Once that is achieved, the next campaign will take me to the presidency.”

Applause ensued and Grayson beamed. That he had hired Doyle initially surprised Elizabeth, but after a little more thought, she realized it shouldn’t have. It did, however, bring home to her just how powerful and influential Grayson had become in the months since she’d left Cleveland. She watched Doyle as he and Grayson accepted the well-wishes from the dinner guests. There was no doubt that together, the two men were a formidable partnership.

She’d read Doyle’s work, but hadn’t met him until tonight. He was a dapper, handsome man completely at ease in the limelight. There was a cunning and deeply intelligent gleam in his eyes as he watched everything around him. He didn’t miss a side-long glance or an off-hand comment. He knew people and how to manipulate them through the printed word. She recalled that he’d started out many years ago as a newspaperman, and he now had an internationally acclaimed political commentary in many newspapers as well as occasionally writing for The Atlantic Monthly. It was common knowledge that he’d orchestrated the successful publicity campaigns for at least two governors, three senators, and a president. Brandishing his two razor-edged literary weapons—the press and his pen—he’d also contributed to the downfall of twice that many politicians.

As she observed the reactions of the guests, it struck her that Grayson only thought he had influence. Doyle wielded the real power. She felt a little shiver as her father’s words came to her about never trusting a newspaperman. He’d often said they lived only for fame, and they’d do anything to gain it. Their modus operandi, he said, was manipulating words and twisting facts to achieve their self-serving end: immortality through print.

She watched Grayson and Doyle ingratiating their way into the Denver political lime-light, and it sickened her. Was she the only one who saw them for what they were? Why was everyone so blind to Grayson’s true character? She nearly dropped her water glass when the reality that, through her own acquiescence to him, she was slipping into old habits and shackling herself to Grayson. She could have refused to attend dinner tonight; he had no power over her. But by giving in, she’d lost a good deal of the control she’d worked so hard to gain. It had to be her grief that had softened her thinking. From now on, she would choose when and if she made appearances, not Grayson.

Ridding herself of Grayson suddenly became critically urgent. She hastily excused herself to the people seated nearby, but before she managed a step away from the table, Grayson grabbed her hand, halting her departure.

With a forced smile, he asked, “Darling, where are you going? Don’t you have a few words for our guests?”

Her gaze didn’t falter from his. “No, darling, I don’t. You’ve said more than anyone really wanted to hear, I’m sure.”

A woman nearby stifled a giggle and low mumbling began. Grayson’s eyes narrowed, but he quickly regained control of the situation and looked at the dinner guests. “You may have read in the papers that Elizabeth has been in Texas these past several months visiting a close family friend, and you may have asked yourselves why. Perhaps now is the appropriate time to let you know that her parents deemed it important for her to experience a less cultured and underprivileged side of life.”

She’d heard enough, but when she pulled away, he clamped his hand around her fingers until she thought they’d break. Knowing Doyle’s keen gaze watched her every move, she masked her discomfort. While embarrassing Grayson in public gave her great satisfaction, she wasn’t willing to fight her way out of his grip to make a spectacle of herself for Doyle’s written commentary benefit.

“Edward and Corliss wanted Elizabeth to give something back to those less fortunate. She’s been volunteering her time, her energy, and her compassion to help the poor peasants in a Mexican border town just across the Rio Grande from Laredo. It was in a quaint little adobe church that she spent countless, selfless hours in missionary work.”

Grayson put his arm around her shoulders and gazed into her eyes in a dramatic display of pride and affection. “We’re so very proud of her selfless, personal sacrifice for the benefit of others. When I arrived in Laredo, she wasn’t ready to leave. She argued that her work had just begun and to leave right then felt unfinished, but I convinced her to channel her humanitarian efforts toward the poor in Cleveland.”

Approving nods and murmurs stirred among the guests.

“To pay homage to those less fortunate, Elizabeth has taken a vow of simplicity and mourning for a time, as you can see by her attire. You may also have noticed her fatigue. She worked herself nearly to exhaustion in her single-minded dedication to serve others.”

Elizabeth stared at him, speechless at his flagrant, yet artfully crafted fabrication. Mrs. Evans, sitting next to her, touched her arm.

“Oh, my dear, you have such a generous and compassionate heart. You must come to one of our luncheons soon and tell us all about your experiences in Texas and Mexico. However did you manage? I do so admire you, dear. Given your delicate and privileged upbringing, it must have been terrible for you at times.”

Elizabeth locked her gaze with Grayson’s. “Only the circumstances under which I left Laredo.” She saw a flicker of anger in his eyes and a smile touched the corners of her mouth that she’d gotten under his skin. They both knew he was powerless to reprimand her right then.

To Mrs. Evans, she replied sweetly, “I would be happy to share my experiences with you. It could prove quite,” she mulled over the perfect word as she looked back at Grayson, “enlightening.” Extricating herself from Grayson’s grasp, she addressed the guests. “You really must excuse me. Grayson is correct. I am in mourning, and I’ve also reached the end of my social endurance for this evening. I’m retiring to my room. Goodnight.”

“Elizabeth, dear, now isn’t the time to leave. You need to stay and visit with our guests.” Grayson attempted joviality to lighten the harsh finality of her words. “I’m sure they’d like to mingle so they can become better acquainted with you.”

Elizabeth held herself very still and defiantly regal. Peripherally, she was aware of Doyle’s curious, if not amused, scrutiny along with the complete attention she’d garnered from every person within hearing range.

“I’m sure your,” she paused and surveyed the group, “minions won’t mind if I retire for the evening. After all, I am still so exhausted from all my charitable work.” Gathering her skirt, she left the table without a backwards glance.

***

Chapter Nine…to be continued

***

Don’t miss Chapter Eight of “Heart of the Storm” by Sable Grey – http://www.sablegrey.net

Until next time,

Kaye

Chapter Seven

Daylight met the rainy desert, and Mingo squatted beside the bed, waving a cup of freshly brewed coffee under Elizabeth’s nose. She blinked sleepy eyelids, mumbling, “It must be morning.”

“It is.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “How is my beautiful bride this fine day?”

She barely opened her eyes as she shifted position. “I seem to have tender places I’ve never experienced before.”

“We will take care of that with more practice.”

“That is a monumental contradiction.” She sat up and leaned back against the pillows as she took the cup. “Besides, breakfast would be nice before we practice again. I’m hungry.”

Mingo picked up a light dressing gown from a hook near her folded clothes. “The sisters are thoughtful women. They not only brought your clothing here, I found a basket of food inside the front door that we must have overlooked when we arrived last night.” He gave her a quick kiss. “I must tend our horses.”

When he returned, the breakfast aromas made his stomach growl. He poured a cup of coffee, sat at the small table, and watched her. Other than his mother and sister, no woman had ever cooked just for him and of the women he’d known intimately, cooking wasn’t their principal talent. He liked that this was another new memory just for the two of them.

Elizabeth turned and handed him a plate. “Why are you looking at me that way?”

“I was thinking about what we should do on this rainy day.”

“What are our choices?”

“It is Sunday. We could go to church.”

She nodded in hesitant agreement. “Yes, but given our newlywed status, I doubt Father Bartolo would think less of us if we didn’t.”

Mingo shrugged, feigning non-commitment. “Then we could take a long cold, rainy ride to Felipe’s home where we can sit around talking all day and drinking wine.”

“I’m sure we’d be welcome.” Her frown clearly indicated it was a dubious suggestion. “Are there other options?”

A slow, seductive grin came over his face. “We can go back to the bedroom where it is warm and private, and I can remove all of your clothes and cover you with kisses until you beg me to stop.” That she would still blush after their indulgent night of love-making made her all the more alluring to him.

“I like that idea much better.”

Her eyes glowed with a lusty invitation, and it charmed him, but guilt troubled his conscience. He knew he should tell her that with the dawning of another day they must part for many weeks while he took the herd south, but to speak of it now would taint the hours they had left together and he couldn’t find the words. Setting the torment of their pending separation aside, he devoted himself to possessing her in body and spirit so that while they were apart, their souls would be firmly entwined and forever sworn.

* * * * *

Two hours after sunrise, dreary gray clouds hung low in the sky as they stood together on the riverbank. Mingo held Elizabeth in his arms, marveling over how empty his life had been without her, and how lonely the coming weeks would be away from her now that she’d found her way into his heart.

He wiped the goodbye tear trickling down her cheek. “I will return to you very soon.”

“I want to go with you.”

“Sí, it is what I want as well, but I need you to stay. There are no accommodations on the trail for a lady. The way is too harsh.”

“I’m not helpless or frail,” Elizabeth protested.

“I know you would endure the ride without complaint, but it will be better to wait and make the trip at our leisure with as much comfort as possible.”

“I won’t slow you down, if that’s what you’re politely trying to say. I may have grown-up pampered and spoiled, but I’m not like that now.”

With a deep sigh, he took her hands. “I am as happy and as sad as I have ever been in my life. Parting from you cuts my heart in two. It is unbearable to leave you, but already I am planning our reunion. Just knowing that I have a beautiful and loving wife waiting here fills me with a happiness I cannot describe. It makes my sorrow melt away.”

She lowered her head and a tear dripped onto his hand.

“No hay mal que por bien no venga.”

Mingo lifted her chin to see a frowning question on her face. “It is a refrane, a proverb that means ‘there is no bad that comes without a good’.” He hoped it would lessen the misery of saying goodbye.

He pulled her closer to stress the importance of his words. “Isabel, my immediate responsibility is to my family and our cattle. We will travel as quickly as possible, but it will still take time. Once at home, I can think of myself and what I want, which is to prepare for you, but I need you to wait for me here. I will not have time for you on the trail.” He didn’t like the harsh bite of his words, but he didn’t know how to soften them and still have her understand.

There was a long silence between them, and Mingo saw the gradual resignation and acceptance in her face.

“How long before you return?”

He kissed her and held her tightly, burying his face in her hair and inhaling deeply. “Six, perhaps eight weeks—no more—but I promise to have you in your new home by Christmas. I will send a message to you when I am on my way back.”

He knew her nod didn’t mean agreement.

“It is time, Isabel. I must go.”

She reached into her hair, untied a long, blue satin ribbon, and draped it around his neck, pulling him to her with the ends.

He met her lips with a kiss and whispered words of love. “Tienes mi corazón.”

Mingo helped her mount and she gathered the reins, but the longing in her eyes left him weak. He watched her safely across the river then she turned and blew him a kiss. Toying with the ribbon around his neck as she rode out of view, the tight knot in his throat became a hollow emptiness in his stomach. He’d borne heartache in his life, but it was nothing compared to the desperate aloneness eating away at him already. By his choice, he was riding away from the one woman he had ever loved, and his decision to have her wait for his return was even harder now that she was his wife.

Hunching his shoulders under the protection of his serape, he tugged his poblano down against a gust of wind that spawned renewed drizzle then reined the palomino toward the Santino’s house, not trusting himself to look back without giving in to his heart’s desire to cross the river and take her with him.

* * * * *

By the time Elizabeth reached the house, she was grudgingly reconciled to her temporary separation from Mingo, but disappointed that Madeline and Lowell hadn’t returned from the ranch so she could share the news of her marriage. She drew a bath and soaked in the hot water until her immediate distress of parting from her new husband began to ease.

Rosa was at the marketplace and Elizabeth wandered aimlessly around the big house until finally curling up in an over-sized, stuffed chair by a corner window in the front room. With a cup of hot tea and The Count of Monte Cristo in hand, she snuggled comfortably under a quilt and tried to get her mind interested in something other than Mingo’s absence. Early in the afternoon, the wind and rain picked up, and she thought she heard a long rumble of what she thought was thunder in the distance then drowsiness settled over her. An indistinct, dream-like perception of someone calling her name stirred her, but her eyes closed, and she dozed.

The screen door slammed, and Elizabeth jerked awake, immediately noticing she’d slept most of the afternoon.

“Elizabeth! Are you here?”

The urgency in Madeline’s voice brought Elizabeth to her feet, and the quilt and book tumbled to the floor. “Madeline, what’s wrong?”

Excited and out-of-breath, the girl explained, “There’s a riot across the river. Bandits attacked Nuevo Laredo, and Mingo’s herd was stampeded. The Santino’s house burned, and one of their children was killed. The youngest one. A girl, I think.”

“Camila?” Horrified, Elizabeth’s hand flew to her chest.

Madeline nodded. “Yes, I think that’s the name Dad said.” She grasped Elizabeth’s hands, her eyes wide and frightened. “Oh, Elizabeth… I’m so sorry… We heard that Mingo was shot. Dad’s trying to find out more. I promised to stay with you until he knows if it’s true or not. He’ll come home just as soon as he has news.”

Elizabeth stared at Madeline, her mind refusing to accept the words. No. Please God, no. I was just with him.

Agonizing minutes became an hour as they waited by a front room window, peering at the street until Lowell arrived in the buckboard with Grayson beside him. The fleeting annoyance that Grayson was still in town and had attached himself to Lowell evaporated as Elizabeth met the men at the door. Apprehensive, and unconsciously holding her breath, she braced for the words she desperately didn’t want to hear, but the moment she saw Lowell’s grave expression, she knew her worst fear lay before her. Still, her heart refused to acknowledge what her intuition had confirmed in a glance. When he grasped her shoulders, a chill rushed through her body.

“Mingo’s dead, Lizzie.”

As if a floodgate had burst open, she felt her own life draining from her, and she crumpled in a heap. Lowell caught her as she fell, and kept her on her feet as Madeline helped guide her to the sofa where she sat at Elizabeth’s side with a comforting arm around her waist to steady her.

“How—how do you know?” Elizabeth’s voice faltered and she swallowed hard against the choking anguish rising in her chest. “Did you see his bod—him?”

“No.” Lowell knelt in front of her, shaking his head. “The border’s shut down. No one can cross. What I do know is there’s an uprising in Nuevo Laredo. There’ve been more killings in retaliation since it happened.”

“I didn’t hear shooting, and I’ve been here since early today.”

“The wind’s been out of the north all day. It would have taken the sound away from the river. And what with the rain and thunder, you wouldn’t have heard it from here anyway.”

She continued bargaining. “But if you didn’t see him, how do you know he’s dead?”

Lowell took a deep breath and blew out a sad sigh. “Apparently, bandits stampeded Mingo’s herd right through the Santino’s yard as they started on the trail around noon. Cattle were scattered over hell and half of Georgia. When they burned the Santino’s house, one of their little girls ran out and was shot in the melee. Mingo and Javier went after the men who killed her and caught them in town by the church. Killed them all right, but Mingo was gunned down in some cross fire. I talked to the sheriff and rangers who arrived shortly after it happened.”

Stricken and gravely wounded herself, she pleaded, “Please, I want to see him. I have to see him.”

“He’s gone, honey. He’s gone.” Lowell took her hands and lowered his voice. “Remember him alive, not dead. I’m told Javier, Father Bartolo, and the sisters were with him when he died. They’ll take care of him. They’ll give him a proper burial. You’ll be able to visit him in the church yard.”

Still negotiating, she argued, “No, I have to see for myself. They all know me over there. I’ll be all right at the church. I’ll stay inside. I have to go to him. I have to.”

