Midnight Rider (3 page)

Carly focused her thoughts on the young man she had danced with, but his image changed to one of the dark-eyed don. “Vincent … yes, he seems a nice enough man.”

“I'm glad you like him, my dear. As a matter of fact, you'll be seeing him again quite soon.”

She arched a brow. It was a two-day ride from San Francisco to Rancho del Robles. She hadn't expected the man would return so quickly. “Really? Why is that?”

“William and I are staging a horse race. Bannister's invited half the city. It'll be quite an affair, as you might imagine.”

Carly leaned forward, feeling a burst of excitement. “A horse race? Here on the ranch?”

“Exactly. William has purchased an extremely splendid animal. A Thoroughbred stallion named Raja, just arrived from Australia. He'll be running against de la Guerra's Andalusian.”

“You don't mean Don Ramon's palomino?” She had seen the magnificent animal that night outside the barn.

“That is indeed the one. So far the horse is unbeaten. William tried to buy him, but de la Guerra refused every offer. Bannister wouldn't give up. He challenged the don to a horse race, then searched to hell and gone till he found an animal he believes can win.”

“But you said the don has very little money. Surely they must be wagering something.”

He nodded. “Bannister's put up two thousand dollars against the don's Andalusian.”

Carly mulled that over. If money was a problem, Don Ramon could probably use the winnings, and the thought of his losing such a beautiful horse seemed utterly unbearable. She found herself hoping he would win.

She hadn't seen the don since the night of the fiesta, though his tall, darkly handsome image had surfaced occasionally in her mind. She thought of him now and tried to tell herself the excitement coursing through her blood had only to do with the festivities ahead.

She tried—but something told her it wasn't the truth.

C
HAPTER
T
WO

Ramon de la Guerra led his palomino Andalusian stallion, Rey del Sol—King of the Sun—across the dry grass toward the group of people gathered to watch the race: William Bannister's wealthy friends from San Francisco accompanied by a small number of women, Austin's Anglo neighbors, and Californio rancheros from nearby haciendas.

At least forty vaqueros were gathered near the finish line. The Montoyas were there, as well as Ramon's mother and his aunt Teresa.

Austin had gone all out, clearing a two-mile race course, building high wooden benches for his guests to sit on, decorating the starting line with red-and-blue bunting, as well as an arch at the end. The crowd was eager, laughing, and boisterous, the betting steep all around.

With thirty minutes left till time for the race to begin, Ramon paused at the finish line to speak to some of his men and saw his brother, Andreas, among them. Though he stood two inches shorter, Andreas, like Ramon, was lean, hard muscled, and swarthy. He was handsome, and if his hair had been blond, his skin more fair, perhaps almost pretty. Andreas was intelligent and far too charming.

Only longtime friends knew of their kinship. During his years in Mexico, years he had spent feuding with his father, Andreas had changed a great deal; and with the coming of the gold rush, many of the old Spanish families had lost their lands and moved away. Except for the de la Guerras, no one knew of Andreas's return. Then their father had died and Andreas had gone into the hills, vowing to seek justice and revenge. Now to most people, he was simply a vaquero known as Perez.

“Don Ramon!” his brother called out, addressing him as if they were merely acquaintances. “
Un momento, por favor?
May I speak with you for a moment?”

Ramon just nodded. He had expected his brother to be there. At twenty-six, three years his junior, Andreas de la Guerra was impetuous, high spirited, and even a little bit reckless. He wouldn't miss this chance to see Ramon best the Anglo horse and rider. Andreas disliked the Norte Americanos even more than Ramon did. He would enjoy this chance to see them bested—he had no doubt that his brother would win.

Ramon inwardly smiled, not nearly as certain himself. But his honor had demanded he accept the wager, and Bannister's bet was a fair one.

“
Buenas tardes,
little brother. I am not surprised to see you, though in truth, you probably should not have come.” They stood off beneath an oak tree, where they could be sure no one would hear.

Andreas smiled and clapped him affectionately on the shoulder. “I did not want to miss the race. Besides, I grow weary of confinement.”

