She forced herself to smile. She owed him so much. He had saved her, given her a chance for a whole new life. She had always been desperate to please him, to pay him back for the things he had done. She wanted so badly to win his acceptance, perhaps even his love.
She would do almost anything for him.
Anything but this.
“As I said, Vincent is a very nice boy. I understand your concern, but I care nothing for Vincent Bannister beyond friendship, and I’m not going to marry him.” She rose stiffly, her dark blue riding skirt rustling against the legs of the carved wooden chair. “Now if you will excuse me…”
He didn’t try to stop her, just scowled as she stalked out of the room.
Fletcher waited till she closed the door, then moved to the sideboard and poured himself a drink. He didn’t usually imbibe this early, but his headstrong niece had driven him to it. His mouth curled up in a grudging half smile. Part of him admired her. She had fortitude, beauty and brains. She reminded him of his dear sister, Lucy, the only woman he had ever really respected. If he could find a woman with half his niece’s spirit, he would marry her tomorrow.
Which didn’t mean he intended to let her have her way.
Lifting the fine crystal snifter cradled in his hand, he took a sip of brandy, enjoying the trickle of warmth into his stomach. A little of his tension eased. Caralee was a handful, more than he had ever expected. He had seen it from the start, though she’d done her best to appear meek and mild. She needed a man to take her in hand, a man who could handle her, and it was going to be a man of Fletcher’s choosing.
He took another drink. Vincent might look a little like a milksop, but Fletcher had seen him with his mistress. The boy wasn’t afraid to raise a hand to her when the need arose. He wasn’t one bit bashful about putting the woman in her place. And his appetite for bed sport would insure Caralee gave him sons.
At this late date, their offspring might well be the only heirs Fletcher Austin ever had.
He took another sip of his drink. At least the girl wasn’t pregnant. He was fairly sure of that. He was also certain she would marry Vincent Bannister.
Fletcher smiled. He always got what he wanted. This time would be no different. He knew exactly the way to insure that his niece and the son of his wealthy friend Bannister were married by the end of next week.
***
Teresa Apolonia de la Guerra loved her nephew Ramon as if he were her own son. She had no children of her own, for she had never married. Hernovio,Esteban, had been killed in Spain’s war with Napoleon, a young man only twenty. But she had never forgotten him. Only the closeness she shared with her brother Diego, his wife Anna Marie, and their two sons, Andreas and Ramon, had kept away the loneliness through the years.
Now Diego was gone. Andreas had joined him and soon would be sleeping in his rightful place beside his father in the plot up on the hill. She glanced across at Ramon, who stood staring out the window, off toward the horizon in the west.
Lifting her dark brown bombazine skirts, she silently crossed the room and rested her thin, veined hand on a muscled forearm. “What is it, Ramon? Lately you have not been yourself. I know that you still grieve for your brother, but somehow I do not think that this is what is wrong.”
He turned to face her, banished the darkness from his eyes, but not before she had seen it. He was so handsome, more beautiful than any man she had ever seen… except perhaps for Esteban.
Ramon gently smiled. “I am sorry, Tia. It is nothing to trouble yourself about. Only that I am worried about the people in the stronghold. Without Andreas, El Dragón will not avoid capture for long.”
Her hold on his arm grew tighter. “Even if your brother still lived, sooner or later, you both would be caught. You tried to tell him that in the beginning. You told him his efforts were futile. That there must be another way to regain what is ours. In your heart you still believe that is the truth.”
He covered her age-spotted hand with his own strong brown one. “Si,that is so. But that still does not solve the problem of feeding our people.”
“They are strong, Ramon. They will survive, even without your help. You cannot take care of them all.”
“If I had been here when Father needed me… if I hadn’t been in Spain—”
“It was not your fault. Your father believed the courts would uphold his title. He thought he could take care of the problem himself. By the time you knew what had happened it was already too late.”
He knew all of that, but still he felt guilty. If he had been here, maybe he could have done something to save their land. Perhaps his father would not have grown ill and died of a broken heart.
“What are your plans?” Tia Teresa asked.
Ramon shook his head. “I do not know.” He gazed back out the window, staring off toward the west as he had done so many times before. He had said he was worried about his people. Teresa knew that was the truth, but she believed there was something else.
“Will you go to Senor Austin’sfandangoon Saturday?” One of the del Robles vaqueros had brought the invitation that afternoon.
“I am not certain.” His eyes swung toward hers. They looked troubled again. “Unless you and Mother wish to go.”
“You know we are in mourning.”
“We are all of us in mourning, but the Anglos do not know that and we cannot let them know. Besides, the music and laughter would be good for you both.”