He shook his head and spoke gently, but firmly. “Lizzie, you can’t. It’s not safe, and it may not be safe for weeks. They’re arresting anyone crossing the river either way for their own protection, and the locals aren’t discriminating between strangers and friends right now. There’s talk that it was a group of Anglos who attacked the Santino place. Others say it was border bandits. We just don’t know yet. What I do know is that it’s too dangerous for you to go there.”

Her eyes brimmed with anguish. “But at the church…Father Bartolo— We were marr…” her voice caught. She tried to talk, but her throat constricted, and she fought to breathe. The room tilted in her vision, and she teetered forward.

Lowell caught her again. “Beal, get her some water. I’m taking her outside for some fresh air.” He helped her to the porch swing on the veranda and pulled up a chair with Madeline close at her side. Elizabeth accepted the water Grayson offered, took a sip, and stared numbly across the yard, her mind still refusing to accept the reality of Mingo’s death. No one spoke for many minutes, and she closed her eyes to block out everything around her except the light breeze and cool mist on her face until her vertigo passed.

Grayson finally broke the prolonged silence. “Elizabeth, I’m taking you away from this godforsaken hellhole. You deserve better than this squalor, and you certainly hail from a better class of people. Staying here is as disgraceful to your station as it is an embarrassment to your family.”

Lowell cut a glancing frown at him. “Beal, this isn’t the time to badger her or complain about Texas.”

Grayson ignored him. “If you hadn’t disappeared the other night in a temper fit, you’d have spared yourself this unnecessary grief. You’re entirely too old to continue running away when you don’t get your way.”

Grayson dropped his hand to clasp her shoulder, and she shrank from his touch. Jumping up, she whirled to face him, contemptuous disdain rising inside her. “How quickly you’ve forgotten that you are responsible for my presence here. Blame yourself. Not me. Nothing has changed since our last conversation. I’m not leaving. This is my home, with or without Mingo. I’m staying.”

“Elizabeth, it’s time for you to return to your real home. You can’t just turn your back on everything your parents have given to you. Everything they’ve done, everything I’ve done—”

“Yes, I can,” she lashed out. “I’m finished with all of that. I won’t speak of this again.” Turning abruptly, she left the veranda and went to her room. Once inside, she opened her window and stared toward the river, imagining that she could see the church in Nuevo Laredo through the streets of houses blocking the way.

Mingo. My wild vaquero. You can’t be gone. She couldn’t believe she’d never see his blue-violet eyes again or feel his warm breath on her lips. Four nights. That’s all we had, only four nights. Silent, insistent tears streamed down her cheeks and although the evening’s darkness eventually shrouded her view, she remained at the window, mentally sending her grieving thoughts across the Rio Grande as the night moved on.

When she didn’t respond to the soft knock on the door, Lowell stepped inside and greeted her, but she didn’t move. He walked across the floor and lit the oil lamp on the table beside her. When the room brightened, he touched her arm.

“You’ve been in here a long time. We’ll bring you something to eat.”

She only shook her head.

“Lizzie, I’ve been mulling this over. Maybe you should leave here for a while. Denver isn’t Cleveland, and it’s only for the winter. Consider it a holiday. Visit your parents and either make amends with them or don’t. Marry Beal or don’t, but before you decide Laredo is where you want to live, try your old life again. Let your heart heal where you can mourn Mingo from a distance. You know you’ll always be welcome here.”

“I can’t bear leaving without Mingo, and the thought of going anywhere with Grayson sickens me.” She continued to stare out the window.

“Don’t think of it as being with Beal. Think of it as getting even with him for sending you here in the first place. He just traveled more than fifteen hundred miles, and now he’s got another thousand or so more to Denver. He’s a city dude. He’s not as tough as you are. Hell, just imagine how miserable he’ll be on the trip to Denver.”

She did manage a little smile at the thought of Grayson being further inconvenienced.

“There, that’s better. How about it?”

“I just want Mingo back.” Droplets of heartache balanced on her eyelashes, but she couldn’t look at him for fear if she saw the sorrow in his eyes, she’d never stop crying.

“I know, honey. I know. I would do anything I could to make that wish come true, but I can’t. You didn’t know it, but your father sent money for you to live on. He didn’t want you to do completely without nice things here. I know you’ve been upset with your folks, but they love you, even if they don’t always show it the way you need them to.”

She nodded with a polite, but half-hearted smile, and not really surprised at her father. He always had been the one to indulge her.

“Since you were making money on your own, and it didn’t cost you to live here, I saved the money they sent. I figured you were too angry with your folks at the time to accept it anyway. I’ll give it to you now so you’ll have it in case things don’t go well in Denver. A woman shouldn’t be without enough money to make do for herself. I’d give you all the money you need, but I know your pride wouldn’t let you take any from me.”

It was several moments before she drew in a deep and shaky resigned breath. “All right, I’ll go because you think I should, but only as far as Denver to see my parents. I have missed them, but I can’t think any farther than that.” She took another fortifying breath. “But I won’t have anything to do with Grayson other than allowing him to escort me.”

“Mingo was a good man. They don’t make them any better.” Lowell turned her to face him, holding her arms in a firm, but kind grip. “Someday when you’re ready to hear what I have to say, I’ll tell you some things about him. Some brave and honorable things not many people know. For your sake, I wish I could change what happened. I’m truly sorry.” He wrapped her in his fatherly embrace, and she clung to him, her shoulders shaking in silent sobs.

Kissing her forehead, he said, “I’ll ask Rosa to bring some food then you need to sleep. I know you don’t want to see Beal, so I’ll be more than happy to send him back to the hotel and out of our way. I’ll also let him know you’ve agreed to go with him, but I’ll make it clear it’s only to see your parents.”

She wanted so badly to tell Lowell she’d been Mingo’s bride, even if only for little more than a day, but the words wouldn’t come. She was a widow now, and it didn’t seem to matter that Lowell should know. It only mattered that her heart was torn into such tiny pieces that she was sure it could never mend.

All she could manage was a whispered, “Thank you.”

Chapter Eight continues next week

Read Chapter Eight of “Heart of the Storm” by Sable Grey: http://www.sablegrey.net

Until next week,

Kaye

Chapter Six

Mingo leaned against the doorframe clad only in his trousers, his hair still damp from washing-up. He watched Isabel move about the bedroom as she pulled the covers back on the bed, fluffed the already fluffy pillows with what he suspected was nervousness at being alone with him like this, and then arranged a few personal items from her satchel on the bureau top. Hair brush and comb. Mirror. Scarf for her hair. Bar of soap and hand cloth. Small bottle of perfume which she removed from a decorative and expensive-looking hinged box and dabbed a drop behind her ears. The sweet gardenia scent wafted across the room, bringing a hint of springtime to the rainy night. He’d never spent much time with a woman in a personal setting such as this, but he knew enough from having a younger sister that these little familiarities were important to Isabel’s emotional comfort right then. The dim yellowish glow from the lamp in the adjoining room coupled with the tiny flame from the candle on the bureau swathed the small space with intimate warmth. Contentment as he’d never known washed over him.

She began removing hairpins from her hair then stole a quick, bashful glance his way. He crossed the few feet separating them and reached into her hair to remove the last few hairpins, and her thick white-blonde curls cascaded around her shoulders.

Cradling her face in his palms, he said, “You are so beautiful, Isabel. I love you and, as mi esposa—my wife—I will respect you always. We know so little of each other… I know I am practically a stranger to you…” He wasn’t sure what he wanted to say. He just knew he didn’t want her to regret marrying in such haste. “Do not be afraid of me.”

“We have the rest of our lives to learn about each other. I’m not afraid.” Trust tinged with tiny embers of desire shone in her eyes as he brought her to him, molding his body with hers. He parted her lips with his tongue and delved deeply into her mouth, feasting on her warm, sweet lips and the moan she breathed against his skin. Whisking her into his arms, he placed her gently on the bed then sat at the mattress edge beside her, watching her face as he slowly unbuttoned the front length of her chemise. He flicked open each tiny pearl button with great care so as not to allow the garment to gape, but only tease him with hints of her womanly gifts. He savored the sight of her blonde hair splayed across the pillows, her pale blue eyes wide with curious, yet guarded anticipation, her breath hitching as each button relinquished its diligent protection of her modesty.

At the hem of her gown, when the last button succumbed to his fingers, he smoothed his hands under the material and caressed the satin luster of her thighs. Moving one palm upward along her skin, he hesitated for a fleeting moment at the juncture of her legs where heaven awaited him. She sucked in a breath of surprise, but opened her legs just a little for him. He smiled at her tentative invitation for him to linger there, but he moved on, gliding his hands over her hips, her belly, then parted her chemise just enough to trail a line of gentle kisses along the vale between her breasts. The torture of delaying what he wanted to take from her built inside him, coiling in his groin and aching for release. This was another moment he wanted to savor, and he fought with his body to wait. With his hands under her chemise, he cupped her breasts with his rough, calloused palms and gently squeezed and kneaded. She uttered a tiny gasp and arched her back, her nipples pressing hotly against his skin. He closed his eyes to absorb the tingling sensations rushing along his arms and skittering down his back.

He opened his eyes when she placed her hands over his. Desire stormed in her eyes, but there was also uncertainty. He understood. She was vulnerable tonight, which meant he must be careful not to ruin her confidence and trust in him. He would not take her the way many of his compañeros boasted of conquering an untried woman—with dominance and force to prove their manliness. No. She was his wife. His one and only love. He would cherish and pleasure her tonight and continue to do so from this night onward.

Yet, he was still a man and, more importantly, a husband with all the responsibilities and privileges that role bestowed, and he struggled against his growing urgency to lay with her. Speaking softly, he tried to reassure her. “There is no hurry. We will go as slowly as you need.”

She took his face between her hands and rose up to kiss him. Then resting back on the pillows, she opened her chemise as if barring her body for him to do with as he pleased. A thin, wavering shadow of candlelight spilled over her face, and her lips parted with her shallow, expectant breathing. She watched him without blinking and with some effort he tore his gaze from her face and took in the sight of what she offered.

Words failed him. He drank in her beauty like a man savoring a fine wine. She was perfect, and she was all his. No other man had ever looked upon

her slender legs, her small delicate frame, her tiny waist. He was the only one to touch her creamy alabaster skin, kiss the soft rounded swells of her breasts, smell the heady scent of her femininity mingled with the hint of her perfume. Marveling at the delicate turn of her ankles, the defined line of her calves, and the silky smoothness of her inner thighs, he traced his fingers along her skin from her toes to her waist, kissed the inside of her knees, nuzzled between her thighs. He smoothed his hands over her hips and along her arms then caressed each of her breasts, suckling at her nipples with his desire to make love to her swelling with renewed urgency.

Her hands trembled against his back as they skimmed along his muscles. He twirled his tongue around her areolas then sucked a pink nipple into his mouth and flicked the tip with his tongue. When he rolled his hand between her legs, gently probing with a finger, she quivered and stiffened, and he reminded himself again to go easy. She was untried and untouched, and he owed her the time she needed to accept him.

He wanted to learn every part of her nubile body, commit every curve and angle to memory so that every time from this moment on when he closed his eyes, he could recall her features in minuscule detail. Touching, tasting, and stroking her velvety skin with increasing boldness, he covered her body with his mouth and hands, his physical wanting growing more urgent under her welcoming and ever more confident responses to his caresses.

She murmured soft words of love against his neck; her lips grazed his ear with breathy whispers. The maleness in him demanded her, but he vacillated between his compelling urge for consummation and the tormenting, but erotic agony of denying himself of her ultimate treasure as long as possible.

He stood to remove his trousers, and she came up with him, her garment gaping open, inviting him to slip his arms inside the soft material and hug her to him with her breasts pressed enticingly against his bare chest.

“We have a problem.”

“Qué?”

“You are wearing entirely too much clothing. We should change that right away.”

He clasped the smooth, rounded swells of her ass and pressed her to him, rubbing the bulging hardness of his groin against her belly. “What would you like to do about my clothes?”

With a playful grin, she unbuttoned his trousers and tugged on the waistband until they dropped to the floor, and he stepped out of them. Her eyes went wide at the sight of his total nakedness, and she sat down slowly on the edge of the mattress, staring at him in frank wonderment. Even in the muted light, Mingo clearly saw her blush, which accentuated the charming, candid inquisitiveness in her face. The virginal girl he’d married began to transform into a woman of passionate acceptance of him as a man.

“You’ve not seen a naked man?”

“No. Well, yes. In the illustrations of that book I told you about. I’ve only had one real glimpse, and it—he—was certainly not in this…attentive condition. It was smallish and flaccid.” Her cheeks blazed red, and she glanced at him then averted her eyes. Her genuine naïveté amused and beguiled him.

“Those are two words a man never wants a woman to say about him.”

She giggled. “Well, you don’t fit that description at all, I assure you.”

There was a lusty, dark blue hue in her eyes now, and he saw the first glittering sparks of true sexual awakening. Knowing he was her first lover ignited a level of arousal he’d never experienced before and, again, he was surprised that her chastity mattered to him. He’d been with other women who hadn’t been any more concerned about being pure than he had, but it suddenly meant a great deal to him, and he loved her all the more that she offered him her virginity.

She reached out then drew her hand back timidly.

“You want to touch me, no?”

A light blush remained on her cheeks, and she nodded, stealing a shy glance at him.

“I would like that. I would also like it very much if you would use both your mouth and your hands.” He chose his words so as not to put her off, yet still persuade her to explore freely. There was much for her to learn about the ways of physical love, but her lessons need not all happen during their first night together.

Reservation flickered over her face as she lowered her gaze. Running her tongue over her lips, she caught her bottom lip between her teeth and a little frown furrowed between her eyes. With a hesitant hand, she touched him with her fingertips then closed her fingers with a firm grasp around his proudly jutting manhood.

Mingo encouraged her. “Ahh…that is good. Now, do not think what to do, let your desires guide you.”

Leaning closer, but with uncertain movements, she kissed him just above his navel then moved ever downward with a trail of tiny kisses until he sucked in a ragged breath in anticipation of her intent. Again, hesitation. Then she put her mouth on him. His belly tightened; her mouth was like hot  satin against his skin. He dug fingers into her long flaxen hair with one hand and grasped her shoulder with his other hand to keep from moving his hips to make her take him deeper. It wasn’t in him to be a passive lover, but he remained still while she explored. A moment later, she pulled away as if embarrassed by her boldness, which was best…for now. Much longer, and the feel of her warm, wet mouth would have delivered her to a place she was not yet ready to experience.

Pushing her onto her back, he lay beside her and draped one leg over her body as he breathed little kisses on her shoulders and the curve of her neck. “I will make this such a night that you will blush every time you recall it. A woman should have a wedding night to remember forever. One to relive every night in her dreams. Now, close your eyes and feel the sensations. Do not fight them. Let them go wherever they take you.”