Ramon smiled. “You grow weary of having no new woman to warm your bed. I hear they have brought some into San Juan Bautista. Perhaps you should stop by the cantina, see if you can find one to your liking.”

Andreas's eyes strayed toward the group of Anglos clustered down at the starting line. “I think I may not have to go so far.” Ramon followed his brother's gaze to Fletcher Austin's niece, resplendent in a peppermint striped taffeta day dress and tiny matching parasol. Her fiery hair clustered in shiny ringlets on her shoulder. “I think I may be falling in love.”

Ramon frowned. “Do not be a fool, little brother. That one means nothing but trouble.”

“You have met her?”

“
Si.
At Austin's
fandango.
She is shallow and pretentious, not worthy of your attentions.”

“Perhaps not.” Andreas glanced at her one more time, and the sound of her high sweet laughter floated toward them on the wind. When it lifted the hem of her skirts, giving them a glimpse of small feet and tiny stockinged ankles, Ramon felt a tightening in his groin.

“Then again…” Andreas said, “perhaps the senorita is well worth whatever trouble she might bring.” He grinned in that devilish way of his but this time Ramon did not smile back.

“One of these days,
hermano,
such a woman will be the death of you.”

“Ah, but if a man must die, what better way to go?”

Ramon chuckled softly. The stallion danced at the end of his lead rope and tossed his beautiful head, rippling his long, pale mane. “Rey is eager to meet his opponent. It is time for me to leave.”

“There is just one last thing.” Andreas glanced uneasily down at his feet, and Ramon knew in an instant this was the matter his brother had come to discuss.

“Go on.”

“I have only just learned that in three days time, Fletcher Austin will be bringing in a large herd of horses.”

“
Si,
I know this already. His men have been rounding them up for the past several weeks.”

“Then why did you not say so? We must have time to gather the men, to make plans, preparations. We will need—”

“I did not tell you because raiding del Robles is too dangerous. We will not take the horses.”

“Do not talk nonsense. Supplies are low; we need those animals very badly.”

A corner of Ramon's mouth curved up. “Surely with all of the gold you stole last week—”

“You know I did not—” He broke off at the smile on his brother's face. “That is not funny.”

“No, I do not suppose that it is,” Ramon conceded, bothered as much as his brother by the deeds they were blamed for that they had not done. He glanced toward the group of vaqueros making wagers on the race, then returned his gaze to Andreas. “Austin will be ready. He has hired a number of extra men. The horses will be heavily guarded all the way in from the range.”

Andreas grinned, etching deep grooves in his cheeks. “That is why we will wait until they reach the hacienda before we go after them.”

Ramon grunted. “Your need for a woman has clouded your brain.”

“Think about it, Ramon. Once the horses reach the rancho, Austin will let the extra hands go. He will not be expecting us to come after them so close to the house. We can sweep down, steal the horses, and be gone before he discovers what has hit him.”

Absently patting Rey's sleek neck, Ramon mulled over his brother's words. It wasn't such a bad idea, but it would be extremely dangerous. Then again, as Andreas had said, there were hungry mouths to feed and they might not get another chance like this for a very long time.

“I have already spoken to the others,” Andreas continued. “The men have all agreed. We are going after the horses, Ramon.”

He stared hard at Andreas, then swore an oath beneath his breath. As head of the de la Guerra family, in most things his word was law, but he could not command his brother in this.

“If you are that determined to go, then I will be the one to lead the men.”

“No. Your rancho lies too close to Austin's. It is better if you stay home.”

Ramon shook his head. “You went the last time. If we are going to steal the horses, it is my turn to lead.” He started walking the stallion toward the starting line, but Andreas caught his arm.

“I have a personal interest in this, Ramon. Every time we have raided del Robles, I have been the one to stay behind. I have waited long enough for my revenge. This time I am going, no matter which of us is in command.”

It was as close to a compromise as he would get.
“Muy bien,”
he said, though he wasn't about to let Andreas face such danger alone. He had failed his family once. Because of it, his father was dead and his lands had been stolen. He loved his younger brother—he would do whatever it took to protect him.

