Once A Wolf (21 page)

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Admit it, she told herself. Until you admit it, you cannot fight. You're defeated before you

begin.

She closed her eyes. Very well. She did find Tomás attractive. She had felt so within the first

hour after she'd met him. She could find no good reason, for she ought to be above being

impressed by handsome looks and blatant enticement.

Was it his soulful eyes, or the musical voice capable of both strength and gentleness? His easy

laugh? His complete disregard of consequences, so utterly unlike her own view of the world? Or

the way he commanded such loyalty, and rescued damsels in distress? How could these

qualities outweigh his crimes?

Or was that the very attraction—that he could do all the things she denied herself?

It was madness. But his voice responded in her mind: "There is a certain satisfaction in

madness. But you've never allowed yourself to discover that, have you?"

She'd most certainly discovered it. And she knew she was in very grave danger.

Her hand shook so much when she set down the cup that cooling tea splashed onto the table.

There, the admission was made. She recognized her danger; she felt both liberated and

ashamed at the acknowledgment of her weakness. Her determination and self-control could no

longer be relied upon. Tomás was a thief out to steal what she valued most, and what he would

steal couldn't be recovered.

Every day she remained here, the danger would grow. Now that she had reached the place

where Tomás meant to keep her, she had two clear choices: remain his prisoner and risk the

consequences, or find a way to escape. The encounters with Sim Kavanagh convinced her that

Esperanza could not stay here without her. The escape must be planned for two.

She didn't deceive herself that it would be easy. The canyon had no convenient exits, and she'd

arrived blindfolded. She'd have to test the limits of her freedom here, and carefully study the

canyon from one end to the other without seeming to do so.

It would be far more plausible with allies. But Tomás's men were loyal to him, Kavanagh most

of all. She couldn't expect the children to help a stranger.

The children. She frowned over her last strawberry. It was a pity that they were deprived of the

possibility of a normal life and education, among law-abiding people of decent morals.

Tomás was, in a sense, the master of these people. There must be a way to make him aware of

what he owed the children. But she would have to be very careful not to place herself in his

debt.

She dared not forget that he was Cole's enemy. And hers.

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The door creaked open behind her. The old man, Nestor, poked in his head.

"I have come to clean the table," he said, his mild brown eyes both curious and guarded. "If you

are finished?"

Rowena rose and nodded to Esperanza. "We are, thank you. señor—"

"I am only Nestor," he said. He shuffled into the room and picked up the plates carefully. "Was

the meal to your liking?"

His English was accented but clear, the gentleness of his voice soothing. Rowena smiled. "Very

much so, Nestor." She'd been looking for allies, and while there was no reason to suspect

Nestor would be any less loyal to Tomás than the others, he might be more communicative. It

wouldn't hurt to try. "Did you prepare it?"

"My wife taught me to bake the bread, but it was Don Tomás who brought the fruit and

butter."

"The bread was delicious."

He ducked his head. "I will take these things away now."

"But you will return? I know we have just met, but I have so many questions about this place.

Perhaps you might help me." She folded her hands in entreaty. "Please."

He hesitated by the door, balancing cutlery and china, and then his eyes lit up with pleasure

that outweighed caution. "Si, Dona Rowena. Don Tomás has spoken much of you. I will come

back."

She hurried to hold the door open for him. Unless she was very much mistaken, Nestor could

prove a most valuable source of information.

With a little effort, she convinced Esperanza to lie down on the bed. The girl soon fell into

exhausted sleep. Rowena composed herself to wait for Nestor's return.

He knocked a half hour later. Rowena knew that the door had been locked, but she greeted him

like a proper hostess, showing him to one of the chairs.

She made a few polite comments about the weather and the beauty of the canyon, and then

began her interrogation.

"I wish to thank you again for breakfast," she said.

"It is nothing, Dona Rowena."

"Fine hospitality is never to be taken for granted, señor," she said. "This is a lovely house. I hope

that I did not turn anyone out of his home."

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Nestor smiled. "It is Don Tomás's casa."

"I… I see." Why should she be surprised? The bed in which Esperanza slept must be his, as well.

"Don Tomás had it prepared for you," Nestor said eagerly. "He wished you to be comfortable."

"How kind of him." She doubted that Nestor would grasp her irony. "Tell me, Nestor—how

much has Don Tomás said of me? Has he told you why I am here?"

The guarded look came back into the old man's eyes. He shrugged uncomfortably. "Suficiente."

Best not to belabor her status as a prisoner, then. "You understand that there is so much I do

not know about Tomás."

"Si. Many do not know him, but I have been with him since his childhood."

Rowena's interest doubled. "You must have known his mother, then."

"Dona Adelina. She was a brave and handsome woman."

"Tomás's family did not always live in this canyon."

"Once he was heir to many varas of fine land in the east. But when his enemies came—" He

broke off, rubbing his cracked lips. "Perhaps he has told you this."

"A little." You are not here to learn about his past, she chided herself, unless it helps you

escape.

Nestor studied her face for a long moment. "You do not think well of him, Dona Rowena."

Does he believe that I should, under the circumstances? Her thoughts strayed back to the kiss

and tripped over themselves in confusion and chagrin. "You must know that I did not… expect

to come here."

"He thinks very well of you."

Suddenly she was aware of her heartbeat as she hadn't been an instant before. She bit down on

her lip to keep from asking how he knew.