Her silken white-blonde hair splayed over her breasts, and he nuzzled the curls aside to take one of her nipples into his mouth, sucking gently at first then with stronger intent to arouse her as he kneaded and squeezed her other breast. She clutched his shoulders, rubbed her palms up and down the length of his back. He took her mouth in a fierce, possessing kiss in the same moment that he smoothed his hand between her legs and gently inserted a finger into the warm, wet haven he soon intended to claim as his own. She jerked and gasped, startled at the invasion. He reached for one of her hands and laced his fingers with hers. Kissing her skin lightly, he explored between her breasts then peppered little kisses over the flat of her belly to the hollow of her hip.

“Open for me. I want to taste you.” Gently, he parted her legs and scooted down to position himself between her thighs where he could flirtingly taste her warm, damp readiness as he gently flicked his tongue over the sensitive core of her sex. He slipped a finger inside her again, and she clutched the sheets, her breath quickening to shallow and hushed moaning pants. She grasped his shoulders, pushed him away, yet pulled him closer. Every little sound, every movement she made encouraged him to probe deeper with this fingers. She ground her hips against his hand and, seconds later, her inner muscles fluttered around his fingers and rapture engulfed her. He gently pulled away to lie beside her and cuddle her to him, self-satisfied and basking in his skill to pleasure her while struggling against the powerful urge to bury himself inside her right then. She was ready for him now. Wet and relaxed to accommodate him inside her.

Her eyelids flutter open as her breathing calmed. “What was that I felt?”

He leaned on an elbow and kissed her. “Just a sample of where I will take you again. Only this time, I will be with you, and the pleasure will be much greater.”

“It will be better than that?” she rubbed her foot along his legs while smoothing her hand over the point of his shoulder.

Her innocence touched him, and he smiled. “More than you can imagine.”

She pulled him down to her, claiming his mouth with a potent kiss. With great effort, he broke off, and rolled her onto her back. Laying fully on her, but propped above her with the bulk of his weight on his arms, he said, “Isabel, I need you now. I cannot— No, I do not want to wait much longer. I need us to become one with the other. I have done my best to prepare you to accept me inside you, but…” he offered an apologetic shrug.

“But what?”

“You truly do not know?” She shook her head.

“This is your first time with a man. When I enter you—it may hurt a little or much, or not at all. I cannot promise that there will not be some pain, but what I can promise is that the more we make love, the more your discomfort will turn to pleasure.”

“All right. I’m ready.”

“You are sure?”

“Yes. I want you.”

She spread her legs, taking him in hand and guiding him to the very core of his need for her. With a slow rhythm, he worked himself inside her, allowing her time to adjust with each gentle, but insistent thrust, but always pushing a little more adamantly against her maiden sheath. Her legs widened when he lifted her hips to press deeper into her with each rocking movement. Eyes closed, head thrown back, Elizabeth caught her breath with each stroke, her palms braced against his chest, and tiny moans escaping her parted lips. His hunger to make her his—to claim her body as his own—swelled until denying himself of her cherished gem was impossible. With a hard, driving thrust, he broke through her tight, chaste barrier and buried himself to his full length deep inside her virginal channel. She uttered a choked cry of surprise and clutched his arms to hold herself still. Though it tugged at his heartstrings that he’d caused her discomfort, it was all he could do to remain immobile while her inner muscled relaxed and adapted to him inside her. Taking her chastity was like nothing he’d ever experienced. Inviting yet resistant. Tight and constricting. Crooning soft words to reassure her of his love, he promised that she’d not given her gift of virtue to him in vain.

Bracing his arms on either side of her head, he worked himself inside her, rocking into her, slowly gaining momentum as she learned to move with his rhythm. He felt her need growing with his; her low murmurs growing louder with his every thrust. She bucked her hips to meet him, and he felt her climax engulf her. He tried to pace himself, but his self-control erupted, and he careened madly into a distant paradise, losing himself in the wild, reckless need that consumed him.

His breathed heavily from the exhilaration of making love to his bride for the first time and he hovered above her, his elbows locked to keep his weight off of her as he looked down into her dreamy blue eyes.

“You were right. That was better,” she murmured.

Her palms, warm and soft against the back of his thighs as she caressed and massaged his skin, sparked renewed desire. Unable to resist the enchanting flush of contented love-making coloring her rosy cheeks, he dipped his head and kissed her.

“I promise, each time we make love, it will be nothing like the time before.”

Rolling onto his back, he pulled her with him, guiding her to straddle his groin. Her hair cascaded over her breasts with the sparkling sheen of a waterfall in the moonlight. When he sat up to take each of her nipples into his mouth in turn, she ran her fingers through his hair then smoothed her hands over his broad shoulders and down his biceps. Pushing him to the pillows, she brushed her breasts deliberately against his chest, and the twinkle in her eyes made him smile.

“How long must we wait until next time?”

Chapter Seven continues next week…

Readd Chapter 6 of Sable Grey’s “Heart of the Storm” on her website: http://www.sablegrey.net

Until then,

Kaye

Chapter Five

Father Bartolo opened the front doors of the little adobe mission church as Mingo and Elizabeth dismounted and tied their horses to the hitching rail. “Buenos noches, Isabel. Why have you come back to the church tonight? Is something the matter?”

“Hello, Father. I—we need your help.” Elizabeth indicated Mingo with her hand. “This is Domingo Valderas.”

“Buenos noches, Padre.” Mingo swept off his poblano.

Father Bartolo looked him over, nodding in recognition. “Ah, the young man of whom you have spoken.”

Mingo stepped forward. “We wish to be married, Padre. Tonight.”

“This is sudden.” A frown began to darken the priest’s face. “Why are you in such a hurry?”

“Every minute together is a minute that cannot be taken from us, but, Padre, you know each day is a gift that we cannot not take for granted. We must live every moment of the time we are given. I have only one more day, perhaps another, before I will go away for two or three months. We must marry before I leave.”

Father Bartolo looked at Elizabeth. “You have told me of your city life far from here and your unhappiness there. Are you marrying this man to run away from it?”

“No, Father. I had already chosen this life before I met Mingo.”

He addressed Mingo. “I know of your reputation and it is a concern. It is said you have killed many men and are loyal to few. Since I care very much for Isabel’s happiness and safety, I must know what is in your heart.”

“It is love that brings me here, Padre. Only love. I would give my life for hers.”

He eyed them closely. “Who will stand with you as witnesses?” Mingo exchanged glances with Elizabeth then looked at Father Bartolo. “We have no one, unless a message can be sent to my cousins, Felipe and Sophia Santino. My uncle and brothers are there.”

The priest considered this for several moments while stroking his bony chin. Finally, he nodded. “I will do this for you—”

“Thank you, Father.” Elizabeth took his hand, cutting him off.

He patted her arm indulgently with his free hand. “I do this for you because I sense that your determination to marry will prevail over your prudence to wed properly by the rules of our faith, and I will not have you joining into a sinful union when I can sanctify your love in God’s eyes—hasty though it seems.”

Elizabeth smiled at his gentle chastisement. “Are we that obvious?”

He nodded, but his eyes shone with kindness and understanding. “However, I will not proceed in haste. Even in Mexico, there are certain traditions that must be observed. While I prepare and make a record of your marriage, I will send a boy to summon your family. We will wait until they arrive. Come with me.”

As they followed Father Bartolo into the vestibule of the candlelit church, the venerable old man stopped and turned to them, gesturing at their clothing. “These are your wedding garments?”

Elizabeth looked down at her plain tan blouse, her long brown riding skirt and tall boots, then at Mingo in his dusty work clothes with his black pants tucked into scuffed knee-high boots. “We have nothing else.”

Father Bartolo shook his head with some exasperation. “No, this will not do. This will not do at all. I will call the sisters to assist. Wait here.”

Mingo took Elizabeth’s hand. “We will repeat our vows at our hacienda where you will have a beautiful dress and flowers for your hair. And the ring that I do not have for you now. My grandfather is a skilled silversmith. He will craft a beautiful ring for you.”

The blue in her eyes softened, and he thought he’d never seen a more beautiful sight.  ”I don’t need any of that.” Elizabeth gestured around them. “This is what I want to remember. We can’t recapture this moment again, and I wouldn’t want to. It is enough. It will do.”

Sisters Josephine and Carlota approached them, and Sister Carlota took Elizabeth’s hand. “Come, we will help you to look like a bride.”

Sister Josephine explained to Mingo, “You may wait here for your family. Beside the little house at the back of the church, there is a corral and small barn for your horses. We offer the house for needy travelers, and…” —her eyes sparkled— “tonight, you will want to be alone.”

“Gracias.”

Elizabeth gave Mingo’s hand a quick squeeze, and she left with the sisters through a side doorway. Mingo put up their horses then made countless trips around the churchyard and nearby streets to occupy himself. Finally, he sat on the step at the front door and looked up at the dim stars under the gathering storm clouds that were beginning to block out the light of the approaching full moon. A cool breeze brought the welcomed promise of rain before daylight. Sometime later, the sounds of people coming toward the church brought him to his feet. He recognized his brothers and walked toward them, his arms outstretched and grinning, as they called to him with good-natured teasing. The group gathered in the vestibule and Sofia immediately began brushing her hands over Mingo’s dusty clothing. She took Mingo’s poblano and handed it to Javier, combed her fingers through Mingo’s hair, and muttered complaints about his disgraceful appearance as a groom and how he should have planned better. Despite his protests, which were futile against Sophia’s insistence, Mingo reluctantly relinquished his gun belt into Alonzo’s keeping.

A few minutes later, Sister Carlota opened the side door, and Elizabeth appeared wearing a loose, floor-length dress of undyed cotton belted at the waist with a beaded hemp cord. Mingo could barely make out her features under the long opaque, delicately embroidered white lace veil covering her face and shoulders. As he looked upon her simple, elegant beauty, he was humbled that of all the men in her rich and privileged social world, she had chosen him as her husband.

While they waited for Father Bartolo, Elizabeth whispered to Mingo. “Yesterday you asked if I had any doubts. Now I have to ask you. Are you sure this is what you want? Your life has been wild and free up to now. Marriage brings burdens and responsibilities.”

Mingo took hold of her hand and toyed with her fingers. Marriage and family were important to him and growing old alone was the one thing he dreaded, but falling in love in the midst of a cattle drive hadn’t been in his plans. Even so, a little smile touched the corners of his mouth. “You are the woman I will love forever. I knew it when first I saw you. I cannot deny that I have lived my life however it suited me but, now, without your love as my wife, my life would be empty and useless.”

Father Bartolo appeared from behind the partition at the back of the altar, and the group of wedding guests made their way along the narrow aisle separating the rows of rough-hewn backless benches that served as pews and took seats at the front. Mingo looped his arm with Elizabeth’s and they took the first step toward a new life together. When they stopped in front of Father Bartolo, he welcomed them and began the ceremony in Spanish, and then kindly repeated the words in English for Elizabeth.

Wavering candlelight bathed the small congregation in serene warmth as Mingo and Elizabeth knelt and bowed their heads for the wedding prayer. Father Bartolo took a small white bag of soft material from Luis, opened its drawstring, and poured thirteen gold coins into his hand. Saying a few words in blessing over the coins, he then gave them back to Luis who in turn handed them to Mingo.

Father Bartolo explained, “As the arras pass between your hands, it is Domingo’s promise to work hard and provide for you and your children. It is also Isabel’s promise to provide the strength and foundation of a loving home. But more importantly, it is your promise together to share in all things equally and generously, to treat each other with love and honor, and to sacrifice for one another’s sake, always placing the other first.

After Mingo and Elizabeth exchanged the arras several times, Luis gently covered Elizabeth’s hands with his as she held the coins, and then he opened the pouch to have her drop them inside.

“Domingo, you may lift your bride’s veil.”

Mingo lifted the veil and met the same mist in Elizabeth’s eyes that he blinked back in his own. Never had anyone looked at him with the depth of love and trust he saw in her face. She was his alone, and he was as complete and fulfilled as he had never been before. Father Bartolo offered their vows as Mingo and Elizabeth quietly repeated the words. Alonso and Miguel draped a white satin cord in a figure eight around their shoulders and Sofia placed a heavy veil over the cord. The padre’s solemn, hallowed words filled the small church.

“The binding of the lazo and the covering with the mantilla symbolizes your joining of two separate lives and separate hearts into one. Let the union of binding yourselves together be an inspiration to you both. Remember, the holiness necessary to protect your new family can only be obtained by mutual sacrifice and love.” They all bowed their heads for Father Bartolo’s words of blessing. At the end of the prayer, the lazo and mantilla were removed from Mingo and Elizabeth’s shoulders, and Father Bartolo stepped aside as he gestured to a small table. “The lighting of the unity candle symbolizes the first moment of your new lives together.” Mingo and Elizabeth walked hand-in-hand to the candle where, as one, they lighted the wick.

“Have you special words to exchange?”

Father Bartolo coaxed. Mingo took Elizabeth’s hands, brought them to his lips in a gentle kiss, and then held them to his chest.

“Tienes mi corazón.”

Her voice was barely a whisper. “I promise to be at your side from this moment on.”

“To be together always.”

“And never parted.”

Father Bartolo’s soft words sealed their words of devotion. “Love beareth all things, believeth all things, and hopeth all things.” To their family, he said, “Le presento a Señor y a Señora Valderas.”

Mingo drew Elizabeth into his arms, his lips barely brushing hers as he whispered, “Te amaré siempre.”

“And I will always, and forever, love you.”

* * * * *

The wedding celebration at the small cantina on the outskirts of Nuevo Laredo went well into the night, but Mingo and Elizabeth, as was expected of them, stole out the back door long before the revelry ended. It had been drizzling for hours and the dirt streets were a muddy, sloppy mess. Mingo scooped Elizabeth into his arms and carried her against her giggling protests to the small church house. Her laughter was a melody that filled his soul with joyous, soft music, and he stopped in the middle of the street to kiss her.

When they reached the front step, Elizabeth turned the handle and Mingo booted the door open then carried her across the threshold. “I can stand, you know.”

With a smile and a kiss, Mingo set her down on the braided rug in the middle of the small room. Once his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he found an oil lamp on a shelf, lighted the wick then replaced the glass chimney. With the illumination, the newlyweds took in the clean and comfortable, albeit sparse furnishings from the rough-cut plank floor to the plain curtains, white-washed walls, wooden chairs and table, and a watercolor painting of the desert hanging near a window.

“When we are settled at the ranch, we will send a gift of silver to the Padre to thank him.”

“He does so much for the people here. He will certainly appreciate it.” Elizabeth removed her veil, draped it over the back of a chair then slipped off her mud-soiled shoes and stockings and padded barefooted into the little kitchen.

In a few seconds, Mingo heard the sound of pots clanging, and craned his neck to see into the kitchen. “What are you doing?”

“I’d like to wash myself, but there isn’t a tub for bathing, so I’ll just freshen with hot water and a cloth.”

He tossed his hat on a chair, removed his gun belt and, following her example, took off his muddy boots and set them out of the way, then joined her in the kitchen just in time to see her wrestling with a large kettle as she maneuvered it under the spout of the small hand pump at the sink. “Let me help you.”