He would not fail his family again.

“Then we will both ride on this one.”

Andreas smiled, the tension easing from his long-limbed body. “When do we strike?”

“Just before dawn five days hence,” Ramon said, starting to walk away. “We will rendezvous at the creek.”

Andreas nodded, and Ramon led the stallion off toward the start of the race. Rey's thick neck bowed and his nostrils flared as they approached the noisy crowd, then a tiny brown-and-white dog not much bigger than a well-fed squirrel yapped twice and fell in step at Ramon's feet. He chuckled, reached down, and picked the animal up in the palm of his hand.

“So you have missed your friend,” he said. Pausing for a moment, he set the little dog up on the saddle and immediately the stallion nickered with contentment, then began to quiet. Rey and Bajito had been born within days of each other. They had been raised together in a stall in the
establo,
and had formed an odd sort of friendship.

Ramon smiled as he thought of the bewildering pair and continued walking toward the spot where Bannister's magnificent Thoroughbred, Raja, pranced impatiently near the starting line.

*   *   *

Carly tried to concentrate on Vincent Bannister's conversation but her glance kept straying to the Spaniard and his fiery palomino horse. With its broad chest, thick neck, long, pale mane, and even longer tail, she had never seen a more beautiful animal; nor, she secretly admitted, a man with more masculine appeal.

He wore no silver today, just a full-sleeved white lawn shirt and soft brown suede breeches that clung to his sinewy thighs. The breeches were laced up the sides, she saw, and at the bottom, flared slightly over brown leather boots. A flat-brimmed black hat hung down his broad back, secured by a thin braided lanyard around his dark throat.

She smiled to think of the powerful man, the beautiful horse, and the tiny brown-and-white dog now riding calmly on the stallion's back. She watched as the odd threesome paused and the don began speaking to a wrinkled little woman Carly presumed to be his mother. A taller, thinner woman a few years younger stood at one side, and across from them Pilar Montoya smiled at the don with undisguised warmth.

Carly had met Pilar the night of the
fandango.
She was a widow, Uncle Fletcher had told her but her period of mourning had ended. Pilar was husband-hunting and Ramon de la Guerra seemed the leading contender for her hand.

Carly found herself frowning at the notion, and she was afraid she knew why.

Since the moment she had seen the handsome don, she had been attracted to him. He was unlike any other man she had ever met, taller, more charming, and far more exciting. A single glance from those hot dark eyes made her insides turn to butter. Still she knew the attraction was futile. She had promised her uncle and she meant to keep her word.

Besides, as nearly as she could tell, the don had none of that same interest in her.

“They're getting ready to start,” Vincent said. “We had better find our places.”

“Yes. There's Uncle Fletcher now.” They joined him, taking prime seats in the front row of the raised wooden dais where they could see every section of the course. William Bannister and other of her uncle's friends quickly filled the remaining spaces and still more people gathered at the starting line.

Fewer than a tenth of those attending were women. With the grueling voyage around the Horn, a trip across the Isthmus, or the prospect of a lengthy and dangerous overland journey, most of the men in California had come west alone. There were Californio women, of course, and the usual sordid array of camp followers looking for some of the loot coming out of the gold fields. But eastern women were a rarity. Carly had met only a few and none that she could call friend.

“What do you think of my father's horse?” Vincent asked as Raja was led toward the start. He was a sleek, dappled-gray gelding, long and lean of limb, more gracefully built than any horse she had ever seen.

“He looks fast enough, but the course is fairly long and not completely flat, and the ground is a little rough. Uncle Fletcher is worried that he might not have enough stamina.”

Vincent jerked as if he'd been slapped. “Raja can take any horse in California. My father paid a fortune for him, and Stan McCloskey is the best rider on the West Coast.”

Though most of the hands were dressed in work clothes and the vaqueros wore open-throated white shirts and rough-cut leather breeches, Vincent sat beside her in a navy blue tailcoat and a wide white wrapped cravat tied in a bow.