Nestor rose and paced several uneven steps away from the table. "You judge him on only a part

of what he is. Not all is as it seems." He faced her with an earnest frown. "Many who have come

to El cañon del Rito de las Lagrimas were saved by Don Tomás."

"Saved?"

"You were with him when he rescued the girl. It was not the first time, nor will it be the last."

He sat down again, working his thick brown fingers. "Ram6n was accused of a murder he did

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not commit. Tomás learned of this, and risked his life to save him from hanging. Ramon is safe

here."

Ramon, she remembered, was the man without children. "What of the others who follow him?"

"All owe Don Tomás their loyalty. They are good men."

Is that why they are so willing to join him in thievery and law-breaking, not to mention

threatening murder to Weylin MacLean?

Such blunt speech wouldn't be wise. "Did he rescue Sim Kavanagh as well?"

He must have recognized her sarcasm. "They have helped each other many times," he said.

"Senor Kavanagh… is a hard man."

"Indeed."

"Don Tomás brought the huerfanos, Enrique and Pilar, to live here when their parents died," he

said quickly. "There have been others like them, who have stayed and gone again when the

time is right."

Nestor spoke as if the canyon were a sanctuary rather than a den of wanted criminals. He was

anxious to convince her that Tomás was as much heroic benefactor as outlaw. She'd seen him

play that role at Rito Pequeño, and again with Esperanza. She was remarkably unsurprised that

he'd done it before.

Did he do good out of a need to atone for what he knew to be evil? There was a great deal of

difference between aiding a man like Kavanagh and providing a home, however, imperfect, to

young orphans. Nothing Nestor had told her made Tomás more comprehensible.

It only made her doubt herself.

If she continued to question Nestor, she'd surely hear as much as she wanted to know about

Tomás's past and motives. The story would be one-sided, however, skewed in the outlaw's

favor, and thus worthless. She had no choice but to continue to trust her own judgment.

Did she dare to do so?

"You spoke of the orphans," she said at last. "Who cares for them?"

"All of us. They lack for nothing."

Except parents, education, and a decent upbringing, she thought. But she didn't wish to

antagonize Nestor with more criticisms of his master. Best to turn the conversation in a more

fruitful direction.

"Do you know," she asked cautiously, "if I am to be permitted to walk outside this house?"

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"Don Tomás said that you could go where you will in the canyon," he said. "But it would not be

best for you to stray too far alone."

So. Tomás must believe that there was little chance of her finding a way to escape—or that she

lacked the courage to try.

"I shall certainly be careful," she said, "but the desert is less strange to me now than it was a

week ago."

Nestor brightened. "Do you like our land, Dona Rowena?"

"I have… come to recognize its finer qualities."

"Excelente." He brought his tanned and wrinkled hands together. "You will soon see the beauty

of our canyon."

Nestor, it seemed, was eager for her to explore. What were his motives? Did he have some

notion that she would remain here of her own free will?

Or was he hoping that by growing to love this land, she must also grow to love…

"I was blindfolded when I came to the canyon," she said hastily. "Is that the way all people

enter?"

"Those who are new, si."

Then there must be some risk that one could find the exit, by accident or careful investigation.

The prospect gave her hope. "I suppose there are few towns of any size in the area."

He cocked one shaggy white brow. "The nearest villagers are all friends of Don Tomás."

A warning that she could not, even if she escaped, rely upon help from the locals. So be it. She

would find a way.

"Well, señor Nestor, your conversation has been most enlightening," she said. "And your

cooking most delicious. I look forward to the next opportunity to sample it."

"Ah, yes, Dona Rowena. I almost forgot. Don Tomás asks if he may have the honor of attending

you at dinner this evening."

The request was a mere formality, since she could hardly bar him from his own house. "Of

course," she said. "Esperanza will be welcome, I trust?"

Nestor nodded and rose to go. "I will leave the door open, Dona Rowena."

"Gracias. "He smiled with pleasure at her attempt at Spanish and bowed slightly by the door as

he took his leave. She tested the door latch behind him; it was indeed unlocked.

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Esperanza was still sleeping when she went to check on her. Neither of them had any demands

on their time. There was no reason to put off the first informal survey of her larger prison.

The square just outside the door was, at the moment, deserted. She looked curiously at the

handful of houses, wondering where Tomás spent his nights.

No concern of yours, she told herself. He may sleep on a cactus if he chooses. The image

cheered her. She wandered out of the square and caught sight of men working in the fields.

Farmers now, not outlaws, doing what farmers did the world over. The children must be out

playing, or helping the adults.

She was debating a walk to the fields for a closer look when the boy Enrique came running from

behind the nearest house. He stopped short when he saw her.

"Buenos dias, señorita" he said. His face was smudged with dirt, but his eyes were shining and

happy.

"Buenos dias," she pronounced carefully. "It's nice to see you again, Enrique."

"And you, señorita." He squared his thin shoulders. "I speak ingles, better than anyone but

Nestor and Don Tomás."

"So I see. Where did you learn?"

"Nestor taught me. I was his aprendiz."

Apprentice, she translated. "Does Nestor take care of you and Pilar?" she asked.

He shrugged. "I don't need anyone to take care of me. I take care of Pilar."

All at once he reminded her of Quentin at that age, scorning any limits on his boyish freedoms.

Believing that he had no more need of adult supervision. At that time, their parents had been

dead for years, and Grandfather was a tyrant to be feared, not loved. Orphans in virtually every