Mingo filled the kettle with water while Elizabeth struck a match and put it to paper and kindling in the small cook stove. A fire soon blazed and Mingo set the kettle of water on the surface plate to heat. Rubbing his jaw, he mused, “It would be good to shave.” He ran his glance hopefully over the open shelves for a razor with shaving brush and cup, but found nothing.” Coming up behind her, he nuzzled the hollow of her neck with his prickly whiskers until she squirmed and giggled.

“Yes, you could use a shave, but I suppose somehow we’ll get by without it.”

“I had a vision of our wedding night on the gulf coast with the sea lulling us to sleep after hours of love-making and much wine drinking.”

She spied a tin of coffee on the shelf and pointed. “Then we’ll just have to pretend the rain on the roof is the sea and the coffee I’m going to brew is the finest wine we could purchase.”

When she reached for the coffee pot, Mingo encircled her tiny waist from behind with his muscular arms and drew her hips into his. “It is not coffee that I want from my bride.” His put his face close to her cheek.

“No?” She turned to face him and grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling him down to place a playful kiss on his lips. “What do you want?”

A grin spread over his face as he undid her hemp belt, untied the string that held the gathered neck of her loose dress, and gently pushed the material off her soft white shoulders. The dress slid slowly down her body to the floor to heap around her feet. He offered his hand for balance as she stepped out of the garment. Without looking at him, she unhooked her bodice, placed it aside, and retrieved her wedding dress from the floor and laid it with her bodice. Turning to face him, she stood before him wearing a thin, lacy chemise that clung to her curves and did little to hide the alluring swell of her breasts. He grabbed his shirttail, pulled it over his head, and tossed the shirt aside

 She looked at him for several long contemplative seconds then a shy smile softened her features. Tentatively, she reached out and combed her fingers through the mass of thick curly black hair on his chest. “I’ve wondered how this would feel.”

“And?”

“It’s…soft and rough. It makes me tingle all over to touch you like this.”

“I hope to make you feel more than just tingles tonight.” Wedding night anticipation prompted the beginnings of an uncomfortable strain in his trousers.

She giggled as she touched the thin leather cord around his neck. “What is this?”

“It secures a knife sheath that hangs down my back.”

“Isn’t that a bit odd?” She eyed him skeptically. “Why not strap it to your leg?”

“There are times when an unseen weapon is necessary.” Reaching behind his neck, he loosened the cord and brought the knife in front of him. He gripped the handle and pulled it partially from the long, well-oiled leather sheath. “It is a modified Arkansas toothpick—a Bowie knife that has been shortened and balanced for my needs.”

She took it from him and looked it over. “What needs are those?”

“Throwing. Close fighting.”

“Do you carry other concealed weapons?”

“Uno o dos.” He smiled as he placed the knife aside, but within reach.

She pressed her breasts to his chest and locked her fingers behind his neck. “How terribly romantic. My husband is armed on his wedding night.”

“I promised to take care of you and to protect you. I must be always prepared to do so.” Though his tone was teasing, there was also a tinge of seriousness in his voice.

 ”Thank you very much. I feel perfectly safe now.” Although she smiled, he felt her body trembling, and he held her closer, looking into her pensive, pale eyes for the reason.

“Do you trust me, Isabel?”

“Of course.” She hesitated, blushed. “But I’ve never been with a man. I don’t know what to do.”

He stared at her for several seconds, working his mind around her confession. “Surely with your worldly experience…you have not kept yourself from the pleasures of the bedroom. I will not love you less if you have known another man.”

She shook her head, her eyebrows peaking in a little apology.

“I do not doubt you, but did Beal not take liberties with you?”

“He attempted. I refused him.”

“So, you are all mine. Untouched by any man.” He was astounded at how much this meant to him. “But you must know something of the physical love between a man and a woman.”

“It wasn’t spoken of in my house. It wasn’t proper. I grew up with the notion that it was a man’s right, but not enjoyable for a woman…at least that was the impression I had from my mother. I did read a salacious story once—in secret, of course. It was my last year of school. My roommate had found the book in her parent’s library over a holiday break and brought it back to school. Oh, how naughty and grown up we felt.” She giggled at herself then a sober frown creased her forehead. “You haven’t actually said so, but I know I’m not the first woman you’ve been with.”

“Does that bother you?”

Elizabeth thought a moment. “No. I like that you have experience. I just hope I don’t disappoint you.”

He kissed the point where her brows knitted together. “You will never disappoint me, and I will do my best to make sure you never want another man.”

“You are the only man I’ll ever want, but…”

He cocked his head to look at her. “But what?”

“We’re wet and muddy, and there was so much tobacco smoke in the cantina. I would like to freshen before we—before we—um…” her cheeks reddened.

That she couldn’t finish the sentence charmed him, and he laughed and gave her a quick kiss. “You do not have to say it again. I do not want my new bride to be uncomfortable, especially on her wedding night. We bathe, and then we make love.”

Chapter Six continues…

Until then,

Kaye

Chapter Four

“How will your brothers and uncle react when you tell them we plan to marry? Will they wonder about me?” Elizabeth fussed with the cuff of her gloves.

Mingo’s expression clearly revealed he didn’t understand. “In what way?”

“Well, this is rather sudden. What if your uncle thinks I’m too much of a city girl for you? What if they think I have insincere intentions?”

“Isabel.” Mingo took her hand. “My brothers and uncle already love you. Alonso and Miguel have warned me that if I do not marry you, they will fight each other to win your love. So, put it from your mind.”

Reassured, but still a little uneasy, she teased, “Well, I certainly wouldn’t want to be the cause of disharmony between your brothers.”

“Never doubt that they will take care of you as if you had been born into our family. We are very protective of the ones we love.”

While they rode the few miles to the Santino’s house, Elizabeth asked the names of the short trees and shrubbery, and Mingo fell easily into teaching her about the desert vegetation and animal life. He pointed out prickly pear cactus—nopales, he called them—and explained its many uses from medicinal to burning off the spines and eating it for its juicy pulp either cooked or raw.

Pointing to a tree-like cactus, he cautioned, “And do not ride near cholla. Their spines detach so easily, they seem to jump out at whatever passes, but their fruit is a source of water for many desert animals.”

He went on to show her Mormon tea and tarbush as well as the occasional creosote, mesquite, and acacia. Elizabeth laughed at the sight of a Collard lizard scurrying nimbly on its hind legs, but when Mingo cautioned her to ride a wide path around shaded areas to avoid basking rattlesnakes, she scanned the ground, wide-eyed and alert. Insects and spiders she could tolerate. Snakes, however, were another matter. Growing up on Cleveland’s Millionaire’s Row hadn’t exposed her to them, and Texas seemed to have more than its fair share to suit her.

The dust rising in the air with their horses’ steps lessened as the desert sand gave way to grass lush enough for grazing. Mingo pointed ahead at the dark shapes of cattle and soon after, she could distinguish individual animals in the herd. As they rode through the yard, sheep and goats peered curiously from behind the corral fence, and a flurry of friendly, barking dogs accompanied them to the grassland beyond the house where the herd grazed contentedly under the watchful attention of Alonso and Miguel who were circling around from the far side.

Mingo looked over the herd, his pride evident on his face. After a few minutes, he asked, “Now that you see them for yourself, what are your thoughts?”

“Their coloring is beautiful. I’ve seen solid-colored longhorns before, but never these. Is there a name for this type?”

“They are called zorillas because of the speckled white markings on their flanks and bellies and for the dark line along their backs. We are breeding these specifically.”

A cow close to them lifted her head, nostrils slightly flared, and stared straight at Elizabeth. “Are they dangerous?” She tensed, unconsciously taking up the slack in her reins, but her mare paid no attention to the cow.

Mingo watched the animal for a few seconds. “They can be as calm and friendly as puppies, yet fierce and deadly if threatened, especially when a cow is protecting her calf or a bull is protecting his herd. But I assure you, there is nothing to fear at this time.”

“Their horns are impressive. They’re so huge. Well, actually, I guess they’re just huge animals even without their horns.”

“Sí, we want the horns to have a wide base at the head and grow straight out, then curl up. A good, strong set of horns may be sixty or more inches from tip to tip and sometimes eighty inches for the entire length.”

“I don’t know anything about cattle, but I assume you’re looking for something more in them besides the length of their horns and their remarkable coloring.”

He looked the herd over for several moments. “We are breeding them for a long strong top line from neck to hip, with a deep girth and powerful bone structure. In cows, we want perfect udders and smooth features. Their backs should come up to the withers of my horse, and all of them must be well-balanced for their size and must carry much muscle.”

“They’re certainly magnificent creatures. Now that I’ve actually seen them, they remind me of a story I read as a child about wild oxen called aurochs. They once roamed all over Europe, but became extinct more than two hundred years ago. The ancient paintings of them on cave walls tell about young men hunting them as a rite of passage.”

He nodded, still looking over the herd. “I have read many things, but not of aurochs. Perhaps they are ancestors to my longhorns.”

“Well, whether they are or not, your cattle are majestic, beautiful animals. I see why you’re so proud of them. What do you call your brand? It seems to be a V resting on a straight line with a chevron over it.”

“It is the Rafter Bar V.”

She laughed at her complex description that illustrated her lack of cattle experience. “Of course, it is. I should have realized that immediately.”

He laughed with her. “It is a simple brand, and it requires only one straight iron to make the entire brand. It is a good trail brand, and it is not too easily altered by rustlers.”

Miguel and Alonzo rode up, greeted her politely then exchanged a few quick words in Spanish with Mingo.

“Ask her yourself.”

Miguel spoke in Spanish, his eyebrows raised in question.

Elizabeth worked through her limited Spanish to decipher the words. “Is my saddle—? I don’t understand.”

Mingo frowned at his brothers. “Do not be disrespectful. Ask her in English.”

Alonso grinned broadly. “Your saddle. It is broken?”

“I’m sorry…broken?”

Mingo shrugged in pseudo apology. “They have never seen a sidesaddle.”

“How do you not fall off?” Miguel inspected the off-side of the saddle without the stirrup.

Elizabeth laughed. “I’ve been riding a sidesaddle since I was very young, and I’ve only fallen off a few times. I’ve never ridden any other way.”

A little girl suddenly called to them, laughing gaily and running with her arms extended. “Mingo! Mingo!”

When she reached them, Mingo grasped her arms, pulled her up, and settled her on the front of his saddle. “Isabel, this is my little cousin Camila. Her parents are Sofia and Felipe.”

Elizabeth and the dark-eyed girl exchanged smiles, and then Camila tipped her head backwards against his chest to look up at him. “Es hora de comer.”

Mingo turned his horse toward the house. “Come, it is time to eat.”

He greeted and introduced the tall boy, Sancho, who took their horses, and Mingo escorted Elizabeth into the house. With further introductions, he announced their impending marriage and the simple family meal immediately transformed into a nuptial celebration with wine and conversation flowing freely into the night.

Elizabeth hated to have the evening end, but at midnight, she and Mingo said their goodbyes and rode back to the river. Lingering at the water’s edge, and both enjoying the simple nearness of the other in the clear windless night, several minutes passed before Elizabeth reached for Mingo’s hand.

“When will I see you again?”

“If it were in my power, we would see each other every moment of every day, but since it is not, we will meet mañana, just before dusk. I will wait for you right here.” He moved his horse closer to hers and kissed her with a whispered, “Te amo.”

“And I love you.”

He gave her hand one last squeeze as their horses swung apart. “We will talk of our marriage tonight and make our plans to leave here.”

Elizabeth nudged her mare down the riverbank, looking back several times. Mingo watched until she’d crossed the river and blended into the shadows. As she rode home through the dark streets, she was as contented with her life as she’d ever been, and she hoped he was, too.

#####

Elizabeth hurried home from a hectic day at the mission school much later than she’d planned. By the time she’d finished bathing, it was nearing dark, and she didn’t want Mingo to wait or wonder where she was. Dressing hastily in riding clothes and taking up her satchel that held all her little odds and ends, she went out the back door to the barn and saddled her bay mare. Silently reprimanding herself for nearly forgetting how chilly it would be when she returned later that night, she draped the satchel strap over the fixed horn on her sidesaddle and led the mare around to the front door. Looping the reins around the porch railing, she ran into the house for a jacket.

Rushing into the living room, she bumped into the housekeeper. “I’m sorry, Rosa. I forgot my—”

Elizabeth stopped, rooted to the spot and staring thunderstruck at the back of the man standing in front of the Navajo blanket hanging on the far wall.

“Señorita, this gentleman just arrived and has to speak to you.” Rosa discretely returned to the kitchen.

Several seconds passed before the man turned. His expression was stern, yet smug. “You shouldn’t be so surprised to see me, Elizabeth, although, I have wasted a great deal of time and money to come here. You could at least compensate me with a kiss for my inconvenience.”

She blinked, still not believing Grayson Beal was really in the room with her. His barrel chest was broader, and he was heavier than the last time she’d seen him. Absurd thoughts crossed her mind that even though he was even less attractive now, he probably cut quite an impressive public figure back east with his round-rimmed spectacles, carefully combed dark blond hair that was graying at the temples, expensive tailored suit, and his overall no nonsense, take-charge manner. He verily reeked of authority and power, but in just the few words he’d spoken, she’d heard the impatient, self-absorbed insensitivity she’d hoped never to encounter again once she’d left Cleveland last winter.

Recovering her voice, she demanded, “I had expected my father. Where is he?”

“Yes, well, Edward sent me to fetch you home. He had business matters he couldn’t neglect or he’d not be able to meet us on schedule later.” Grayson walked idly around the room as he talked, picking up family photographs from the top of a sideboard then replacing them carelessly and moving on to other items with the same disregard. “The irresponsibility you’ve shown in not returning home when you were summoned is quite disturbing. Considering you gave Edward no choice but to send you here, and then you defied him when he ordered you home…” he paused, glancing at her with a dramatic display of displeasure.

She’d experienced his disapproving scowl many times, and it had no more impact of putting her in her proper place now than it had in all of the other times he’d used it.

Grayson turned away from her and continued around the room. “Needless to say, your behavior is unconscionable, and you should be ashamed at the trouble you’ve put us through.” Obviously unimpressed with the home’s furnishings, Grayson ended his stroll directly in front of her.

He reached out and took hold of her hands, but she jerked away as if his touch burned her skin. “How did this become my fault? I wrote and explained very clearly that I’m not going to return and it’s useless to try to change my mind. It was your choice to come here, not mine. I gave my parents ample warning.”

“Elizabeth, I’ve just checked into what I will loosely refer to as a hotel. There are no carriages or horses available for hire, so I had to walk here. I’m tired and have no intention of bandying anymore words with you. Pour me a drink. We need to discuss how soon we can leave.”

“No, I won’t pour you a drink, and you’re not welcomed here. I want you to go.” Nothing had changed. He was still every bit as boorish and domineering as she remembered.

“Damn it,” he bellowed, “this is nonsense. We’re spending the winter in Denver with your parents. I’ve already arranged several important dinner parties, and we’re on guest lists at the Tabor, Byers, and Evans’ homes during the Christmas season.” His face turned red and a purple vein throbbed on his temple.

“How awfully nice for you,” she goaded, hoping to fuel his ire. “I’m sure my parents will be delighted to go with you.”

