“Angel is dead?”
She nodded. “They still believe he was you. It’s over, Ramon. The sheriff says they aren’t going after the others, so unless there’s more trouble, all of this is ended.”
His head fell back against the pillow, relief flooding through him, yet suddenly he felt fatigued.
“You were right about my uncle,” Carly said softly. “The day of his funeral, the sheriff came. He suggested I go through my uncle’s papers. I found a ring of keys in his desk to a set of locked drawers. In one of them, I found a file containing a record of his bank drafts as far back as 1851. There was one in particular, made out to a man named Henry Cheevers. The amount was two thousand dollars. I might have thought nothing of it, except for the month it was written—April of 1853—and the fact that UncleFletcher took title to Rancho del Robles less than thirty days later. In another file, I discovered Henry Cheevers was on the U.S. Board of Land Commissions.”
He quietly absorbed the words, but a slight tension had settled around him.
“I think my uncle bribed Henry Cheevers to deny your family’s claim to Rancho del Robles. Instead, the land was sold to Thomas Garrison for almost nothing. There was a draft to Garrison as well, then a separate one for the purchase of the rancho. Even with the bribes, Uncle Fletcher bought the land for a tenth of its worth.” A mist of tears glazed her eyes. “My uncle stole your land, Ramon, exactly like you said.”
I am bounden for to love thee,
And my constancy I’ll show;
O the troubles of a fellow,
When he loves a woman so!
What hard knocks befall a fellow,
When he falls in love at sight!
Takes to wine and gets befuddled,
Goes to bed without a bite.
Do not kill me, do not kill me,
With a pistol or a knife!
Kill me, rather, with thine eyes, love,
With those red lips take my life.
Old Spanish Ballad
“El Capotin” (“The Rain Song”)
EPILOGUE
They were having afandango.It was a special evening planned by Ramon, though he’d been strangely quiet about it. He’d simply said there would be a grand fiesta to celebrate a grand occasion. Carly wasn’t sure what that occasion was, but she didn’t care. She had a surprise of her own for Ramon.
The sounds of music drifted toward her. Outside the window, musicians played Spanish guitar and violin, entertaining the guests that had already arrived while Carly sat fidgeting on the tapestry stool in front of the mirror, wishing Candelaria would hurry and finish her hair.
“Can you not sit still?” the Spanish girl scolded. “If you wish me to hurry, you must not squirm so much.”
“I can’t help it. I should have been ready long before this. Ramon will be wondering where I am.”
“You should have let Rita oversee the preparations, as the don suggested, instead of trying to do so much of it yourself.”
“I only helped with the food. I wanted to be sure there was enough.”
The little maid simply frowned till Carly stifled her nervous movements. Six months had passed since the death of her uncle. Several weeks after, the will had been read, leaving the ranch to her as the sheriff had said. But documents had to be drawn, there were business accounts to be transferred into her name, a dozen different papers to sign. Two months after Uncle Fletcher’s death, she and Ramon moved back to Rancho del Robles, and Ramon took over the running of the rancho.
His mother and aunt decided to remain in the small adobe house at Las Almas. It was only a short ride away and the older women had come to think of the place as home.
“Rancho del Robles is no longer where I wish to live,” his mother said. “There I see your father’s hand in everything I do. The memories are too painful. I am more at peace here.” Mariano remained as well, and Blue Blanket and some of the vaqueros. The rest of the men, including Pedro Sanchez, returned to Rancho del Robles.