In one long, powerful stride, he towered over her, shaking his finger in her face. “I have to be accepted into Denver political circles in order to gain some critical support in Ohio. I also have a hunting expedition with Baron Van Doren in just a few weeks. I expect you to do your part with entertaining during our stay. You already have an appointment to attend some silly women’s group holiday tea at the Cooper mansion. You know how vital these activities are for my political future. I won’t have it any other way.”

She slapped his hand down. “Your political career is only important to you and my parents.” She clenched her fists at her sides, aggravated with herself that she allowed herself to stay and argue with him instead of having walked out the moment she saw him. It was fully dark and well past time to meet Mingo. “I have a prior commitment.”

Waving her off, he said, “What you have is a duty to your family and to me as my betrothed. You missed a gubernatorial inaugural dinner party in Columbus last winter and several other important events since then. I’m tired of making excuses for your absence. I won’t do it any longer.” He leaned forward. “So, congratulations. You’ve made your point. Now it’s time to come with me and get on with the business of being my wife.”

Thoroughly angry, she held her ground. “I’m not going to marry you, and I’m certainly not your social puppet. Don’t forget that it was you who banished me here. You sent me away from everything I knew—from all the things I thought I needed to be happy. Then I found out that not only did I not need them, I no longer want them. Listen to what I’m saying, Grayson. You’ve made the trip here for nothing. I’m staying in Laredo.”

“This is ludicrous.” His voice boomed again. “Our engagement was announced and the wedding date was set months ago.”

He loomed over her like large branches on a tree bending in a raging windstorm. He was a formidable man when he wasn’t angry, and she’d often seen him use his physical size to intimidate people. Although she’d never once backed down from him, she still fought the urge to turn from his wrath.

Mustering every ounce of her courage and determination, she drew herself up straighter. “Then un-announce it. I’m not marrying you. Not now. Not ever.”

With no pretext, he grabbed her and slammed his mouth down on hers. She struggled viciously against the iron grip of his bear-like hands as he lifted her onto her toes. Wrenching an arm free, she slapped him with her gloved hand hard enough to knock his spectacles askew. Yanking herself out of his grasp, she stepped quickly out of his reach.

Readjusting his glasses, he sneered derisively, “Had I bedded you a year ago, we would not be having this conversation. We’d be married and there would be a child on the way.”

Until now, she’d never been frightened of him, only annoyed with his loutish manners toward her and everyone he considered beneath him, but the depth of the lusty gleam in his eyes was new. A repulsive, crawling quiver skimmed along her skin. Peripheral movement caught her eye in the instant she heard the slight jangle of Mingo’s spurs. She whirled to see him, feet spread, arms loose at his sides, eyes narrowed and blazing with lethal fire. Grayson also saw him and grabbed Elizabeth’s arm to pull her possessively against his bulk.

Mingo was deadly calm. “Hombre, remove your hand from Isabel, or I will kill you where you stand. There will not be another warning.”

Elizabeth strained against Grayson’s grip, watching his face turn livid with anger and his thick neck bulge around his tight shirt collar. She saw recognition cross his face that the gun tied to Mingo’s leg wasn’t for show, and he reluctantly released her. Mingo motioned her behind him.

Grayson took his time looking Mingo over as he rubbed the deep red hand print on his cheek and smoothed his hair down. “What is this Isabel nonsense? And who the hell are you?”

“Domingo Valderas.” His voice was level and sure. “I am the man who is going to marry Isabel, not you.”

Grayson stared, momentarily speechless, then burst into condescending laughter. “You? Good lord, man, you’re nothing but a Mexican—”

“Be careful, pendejo.” Mingo’s tone held a deadly warning. He stepped toward Grayson and indicated with his arm for Elizabeth to stay where she was.

“Elizabeth, what’s going on here? Who is this?”

“Weren’t you listening? I’m going to marry him.”

“You realize this is only a passing fancy, a way to spite me. That’s all. You’re behaving like a petulant child.”

“This is my life, not yours, not my parents’, and none of you can control what I do any longer.”

“Listen to yourself. Clearly, this…this…malefactor has turned you against your family.”

“You’re just angry because your brilliant scheming with my father to make me grovel and come running back to you didn’t work. I triumphed over my exile and made a life for myself here while you gloated over your plot to conquer me.”

Mingo held Grayson in his steely gaze. “Isabel will soon be my wife. This is no longer your business. She is no longer your business.”

Grayson shifted his gaze from Elizabeth to lock with Mingo’s. She felt the tension increase as they stared at each other, man to man, neither willing to yield to the other.

The grin on Grayson’s mouth matched his knowing nod. “Now I see. Of course, it makes perfect sense. She’s young, blonde, beautiful. Inexperienced in love and emotionally malleable. She’s infatuated with the dime novel romantic notion of the Wild West and Texas cowboys. But most importantly, she’s rich. An heiress, in fact. No doubt just the sort of woman a man like you would want to ensnare.” He paused to look Elizabeth up and down. “Tell me, once Edward and Corliss disown you and you have no inheritance, what will you live on? I suppose this cowboy’s promised that his undying love will compensate for living in the squalor of his peasant shack while you raise a litter of children and goats. Can’t you see that this is all a ploy to reap a monetary coup when Edward buys him off?”

She lunged at his face, his stinging words enraging her with blinding fury. Mingo caught her around her waist with one arm and held her back, his free arm still hovering near his holster.

“You bastard,” she screamed, struggling against Mingo’s restraining grip. “You always hide behind others, using them, protecting yourself, and manipulating everyone. Just like you’re doing with my parents. Someday they’ll see you for what you really are. A deceitful, vile parasite.”

“That’s quite enough from you.” Grayson took a step forward with fists clenched then checked himself with a wary eye on Mingo.

“Isabel.” Mingo spoke softly. “Isabel, por favor, es hora de ir. We are leaving now.” Mingo’s voice calmed her fuming struggling, but her icy glare didn’t leave Grayson. Mingo lowered his voice and spoke close to her ear as he released his hold. “Isabel. Go outside and get on your horse.” He positioned himself as a barrier as she crossed the room behind him.

At the door, Elizabeth spoke to Rosa who hovered wide-eyed near the kitchen doorway. “Rosa, Mr. Beal will be leaving immediately. He can show himself out. Please lock the doors after he’s gone.” She looked at Grayson with parting finality. “I’m confident he knows not to return, but I want there to be no misunderstanding.” The door banged behind her, and she shot a quick glance over her shoulder to see Mingo backing to the doorway, never diverting his attention from Grayson. She hastily mounted her little mare, watching as Mingo came through the screen door.

“Do not try to take her from me. You will not succeed.” He left Grayson with those parting words then stepped off the porch and swung nimbly into the saddle.

They slipped silently through the darkness along the trail that skirted the edge of town. Once across the river on the safety of Mexican soil, Mingo reined-in his palomino and turned to her.

Before he could speak, anxiety etched the words that spilled from her. “Mingo, why did you come for me? It was too dangerous. Someone might have seen you. You could have been arrested.”

He brushed her concerns away. “Do not worry about me. I am careful. When darkness came and you were not at the river, I felt something was keeping you against your will.”

“Grayson just appeared at the house with no warning.”

“Isabel, Beal is a dangerous man, and now his pride is offended. He will seek retaliation.”

“I know, and that frightens me. He always gets what he wants.” She glanced across the river, irrationally expecting to see Grayson in pursuit. “If it doesn’t come willingly to him, he takes it by force or coercion.” Though the night was warm, her hands were cold, and her body trembled from the aftermath of the confrontation.

“No. This time he will not. Isabel, marry me now. Tonight.”

Chapter Five continues next week…

*****

Until then,

Kaye

Chapter Three

Still chuckling, Mingo assured her, “As far as I know, I have no niños, and I hold no deception toward you. I have never married, but not because I have not wanted to.” He couldn’t resist placing a gentle kiss on her soft curls. “You and I are very much alike in our dreams. The woman I marry must capture my heart so that the thought of living without her even one minute is too much to bear, and I would rather die in her arms than live a moment without her.”

He dropped the reins and the horse stopped. “I have never seen such beauty in a woman or witnessed the depth of determination you possess for what you want in life. You have reached into my heart and have taken it for your own.”

“Mingo—” She touched his face.

“Shhh. Just let me hold you.”

Elizabeth rested against his chest, and he laid his cheek on the crown of her head, twirling a flaxen ringlet of her hair around his finger. “You are so small and delicate. Como una mariposa, but not fragile. I think you have the mettle of a hundred women.” He grasped her wrist and closed his fist around it, easily overlapping his fingers and thumb.

Inching toward her lips, Mingo bent to kiss her just as the gelding took a step forward, jolting them apart. He smiled at the animal’s poor time and picked up the reins, guiding the horse toward a sheltered sandy area along the shallow river’s edge where he dismounted and helped Elizabeth down. Untying a poncho from the side of his saddle, he spread it on the ground like a blanket.

She eyed him, her hands on her hips. “This is your idea of taking me home?”

“It is for you to keep your dress clean when you sit.” Her suspicion amused him. “Nothing more. I promised you a sunrise. It will be soon, and we will watch it from here, and then I will take you home.”

She sat on the poncho with her arms around her bent knees. He settled beside her with his long legs stretched out. They looked at each other for several seconds before Mingo interrupted the silence with quiet words.

“Share your thoughts?”

“I was thinking that I’ve told you things I’ve never even said to Madeline. It’s strange how you’ve accomplished that in just the few hours I’ve known you.”

“It is because we are de un corazón. Of one heart.”

“I don’t know love and you speak of it so easily.”

“Only to you, Isabel.” He touched her face, the lure of her lips beckoning him mercilessly, but instead of kissing her, he moved a stray lock of hair from her cheek. “May I call you Isabel?”

“Yes, Father Bartolo and the sisters do.” She looked up at the stars. “The sky seems so…immense…truly endless out here. So stark and clear. It’s somehow different from the sky back east, but I can’t explain why.”

He remained silent, just watching her.

Turning to him, she said, “Tell me more about your family. How did you become comancheros?”

“My family has always been poor.” He drew patterns in the sand with a stick as he talked. “Over a hundred years ago, in Mexico, my father’s family wanted more for their children than terrible poverty and a hard life. When they heard of the nomadic traders in the New Mexico Territory, they made the long trek to Santa Fé and joined them. Until the past few years, most of the men in my family have known no other way to live.”

“Madeline said trading became illegal. Why did your family continue with it?”

“That is what troubled my father and grandfathers. They saw that the West was being settled, and knew we must stop thieving and trading. So, like many Texas rancheros, we took a share of the thousands of unbranded cattle that roamed the plains during the Civil War when men were away fighting and the land lay abandoned.

“We claimed only what many others did and we registered our cattle under our brand according to the Texas tallying law. It was an opportunity that eventually made many families wealthy, including mine. Soon, we had enough money to buy land and to start our own herd. For years, we have worked tirelessly, sacrificing everything to achieve the life we have now.”

The moon hung low on the horizon when Elizabeth laid her hand upon his arm, bringing him back to the moment. Thinking of his childhood always brought on a momentary, heavy melancholy. “I do not have the words to tell you what it was like to grow up poor. Unless you have been very hungry, only to learn that your mother has not eaten so her children will be fed, you cannot truly appreciate how it was for me as a child.”

“You’re right, I’ve never experienced it. Although I have encountered poverty since I’ve been here. It breaks my heart for the children.”

Her compassion touched him, and he pressed her hand. “It is good when people care, but people must also help themselves, just as you said. That is what my parents and grandparents did, and it is what I have learned to do as well.”

Instantly, his mood shifted as if a switch had been turned. “What happened in the past is of little concern. Now, I wait for the men and cattle to rest before we make the last drive to the ranch where we will watch our children and grandchildren grow up with a better life than any generation of my family has known.”

“How do you stay so optimistic when you’ve had such a hard life?”

“Why should I not smile and laugh? My family lives in fine comfort. We have a home to be proud of. There is education for all of the children, including those of our workers. We take care of our people.” He looked at her seriously. “It is tomorrow that I look to, not yesterday. It is a waste of time to worry about the past since it cannot be changed. Only this moment and the ones we have yet to experience matter.”

“I was raised so differently. I don’t know if I can ever understand your way of looking at life. It’s unlike anything I’ve known.”

Grinning, he stood and puffed out his chest, slapping it dramatically. “Then I will teach you. Have you ever ridden horseback with a mysteriously handsome man holding you tightly in his arms? Or remained awake all night with him just to watch the sunrise?”

She laughed at his melodramatic display. “Not until tonight. Why?”

He held out his hand, helping her to her feet as he pointed to the eastern horizon. “Then this is a first time for us to remember.”

Mingo enfolded her into his arms as the waning night sky promised to dissolve into gentle daylight. She was so small in his embrace, yet her pale blue eyes contained an emotional awakening shining brighter than all the stars in the heavens.

“I’ve never given my heart away.” There was a timorous inflection to her voice, and her a bright sheen of wonder shone in her eyes as she looked up at him.

“I will make you a good husband. I can provide what you are already accustomed to and more. I will give you my love until I die, and even beyond then to the very end of time.” He drew the back of his fingers gently along her cheek. “Isabel, will you give your heart to me and become my wife?”

Birds chirped greetings to the day as a fresh predawn breeze rustled through the brush, lifting the aroma of damp earth at the river’s edge. Mingo held his breath.

“Yes.”

That one quiet word spoken with tenderness and love touched him as no other word he’d ever heard. He wished he could stop the world from turning and stay in this moment forever. Holding her face in his hands, he cradled her beauty, searching her eyes for any sign that she wasn’t sure, but all he saw was the reflection of his own love. The chill of the desert night disappeared as he touched his mouth to lips that were sweeter than any confection he’d ever tasted and warmer than a midsummer wind. He melted into the heat of their new love. Mere hours ago he’d longed to simply talk to her, but now, with her in his arms, the depth of his love was more than he’d ever imagined possible.

He whispered soft words of love. “Tienes mi corazón.” And with another tender kiss, he said, “Sadly, I must take you home. It would be best if I am not seen on your side of the river.”

They reached her door at the far north edge of town just after the morning sun cleared the horizon. “Rest and sleep. Meet me tonight south of Nuevo Laredo, two hours before dark when the day is cooling. I would like for you to see my herd of longhorns and to meet more of my family.”

“I’d like that, too.”

Mingo walked with her to the front door on the veranda and kissed her again. Only the promise of seeing her in a few hours gave him the will to leave her arms before the town came to life and found him on the wrong side of the border.

“Tonight then?” Elizabeth held his hand until the last moment when he stepped off the porch.

“Sí, esta noche.” In parting, he brought her hand to his lips. “Hasta luego.”

#####

A late lunch was still set when Elizabeth entered the dining room to find Lowell reading the San Antonio Express. Pouring a cup of coffee from the carafe, she glanced at the familiar sight of The Rocky Mountain News, Galveston News, and Cleveland Herald & Gazette spread on the table.

“Good afternoon, Lowell.”

“Have something to eat.” Turning a page without looking at her, he said, “Damn fine shindig last night.”

“Yes, it was.” She nibbled on a sweet biscuit while he continued reading.

“I know you don’t make a habit of reading the Cleveland newspaper anymore, but there’s an article here that might interest you.”

She wrinkled her nose. “I hope it’s not another ridiculous story about my impending marriage to Grayson.”

“No, just a fundraiser article with a picture of your folks and Beal.”

“I’ll pass, then. At least it had nothing to do with me.”

With his paper still raised in front of him, Lowell asked, “Are you going to see Mingo today?”

“Yes.” The thought of being with Mingo in a few hours sent a warm tingle from her fingertips to her toes. “I’m going to see his cattle. He’s very proud of his herd, and he wants me to meet more of his family. Cousins, I believe.”

“He’s resting the herd at the Santino’s place. Felipe and Sofia. They’re good people. Solid family.” Lowell put the paper aside and refilled his coffee cup then leaned back in his chair and studied her over his bifocals. “Are you in love with him?”

Her cheeks pinked, and she nodded. “How did you know?”

“Yesterday when he asked if he could spend time with you, I knew it would happen right off. I kept my eye on both of you last night. It was obvious what was happening between you. And don’t think it was just a coincidence that you spent the evening with his uncle and brothers.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Mingo was hoping they would approve of you as his wife.”

Elizabeth stared at him, bewildered.

Lowell continued. “Mingo already told me he intended to marry you.”

“He said you’d given permission for him to court me, not marry me. What was your response?”

The twinkle in his eyes belied his stern expression. “I said it was about damn time a man came along who was worthy of you. But I also warned him that he’d damn sure better not be interested in you for your father’s money or just because you’re the prettiest woman around.” He was silent for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was grave. “You know, if you go with him, you’ll never be able to live in the States again. He’s wanted here. The sheriff and rangers leave him alone mostly out of courtesy to me, and the rangers hereabouts haven’t forgotten why he left his desperado days behind, but it doesn’t change the fact that he’s got an outlaw past—some of it earned, most of it bestowed by rumor. As long as he stays out of Laredo, the law is content to let him be. It’s not like that in other places.”

“What courtesy did he do for you?”

He brushed over her question, and her curiosity piqued instantly. “Let’s just leave it that he did a good turn for me and another fellow a while back. The kind of favor that can never be repaid and won’t ever be forgotten.” Even more seriously, he said, “You need to understand you might never see your family again if you throw-in with him. It would be wise to send him away. Most men like him don’t settle down. They’re wild. They use women wherever they find them and decent women aren’t seen with them. Your future will more than likely contain a lot of heartache and tears.”

“It’s too late. I can’t imagine my life without him now.”

“What about Beal?”

“I was never going to marry him.”

“From what you’ve said, Beal won’t take that lightly, and I know your parents well enough to say you’re in for a fight with them, too.”

Elizabeth lifted her chin and set her shoulders. “My father has called me his wayward daughter for years, ever since I refused to be shipped off like so much baggage to a boarding school because it carried the appropriate prestige for my parents. My mother’s only concern is that I marry for money and social position. She says romantic love is a silly fairytale with the sole purpose of encouraging women to be dissatisfied with their duty to marry well for the good of their families. My parents frequently remind me that my brother was not as headstrong and difficult to raise.”

“I have to agree with your folks on you being headstrong.” He chuckled softly. “It took you awhile to adjust to living here.”

“But I did adjust, and I love it here.” Elizabeth looked right at him. “I’m not going back. I’m going to marry Mingo.”

Lowell looked back at her for several moments. “Lizzie, do you know what a comanchero is?”

“Yes, Mingo and I talked about it. Madeline also told me several stories.”

“Madeline’s too young to remember their heyday, and I’ve never told her the details. She hadn’t started school when—” He caught himself and cleared his throat. “Is that the kind of man you want? Comancheros were considered outlaws, pirates of the prairie.”

“I’ve heard all of Grayson’s carpetbagger stories. He exploited Southerners for his own monetary gain with no intention of staying in the South to truly help with restoration. It seems to me that carpetbaggers and comancheros were both simply involved in entrepreneurial endeavors of less than honorable intentions, but since neither Mingo nor Grayson is engaged in those activities any longer, I see little difference.”

“The difference is that Grayson isn’t an outlaw. He’s not a wanted man…and Mingo is.”

“I fully realize that if I marry Mingo, my family will disown me, if they haven’t already. Perhaps my parents shouldn’t have sent me here in the first place. A consequence of their decision could be that I’ve disowned them. They will have to come to terms with that. I know I certainly have.”

“Less than twenty-four hours is damn fast to know if you love him.”

“Love can’t tell time.” Her insides fluttered as she thought of Mingo. “The capacity to fall in love with someone isn’t proportionate to the time spent together. I’ve known Grayson three years, and I will never love him.”

Lowell considered her words. “What time are you meeting him?”

“About two hours before dark. Why?”

“I’ll ride with you. We need to talk over a few things.”

#####

Mingo met Elizabeth and Lowell with welcoming, outstretched arms. “Buenos noches. I am pleased to see you both.”

“Evening, Mingo.” Lowell glanced apologetically at Elizabeth. “I’ve got some things on my mind and what I’m going to say isn’t intended to hurt your feelings, so don’t take me wrong.” Addressing Mingo, he said, “I’m going to be straight with you, son. Elizabeth says she loves you, but I’m not convinced she realizes what she’s really getting into. You need to know that she’s been pampered and waited on since she was born. Hell, when she first got here, she threw a temper tantrum the likes of which I’d never seen when she found out there’d be few fancy parties and no formal balls. You should have seen her pitch a fit when I told her to saddle her own horse or walk.”

Elizabeth tugged at the cuff of her fine leather riding gloves as she cut a sheepish glance toward Mingo.

Lowell chewed the end of his cigar. “She’s also a high-class eastern Anglo woman who stands to eventually inherit a considerable fortune someday. You’re Mexican. You know what people will say, especially since this is happening so fast.”

Mingo bristled, and his eyes flashed with dark anger. “She comes to me freely, señor. She has my deepest love and respect. I will challenge anyone who speaks otherwise.”

“No call for that.” Lowell lifted a hand. “I just needed to see it for myself.”

Visibly on edge, Mingo frowned. “Qué?”

“I needed to know if you really love her.” Lowell crossed his forearms and leaned them on the saddle horn, studying Mingo thoughtfully. “And I see that you do.”

Mingo nodded and relaxed, but kept guarded, curious attention on Lowell.

“Don’t underestimate Beal,” Lowell continued. “I’ve done some checking on him, and I’ve learned that he’s become even more powerful this past year through his association with Elizabeth’s father. He rubs elbows with some mighty important people. From what I’ve read, he’s a shoo-in for governor next election, and he’s using her family’s name and money to get himself there. But without her father’s endorsement, his political career will most likely fall apart. I’d wager to say he won’t let that happen without a fight.”

“I am not afraid. We will be in Mexico, and he cannot interfere once we are married at my hacienda.” Mingo maneuvered his palomino so he could face Lowell directly. “I am not a poor man. I have my own influences. In Mexico, my family is well respected. We are wealthy with cattle, land, and silver. So you see, we are not without some importance of our own.” His voice dropped to a low threat. “Beal would be wise not to underestimate me.” He leveled his dark gaze on Lowell. “What others think of me is of no concern, but I will not have you think I would take Isabel without benefit of marriage. I would never treat her so poorly. She will soon be my wife.”

“Once again, the rumors I’ve heard of your most recent activities don’t do you justice.” Lowell eyed him. “There’s still honor in you.”

“Señor, I have never lost my honor. If you speak of Corpus Christi and the unfortunate deaths at the Steele ranch, I am wrongly accused, but all I have to give is my word.”

“Your word is all I’ve ever needed.” Lowell turned to look at Elizabeth. “Which is why I let him take you home after the dance without a chaperone. I trust him with my life, and yours.” Lowell extended his hand and a broad smile finally broke over his gruff features when Mingo took his goodwill offering and clasped his hand. “For whatever it’s worth, you two have my blessing, but you’d best decide soon how to deal with her family. Her father will be here any day, and he’s expecting her to go home with him.”

Lowell shortened his reins and looked at Elizabeth again. “I’m leaving in the morning to take some supplies to the foreman out at the ranch. Madeline’s going with me. Will you be all right here alone with Rosa?”

“Of course. I’ve already made plans to help Father Bartolo and the sisters at the church in Nuevo Laredo for the next several days anyway.”

Lowell nodded farewell and turned his horse toward the river.

Mingo touched Elizabeth’s arm, bringing her attention away from Lowell’s departure. “To honor your uncle, I will ask only this once if you are sure this is what you want. I cannot promise anything more than to love you always, and I will never treat you as anything less than a lady.”

“I’m quite certain, Mingo.” Her eyes softened, and she clasped his hand. “I want you.”

“Then let us go to my cousin’s house, and I will introduce you. We have much to celebrate tonight.”

Chapter Four continues next week… (click on the Sidebar Categories for previous chapters)

***

Visit Sable Grey’s website for Chapter of “Heart of the Storm” – http://www.sablegrey.net

***

Until next week,

Kaye

Until next chapter…

Kaye

The Comanchero’s Bride

Blurb

When former Texas Comanchero Mingo Valderas falls in love with eastern shipping heiress Elizabeth Bradford White, little does he know that murder and kidnapping are soon to follow. For Mingo, it seems an easy task to get his herd of longhorns to his hacienda in Mexico then prepare a home for his new bride, but Grayson Beal, a powerful and dangerous man, has other plans. Faced with overwhelming obstacles, Mingo and Elizabeth draw from strength of spirit and sheer determination of will to overcome bitter heartache as they embark on a life-threatening journey toward their only chance at happiness together.

Chapter Two

Elizabeth’s slight irritation turned to self-righteous, indignant anger that would have made her mother proud. “I don’t need anyone’s permission to talk to men. Nor do I need your secret adoration. And I certainly don’t need you treating me the way Grayson or my father—”

Mingo lifted his hand to interrupt her scathing diatribe. “I have already spoken with Señor Howard…for both our sakes.” He gestured around the plaza. “There are fathers here tonight who would refuse me the company of their daughters. Even now, you can see how some of them look at us. You raised your voice, and they wonder what I have done to offend you.”

She glanced around uneasily. It was true. People were watching them.

Mingo went on. “I sought permission because I value your uncle’s friendship, but I respect your honor more. It is important to me that he should know of my intentions and approve of them.”

Thoroughly annoyed that men were still making decisions for her, Elizabeth retaliated. “I assume it’s your reputation as a Comanchero that people hold against you.”

“I see we have both inquired of the other today.” He sat back in his chair, his expression pensive. “I will not lie to you. It is true that I rode with Comancheros.”

“The Canyon of Ransom. I’ve heard of the dealing in human lives that occurred there.” The words hung heavily between them and she fixed him with a haughty glare. “How can you talk to me of honor?” She accentuated the contempt in her voice with disgust.

The strong line of his jaw tensed and his eyes narrowed, but his gaze didn’t waver. “I have done many things that might be considered illegal under certain circumstances, but trading human lives was not among them.” His voice dropped. “Never that. Never that.”

She watched him, aware that she’d touched a sensitive nerve, and wondered what he was thinking. He stared into his wine glass, slowly swirling the red liquid and drifting away in his thoughts for several moments before he spoke again.

“It was terrible, the taking of captives. I am ashamed when others assume I have no compassion or decency when they learn I was once a Comanchero.” He sighed as if all the sorrow he’d ever known suddenly rested upon his shoulders. When he looked up, the sadness in his eyes touched her, and she was sorry for her accusation and hasty appraisal.

“As Comancheros, we were considered despicable. Men to be feared. From the Llano Estacado to the Mexican border, no one trusted us, but there was a bond of blood and kinship among us. A brotherhood. There are still those along the Comanchero trails who would help and protect us. Right or wrong, it will always be so among us.”

Her heart softened at the regret in his voice. She was drawn to the angular features of his face with the high cheekbones, strong jaw, honest eyes, and dimpled chin. But as she studied him, what she appreciated most were his hands. They were hands of a man accustomed to physical work. Strong and calloused, but also gentle when holding hers. They were so unlike the pampered, pretentious hands of the few men in her past that had shown interest in her. When I was like I used to be, only for show and without substance. 

Mingo took a deep breath and a drink of wine, and shook off his dampened mood. “But that is all behind me. I am now a businessman with land, cattle, and horses.”

“When you spoke to Lowell about me, what did he say?”

He hesitated, then reached for the wine and held it over her glass. “Mas?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“De nada.” He poured the wine and set it aside. Picking up his glass, he tilted it in and out of the shimmering torchlight shadows playing across their table then took a drink before looking at her. “He said you are a lady and you deserve a man who will treat you as one. But he also warned that you have an iron will and a streak of determination with no tolerance for weakness. I believe his word was spirited. He also cautioned that you will only accept a man of deep passion and commitment.”

She eyed him with skeptical, mocking suspicion. “He said all that, did he?”

Mingo grinned and shrugged. “Perhaps I exaggerated. Un poco.” He held his thumb and forefinger an inch apart. “But you are undoubtedly a lady, and I am not a weak man.”

“Are you a man of deep passion and commitment?”

“Sí.” He reached across the narrow table and took hold of her hands. “I lost my heart the moment I saw you. My deepest wish is that you will one day love me as much.”

The rich, sensual lyricism of his voice and the candid promise of endless devotion in his eyes touched her in an unfamiliar and vulnerable place. The night closed in and it was suddenly hard to breathe. Dancers moved in slow motion and the music seemed to echo and fall away in the distance, leaving her aware only of this wildly handsome vaquero pronouncing his love. Her heart took over and spoke what her sensible mind could not say. “I’ve never been in love. I’ve never wanted to be.”

“It is only because you have not found a man worthy of you.” He squeezed her hands. “By morning, you will love me and agree to be my wife.”

Moved by his bold words of love, yet dazed by his single-minded confidence, she protested weakly, “You can’t possibly know that.”

“Oh, but I do.” He entwined his fingers with hers. “The plan is already in my heart, and I see it in your eyes—though you try to deny it.” Lifting her hands to his lips, he touched them with gentle kisses. “I am filled with conflict tonight. I want the exhilaration I feel right now to go on forever, yet the headiness of falling in love with you is almost painful. To hold you in my arms again would be a joy beyond measure, but to kiss you would give me pleasure beyond words.”

The evening blended into moonlit night. Elizabeth stared, unable to move as his words transported her to an Arthurian world of gallant knights with chivalric deeds and courtly love. Standing, he pulled her up with him and all reason left her. She wanted this man. She forgot her strict upbringing, pushed aside thoughts of indecorous behavior, and willingly stepped into his arms. His warm breath caressed her cheek with a light kiss, and she closed her eyes as his lips touched hers.

Boisterous laughing and a rough clap on Mingo’s shoulder jostled them apart. Elizabeth’s found herself surrounded by several unfamiliar men carrying on in Spanish. Mingo hung his head, shaking it with a chagrinned, but amused smile. She had no idea what they were saying other than understanding the words beautiful woman. Taken aback, she took a quick, self-conscious step away, but Mingo caught her hand and brought her back to his side. She couldn’t follow what Mingo said to them, but when he finished, he turned to her as if summing up in English what he’d explained in Spanish. “I have had the pleasure of dancing with this beautiful lady tonight.”

Mingo gestured to the gawking men, grinning men. “These are my bad mannered compañeros who will now speak in English so you may understand.” Mingo gave them another chastising look, but only received wider grins in return. Feigning impatience and displeasure, he went on. “This is Luis, my not very witty or clever uncle. Javier, my brother-in-law, and these two are Miguel and Alonso, my younger twin brothers.”

They each made a great showing of bows and compliments on her beauty, and she relaxed, laughing at their dramatic overtures of greeting. Two girls arrived with platters of food, and they moved tables together with requests for more food and wine.

Conversation became animated and friendly as they ate and drank, and Elizabeth soon forgot her discomfort as she lost herself in their stories of cattle buying and of the journey that had brought them to Nuevo Laredo for several days of rest.

Luis refilled her wine glass then his. “Do you live in Nuevo Laredo?”

She shook her head. “No, I grew up in Cleveland, Ohio. I’ve been staying with Lowell Howard in Laredo.”

The men murmured amongst themselves and though she didn’t understand, she gleaned it was approval from the glances and smiles they exchanged. “Señor Howard is a good and honest man. I am envious that you know him so well. Why did you come to live with him?”

Mingo interjected, “Luis, perhaps that is none of your business.”

Luis just grinned. “The señorita can speak for herself.”

Elizabeth looked straight at him. “And I will. A few months ago, I would have thought it too personal to speak to a stranger, particularly a man, of intimate details of my life, but since I’ve already told Mingo, I don’t mind telling you. I left to avoid a marriage I don’t want and in doing so, disownment and disinheritance will likely be my punishment. But that doesn’t matter to me. I decided to stay in Texas months ago. This is my home now.” She looked at Mingo and his smile was for her alone.

From the corner of her eye, she noted the nods and glances among his brothers, Javier, and Luis as they nudged each other knowingly. When Mingo shifted his gaze to look directly at Luis, she wondered what silent message they exchanged.

Luis lifted his glass to Mingo. “So, it is that. It is long past time for you. Es bueno.”

The exchange wasn’t lost on Elizabeth. “What do you mean? What’s past time?”

“It is a conversation best suited for a more intimate setting.” Mingo stood and offered a hand while indicating the raucous revelry around them with his other. “Come. The night is rapidly passing, and the music calls for us to dance.”

#####

When the mariachi finally packed away their guitars and the plaza slowly cleared, Lowell and Madeline made their way to Mingo’s table. Lowell placed a large, callused, but fatherly hand on Elizabeth’s shoulder.

“Lizzie, we’re headed home. It’ll be daylight soon. Are you coming with us or do you have another escort?” There was a satisfied gleam in his eyes as he looked at Mingo.

Respectfully, Mingo stood and addressed Lowell. “If she will permit, I will see her safely home.”

Lowell eyed him. “Are you sure that’s safe for you, son?”

“I will be careful, señor.”

“See that you are.” Nodding to each person at the table in turn, he said, “Good night, Mingo. Caballeros.”

Elizabeth patted Lowell’s hand where it rested on her shoulder. “I’ll be along in a while.”

Javier, Alonso, and Miguel spoke polite words of parting to Elizabeth as they left the table, but Luis lingered, taking her hands in his. “Señorita, I have enjoyed our time together tonight. We will be here a few more days. Come visit us before we leave.”

“Thank you, perhaps I will.”

Luis nodded goodbye and followed the others.

Mingo placed Elizabeth’s rebozo around her shoulders. “Shall we go?”

She clutched her wrap as he led her along a moonlit, dirt-packed street. “I don’t think I’ll ever learn how to dress for this climate. Even after nearly a year, I’m not adept at dressing appropriately for the extreme changes of hot afternoons to cool nights.”

“It is the nature of the desert.” Mingo slipped his arm around her to offer the warmth of his body. “Stay close to me. I will keep the cold away.”

“Where are we going?”

“To your home.”

“We’re walking?”

He laughed at the hint of distress in her voice. “No. We will enjoy a slow ride on horseback.”

“Ride? I don’t have a horse. Madeline and I came over in the buggy this morning.”

“Then we will ride my horse together.” His grin did nothing to hide his obvious pleasure. “Of course, unless you prefer to walk. I will gladly ride beside you while—”

“You can walk, and I’ll ride.” Playfully, she pushed him and he stumbled off balance, laughing. “Or even better, I’ll take your horse and go home by myself. Then you can walk to wherever it is you’re staying.” She shooed him away.

Still laughing, he snatched her hand and pulled her to him. “I like both of us riding my horse better.” To finally have her alone and in his arms was an answered prayer. He leaned into her, and gently lifted her chin to kiss her, but checked himself. I must not. It is too soon. Releasing her from his embrace, he took her arm.

“Come, it is not far to my horse.”

Rounding the next building, they came upon two young boys dozing on the ground near a palomino gelding tied at the water trough.

“Gracias, muchachos. Vaya a su casa.”

The boys sat up at the sound of Mingo’s voice, wiping the sleep from their eyes as Mingo rubbed their heads affectionately. He flipped coins to them, and they thanked him as they ran off chattering and tossing the coins into the air.

“You paid them to guard your horse?” Elizabeth looked after the boys until they were out of sight.

Mingo tightened the cinch and patted the gelding’s neck. “I am certain their families need the money, and I did not want my horse to become lonesome.” Grinning, he swung into the saddle then offered his hand. “Put the wrong foot into the stirrup, and I will pull you up.”

Her skeptical frown delighted him, but she did as instructed. He settled her in front of him as if on a sidesaddle, and she tucked her long, full skirt around her legs and rearranged her rebozo. When he picked up the reins and tapped spurs to the gelding, she put her arm around his waist for balance.

“I like your arm around me very much.” He slipped his free arm around her and drew her against his body to steady her.

“You take great pleasure in teasing me.” The light of the nearly full moon showed her futile attempt at a pout.

“Sí, but only because I want to see your eyes shine when you do not know if you should be angry or if you should laugh.”

“You are an impetuous rascal.”

He chuckled. “Perhaps you are right. Now, tell me, is Señor Howard your uncle of your mother’s or father’s family?”

“Neither, actually. He and my father read law together and became good friends. Before Lowell’s wife died, they came to Cleveland quite often to visit. Apparently when I was little, I thought all men who came to the house were my uncles, so I’ve called him that for as long as I can remember. Madeline and I like to call each other cousin.”

Mingo nodded. “It is so with los niños in my family as well.”

“What did Lowell mean when he asked if it would be safe for you to take me home?”

When he hesitated, Elizabeth apologized. “I’m sorry. It’s obviously none of my business.”

He was suddenly very tired. It was not a topic he liked to discuss, but he would not keep it from her. “I am a wanted man in the States. There is a price on my head. If I am seen there, it is likely that I will be arrested.”

“Because you rode with Comancheros?”

“Sí, but there is more. It is thought that I was in the Corpus Christi raid and, later, at the attack on the Steele ranch.”

She was quiet for several moments. “Were you?”

He sighed. It was there again. The instant suspicion he always encountered. He wanted her to know who he was as a man, not what others said of him as a Comanchero. “No, but I had been to Corpus Christi the week before the raid, and I had also been to the Steele ranch to talk of buying cattle.”

“Can’t you just explain? Lowell’s an attorney. I’m sure he’d help you.”

He smiled and patiently explained why Lowell could not help him. “In the west, the law is not filled with equal protections for everyone. Here, I would not survive one night in a Texas jail. Vigilante justice would be my only trial. My reputation does not allow others to assume my innocence before they confirm my guilt.”

“Lowell respects you.”

“He is one of the few Texas ranchers who will do honest business with my family or who believes that my family owns their cattle and did not steal them.”

“How do you know him?”

Mingo shook his head that he wasn’t going to talk about it. “It was many years ago and it is a story for another time.” He stroked her cheek. “Tonight is for lovers. We will never have another first night together. We must savor it and remember every detail. We have already made many special memories this night, and it is time for more.”

Her face was so close, her lips his for the taking. He wanted nothing more than to kiss her and let the romance of the moment whisk them away, but he held back. He was in love, but he had yet to win her heart.   They rode in silence and settled against each other in time with the soothing, rhythmic rocking of the gelding’s unhurried steps. Elizabeth relaxed in Mingo’s arms, and he bent his head to breathe in the sweet gardenia scent clinging to her curls. He closed his eyes for just a moment to remember how her eyes sparked when she was angry and the sound of her tremulous confession of never having been in love. He etched these small treasures into his memory to sustain him for the times he knew they would be apart.

“It must have been difficult for you to adjust when you first came to live here.”

“It was.” Elizabeth nodded as mulling over memories. A few seconds passed before she continued. “I detested the heat and especially the wind. I couldn’t understand Spanish—still don’t really…just a few words and phrases, although I can read it with some confidence. I hated that I had no one to attend me, and I particularly didn’t like cleaning up after myself. There was no theater and few parties, and the dances were so different from the grand balls I had known. I didn’t have a carriage to take me places, so I had to saddle my own horse or walk. And I didn’t have friends.

“In Cleveland, I’d been so completely self-absorbed in my artificial world of glittery parties and false flattery that I couldn’t see farther than my next ball gown and new pair of shoes. My greatest worry was that my name wouldn’t be on all the party lists for the entire season, and I’d be ridiculed behind my back.”

She fell quiet, and he waited without interrupting, although he snuggled her a little more closely.

“Then I discovered a sincerity of purpose here. People help each other selflessly as long as everyone tries to help themselves. Understanding that caused me to reevaluate my life. I discovered that what I thought was important was trivial and shallow. That’s when I knew I would be all right. I knew I was meant to stay here.”

“Something very deep within you must have changed.”

“Yes, it did. I found freedom in making my own decisions. Once I began working at the church and several families started paying me to teach their children English, I learned self-reliance and independence. I can even sew and cook a little now.” She seemed to poke fun at herself. “But most importantly, I discovered that I will not, in fact, I flatly refuse, to trade my self-respect and integrity just to avoid my family’s anger and disapproval.”

“Be careful before you shun your life of privilege,” Mingo cautioned. “It is not easy for a woman to live on her own out here. Hard work and poverty make a beautiful woman old very quickly. I have seen it happen. There is security in marriage and money makes hardships not so difficult to endure.”

“I know, but I won’t marry Grayson even though it’s of great consternation to my mother that at my age I’m not married. I’d rather die an old maid than marry a man I don’t love—will never love.”

“That is a strong conviction for one so young. Growing old without companionship is a lonely way to live…and to die.”

“I’m not so terribly young.” Elizabeth drew back her head to look at him. “And you’re not so much older. Thirty?”

“Close, a little low, but close. Now, tell me, what is it you want in your life?”

She idly toyed with the palomino’s white mane. “I want the love of a man who sees more than my father’s money when he looks at me. I need a man who deems me his equal and not a possession. Until I began working at the mission, I’d never been around children nor had I entertained the thought of teaching, but I love it. And I love the children.” She glanced at him then looked away quickly. “Someday, I’d like to have children of my own.”

“I think you will be a good and loving mother.”

Tilting her head, she gave him a mocking smirk. “Speaking of children, I would hope since I’m sitting rather indecently on your lap with your arms around me that you haven’t conveniently forgotten about your wife and houseful of children waiting at the end of your cattle drive.”

Mingo stared at her for several incredulous seconds then threw his head back in hearty laughter.

Chapter Three… (click on the Sidebar Categories for previous chapters)

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Visit Sable Grey’s website for Chapter of “Heart of the Storm” – http://www.sablegrey.net

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Until next time,

Kaye

The Comanchero’s Bride

Blurb

When former Texas Comanchero Mingo Valderas falls in love with eastern shipping heiress Elizabeth Bradford White, little does he know that murder and kidnapping are soon to follow. For Mingo, it seems an easy task to get his herd of longhorns to his hacienda in Mexico then prepare a home for his new bride, but Grayson Beal, a powerful and dangerous man, has other plans. Faced with overwhelming obstacles, Mingo and Elizabeth draw from strength of spirit and sheer determination of will to overcome bitter heartache as they embark on a life-threatening journey toward their only chance at happiness together.

Chapter One

Nuevo Laredo, Mexico – September 16, 1880

“Comancheros.”

The whispered word raced like wildfire through the uneasy crowd. Music and dancing dwindled to nothing as everyone stared at the group of men newly arrived at the Mexican Día de la Independencia celebration. From the far side of the plaza, Elizabeth Bradford White watched the swarthy, flamboyant man standing in the midst of the strangers. Of his compañeros, he alone appeared comfortable as the focus of attention, yet his bearing dared anyone to challenge his presence.

Elizabeth noticed every tilt of his head, every movement of his lean, sinewy body. He turned his gaze upon her, capturing her in unguarded scrutiny. Her breath caught at sensing the aura of raw, elemental masculinity radiating from him, and she found it impossible to look away. A warm flush coursed through her veins, urging her with a primeval force to be near him. The man nodded slightly as if reassuring her to follow her instincts. She took an involuntary step just at the moment Lowell Howard made his way through the crowd to greet the men with obvious familiarity and goodwill. Lowell’s approval immediately allayed the growing unrest and suspicion, and levity returned to the crowded plaza. The mariachi struck up another lively tune and a trio of young boys scampered about lighting tall pole torches as the sun disappeared against a glorious gold and vermillion sunset.

All the more curious, Elizabeth studied the mysterious, handsome young man as he and Lowell meandered through the people, occasionally pausing at tables lining the perimeter of the plaza to peruse the various wares on display. No man had ever turned her head, and she marveled at how this stranger had ensnared her interest with such rapt and complete fascination. She put a hand to her chest and inhaled deeply to shake off the visceral enchantment he had somehow placed upon her.

Elizabeth spoke softly to the younger woman standing beside her. “Do you know the men who just arrived?”

Madeline Howard followed Elizabeth’s gaze and nodded in recognition. “The vaqueros, yes. But don’t you really mean, who is he?” Teasingly, she pointed to the man who was now talking privately with Lowell.

Elizabeth giggled. “Well, then, who is he?”

“Domingo Valderas.”

“Domingo.” Elizabeth repeated his name before realizing that both he and Lowell were watching her. The man’s inscrutable grin said he’d read his name on her lips. Instantly, a blush warmed her cheeks and she turned to Madeline to hide her embarrassment from him. “So, how well do you know him?”

“Mostly by reputation, although, I have met him briefly a few times.”

“Oh?” Elizabeth couldn’t help stealing another glance at him. “Has he a decent or a scandalous reputation?”

“That depends upon who you ask and which side of the border you’re on.”

“He sounds perfectly notorious.” Elizabeth was completely captivated. “Where does he live, and what does he do for a living?”

Madeline giggled. “Is that a veiled question about his marital status?”

“No.” Embarrassed again, Elizabeth hastily defended herself. “You know perfectly well that I came to Texas to avoid acquiring a husband.”

Madeline laughed. “Well, I don’t know whether or not he’s married, but he has a cattle ranch somewhere south of here in the mountains. Dad calls him a caballero, a man with property now.”

“Now?” Elizabeth’s curiosity grew. “That suggests something illicit in his past. What did he do before now?”

Madeline made a surreptitious appraisal of the people near enough to hear then lowered her voice and leaned closer to Elizabeth as if preparing to reveal a great secret. “They say he was a Comanchero. Didn’t you hear the crowd whispering when they arrived?”

Elizabeth shrugged off-handedly. “Yes, but I thought it was just another Spanish word I didn’t understand. I assumed it meant they were strangers. What is a Comanchero?”

“An outlaw—of the worst sort.”

“If he’s an outlaw, why hasn’t he been arrested? I saw the sheriff and a Texas Ranger earlier.”

“We’re in Nuevo Laredo, the Mexican side of the Rio Grande. Remember? I don’t think there’s any legal authority to arrest him over here for his crimes in the States.”

“What did he do?”

“It isn’t so much what he may or may not have done himself as what the Comancheros did collectively that branded them as outlaws.”

Elizabeth frowned. “So he’s guilty simply by his association with a group rather than by his own doing?”

Madeline considered for a moment. “I suppose you could say that. Originally, Comancheros were just poor Mexican peasants who bartered with the Indians, particularly the Comanche, for food, tobacco, blankets, trinkets, and such. Hence the name, Comancheros. Eventually though, they turned to selling and trading weapons and whiskey for the livestock the Indians stole from ranchers and farmers.”

“Trading with the Comanche for stolen livestock and liquor hardly seems worthy of a reputation as notorious outlaws.”

“I agree, but there’s more. Dabbling in the old Comanche slave trading practices is what made them so vile.”

“You mean they owned slaves like southern plantation owners did before the Civil War?”

“No, Comanche were known for kidnapping women and children, particularly white women and children, and either holding them for ransom or selling them as slaves. Mothers and children were nearly always separated and very young children often taken into the tribe. You might say the Comancheros were brokers between the Comanche and the buyers of the human captives. I’ve heard Dad mention a place up north in the Panhandle—Yellow House Canyon—that was a favorite slave-trading location. It’s called Cañón del Rescate. Canyon of Ransom.”

“That’s appalling.” Elizabeth unconsciously glanced across the plaza, but the young man was not in sight.

“Yes. It was. Señor Valderas was directly involved at Ransom Canyon someway, but Dad won’t talk about it. I was so young, I don’t really remember anything except that my parents were very upset and the law was involved. It had to do with my mother’s little sister. I asked Dad about it when I was older, and he said it was a family matter that was done and past, and there was no need to dredge up old memories. Dad’s private that way, and I’ve never asked again. I have pieced together a few details, and I think my aunt must have been captured, but she somehow lived through the ordeal.”

Madeline paused, her dark eyes serious, her brow furrowed. “Whatever happened, there’s been a strong connection between Dad and Señor Valderas ever since.”

“But you said they were known for doing all those things, meaning it is their former behavior. They don’t do it anymore?”

“Since you’ve decided to live in Texas, you really should learn our history.” Madeline gently chided her. “So pay attention. Here’s a quick lesson. Comanchero trading all but ended when an Indian war party attacked buffalo hunters at what we call the Second Battle of Adobe Walls. Not long after that, there was another skirmish at Palo Duro Canyon. Most of the Indians gave up there and returned to reservations in the Indian Territory.”

“So that was the end of the Comancheros?”

Madeline nodded. “Almost. It wasn’t until Quannah Parker surrendered just before the battle at Yellow House Canyon about four years ago that it really ended, but as far as most people are concerned, it doesn’t change what Comancheros did, and most Texans still hold it against them.”

“I’ve been sheltered and privileged all my life. I’ve never personally known anyone outside the law.” Elizabeth made a sweeping gesture around her.

“Living here is so different and exciting. There’s nothing mundane about Texas, that’s for certain.” Upon arriving in Laredo last winter, she’d learned right away that her actions and attitude toward others were what mattered, and her family name carried no weight here.

As she looked over the festivities, Elizabeth had no doubt her family would disapprove of this fandango tonight and the thought gave her deep satisfaction that they’d view it as completely beneath a young lady of her station, breeding, and education. Socializing with common folk, her parents would say.

Thinking of her parents reminded her that she’d never been comfortable with their strict social stratification standards and the longer she lived in Laredo and away from her controlling family, the happier she’d become. She smiled in secret satisfaction. Mother would swoon if she only knew how much I’ve grown to love living here.

The pause between songs interrupted her private musings, and she suddenly realized the mysterious vaquero was walking straight toward her across the dancing area. So intense was his gaze that she had no doubt of his intended destination. Anticipation built inside her. Her pulse quickened. His self-assured, swaggering gait suggested an earthy vitality she’d never encountered in any other man. His ornately adorned black charro jacket fit snugly over his broad shoulders and the ends of his midnight-black hair brushed the collar of the red shirt that opened low on his chest revealing a patch of dark curly hair. His flashy calzoneras hung long over his boots and a black poblano dangled down his back by a cord around his neck. The silver conchos dotting the tied-down gun belt strapped around his narrow hips caught the wavering torchlight with glimmering sparkles and with each arrogant step, she heard the rhythmical jingle-jangle of his large-rowelled Mexican spurs.

Upon reaching her, he boldly took her hand, standing much closer than good breeding warranted, and brought it to his lips with a pretentious bow. His grip was strong, yet gentle. His gaze penetrated to the very core of what made her a woman, and the brash, simmering desire in his sultry eyes sent a primal, tingling response shimmering through her body. His neatly trimmed mustache quivered with a smile that provoked and beckoned her at the same time.

“Buenas noches. I am Domingo Raoul Valderas y César, recently of Monterrey, Monclova, and Saltillo by way of Albuquerque and all locations in between. My friends call me Mingo.” Although heavily accented, his English was strong and clear. “Your name, señorita?”

The sound of his deeply languid voice washed over her, caressing her with intimate familiarity. This man was desire personified, and her body responded while words failed her.

His expression suddenly took on pseudo alarm and he swept his free hand histrionically to his chest. “No! Do I hold false hope…señora? Tell me my heart will not be broken to learn that you belong to another?”

His allusion to marriage shook her out of her daze and she recovered her composure. Deliberately mimicking him, she countered, “I am Elizabeth Rachel Bradford White, recently of Chicago, New Orleans, and Laredo, by way of Cleveland and many other eastern cities and several in Europe.”

Manners prompted her to withdraw her hand from his, although reluctantly, but not without further clarification. “And I belong to no man.” She turned to Madeline. “I believe you know my cousin, Madeline Howard.”

“Sí, I am acquainted with Señorita Howard. I respect your father very much. Over the years, he has treated my family fairly when others have not been so honest, or generous. He is a good man, and a good friend.”

Mingo turned his attention back to Elizabeth. “Señorita White, my heart sings that I may have a chance to win your heart. Dance, por favor?” Teasingly, Elizabeth challenged him. “One usually needs music in order to dance.”

He smiled. “Es verdad. Un momento.”

When he motioned to the mariachi, the evening air instantly filled with the music of a slow melodic ballad, and Elizabeth realized the musicians had been watching and waiting for his signal.

To Madeline, he excused them. “Con su permiso.”

Amused at his blatant planning, it didn’t occur to Elizabeth to decline when he took her hand and led her into the midst of the dancing couples. He held her much more closely than she was accustomed, but not so tightly as to be offensive. She marveled at her willingness to be in his arms. Not a single suitor had ever aroused in her what this man had accomplished by just looking at her from across the plaza. Romantic silliness, her mother called it, but Elizabeth couldn’t help wondering if his kisses were as passionate as his eyes suggested.

“Señorita, you say you belong to no man, but you are too beautiful to be alone.”

“There is more to a person than physical appearance.”

“True, but you have a sophistication of bearing that lends to your beauty. I cannot believe all the men watching us do not desire to be with you, yet I find you waiting in the shadows instead of dancing in the light.”

“You obviously want to be with me,” she countered, not disliking his beguiling flattery.

“Well, I have had your complete attention since the moment I arrived.” There was a teasing gleam in his eyes.

“You had everyone’s attention.”

He grinned in concession. “It is often like that for me. So, you live in Laredo?”

“Yes, with Madeline and her father.”

He thought for a moment. “I have been to their home, but I have not seen you.”

“I moved here from Cleveland, Ohio early last January.”

“Ah, then that is why. My last visit here was a year ago. You are a long way from home.”

“No.” The word was sharp. “I’m a long way from the very large, impersonal house where I grew up. It was never a home, not the way a home should be.”

“Perdóneme. I meant no offense.”

Instantly ill at ease with her rudeness, she said, “No, it is I who should apologize. I have no reason to be cross with you.”

“But something obviously troubles you.”

“It’s complicated. I’m here because my father expects me to marry.”

A hot ember of jealousy flickered in his eyes, giving his indigo blue irises a wild, violet tint and she wondered why he cared if she married.

“So, this man you are to marry, he lives here?”

“No. He’s in Cleveland.”

“Grayson Wayne Beal.” She said his name through clenched teeth. “He’s a self-absorbed, small-minded, overbearing man who possesses an extreme and grandiose political ambition.”

Mingo seemed amused. “You have an apparent and distinct dislike for this man.”

“Only because he is contemptible beyond explanation.”

“Tell me more about him.”

Catching herself again, she said, “I shouldn’t. You asked me to dance and I’m carrying on about my personal life.”

“Por favor, I would like to hear more.”

The moment she asked herself why she was willing to share her private feelings with a stranger, the answer revealed itself on his face. Outlaw or no, the simple honesty and true interest in his eyes spoke to her need to be understood.

“All right. Grayson needs a wife with the correct political and social connections in order to have doors opened that are otherwise closed to him.” Her tone turned sarcastic. “To be precise, he wants a good Catholic girl from old money. Not to mention the eventuality of having a son-in-law in the governor’s mansion appeals to my parents. Grayson finds it particularly gratifying that we can both trace our ancestors to the Mayflower. Greed did not stand in the way of religious beliefs in my family.” She gave a flippant toss of her head. “Puritanism to Catholicism in order to gain a fortune.”

Mingo looked at her oddly.

“It’s an ancestral idiosyncrasy of marrying for money. Just one of the many dubious episodes in my family’s avaricious history.”

“Why are you here if your fiancé is in Ohio?”

Her temper flared with hot defensive words. “He is not my fiancé. He’s an attorney in my father’s law firm. He handles the finances of our shipping business, which, unfortunately, offers him many opportunities to ingratiate himself into my family’s private life.”

“That is convenient for him.”

“Precisely. He considers the few occasions he’s escorted me to the theater and other social events as our engagement period. Last December at a holiday party, which included my birthday celebration, he had the gall to demand a wedding date. When I refused, he was flabbergasted that I’d dare reject him publicly. Furious, actually.” She smiled at the memory.

“How is that related to your living here?”

“Grayson convinced my parents that by sending me here I would change my mind once I had to live without the benefits of my father’s money. He was sure after a few weeks I would agree to marry him and be grateful to have him. And, of course, there’s the threat of disinheritance dangling over me.”

“Ah,” —he eyed her thoughtfully— “will you comply to keep your inheritance?”

“No. I won’t marry a man I don’t love.”

“If your father cannot make you marry against your will, how did he convince you to come here?”

“My father only thinks he won that battle, and my mother says one man is the same as another, so why not Grayson. Her only concerns are money, social position, and grandchildren with the correct familial lineage. My brother married into the Beckwith family and my parents expect no less of a social marriage from me.” She lifted her chin with stubborn resolve. “I wanted to be away from Grayson so badly I would have gone anywhere.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Stay here, go somewhere else.” She tossed her head with defiant resolve. “I don’t have any plans other than I’m not returning to Cleveland. In fact, I was summoned home three months ago and refused. My father will be here in a few days to insist I travel back with him.”

“It is a shrewd plan to force him to come here and meet you on your terms and on familiar ground. But will he not think you are selfish and thoughtless?”

“Undoubtedly, but the West is my home now. I don’t belong in the East anymore.”

“Has Señor Howard encouraged you either way?”

She shook her head. “He only tells me that I’m quite capable of making my own decisions and living by the consequences. He says no one is entitled to be another’s conscience or make a decision for someone based on their own personal wants or judgments. He frequently tells me that out west, particularly in Texas, a person is judged by two standards—being good for their word and honest in their actions, not for their social standing or the amount of money in their bank account.”

Mingo nodded. “That sounds very much like him.”

The song seemed unusually long, and Elizabeth suspected Mingo had prearranged it, but it ended in another few measures. When the tempo picked up with the next, he led her to the side of the dance area.

“I have not eaten all day. Will you share a meal?”

“Yes, thank you. I’d like that.” They took a table near a catalpa tree in full view of the plaza, but away from the bright torches. A young girl immediately appeared with a bottle of wine and Mingo requested food.

He poured dark red liquid into their glasses then tipped his to Elizabeth. “Your name suits you well.”

“My name?”

“Sí, in my language, your name is Isabel Raquel Blanco. It suggests strength and temerity, and your hair is so blonde it is nearly white. It is as if you were born for your name.”

She caught her breath when he reached out and gently touched the curls at her temple.

“And your eyes are such a pale blue that they are nearly without color. They are eyes that haunt a man, and once he has looked into them, he cannot forget you.” He held her gaze and his eyes darkened. “Nor live without them.”

Flushing, she quickly sipped her wine, as intrigued by his interest in her as she was confused by her own intense physical attraction to him. There was a magnetic, sensual lure in his voice and in his touch.

“I could say the same for your eyes. It’s difficult not to stare at them. Blue-violet is very unusual.”

“Cómo?”

“The native people here all seem to have dark brown or black eyes.”

With a chuckle, he said, “You say native as if you are reluctant to call me what I am.” He thumped his chest proudly. “I am Mexican. My ancestors came from Spain and settled in Mexico. My great-great-great grandmother had blue eyes and red hair.”

“Madeline mentioned that your family lives in the mountains.”

“Sí, we have a cattle ranch in the Madre Sierras between Monterrey and Monclova, perhaps two-hundred miles to the south, but I was born near Santa Fé in the New Mexico Territory.”

“I didn’t see you at the festivities earlier today. Did you come here just for the dance tonight?”

He hesitated before answering. “I must confess. I saw you at the charreadas and I watched you most of the day.”

“You spied on me?” She sat a little straighter, making no attempt to mask her annoyance.

Seeming particularly pleased with himself, he grinned. “Not at all. I merely admired you, enjoying your beauty and grace in private adoration.”

“Is that why you came here tonight, to privately adore me a little longer?” Her voice turned edgy. Attracted as she was to him, she didn’t like that she’d been on display for him all day and she hadn’t known.

Instantly serious, he leaned across the small table toward her. “Sí, that is exactly why. When I introduced myself to you, I already knew your name and that you were not married. To confess completely, I also knew you lived with Señor Howard. I spoke with him this morning and received his permission…para cortejar…” he clicked his thumb and fingers, searching for the translation, “to court you.”

Chapter Two…next week (check the Sidebar Category for “The Comanchero’s Bride” for each previously published chapter)

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Read Chapter 1 of “Heart of the Storm by Sable Grey at her website: http://www.sablegrey.net

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Until next chapter,

Kaye