Once A Wolf (24 page)

cord. He bowed deeply as he entered, his hat nearly touching the floor.

"Senoritas," he said. "I see that we have no need of candlelight. Your beauty is as the sun in

brilliance."

Esperanza dipped her head and glanced from Tomás to Rowena. Rowena rose slowly. "Don

Tomás."

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He set his hat on a wooden hook on the wall by the door and swept his hand through his hair.

Rowena found herself staring at its curling disarray. The way it tumbled over his forehead,

refusing to be tamed…

"Should I find a barber?" he asked. "A pity you gave away your brush."

She stood straighten "I doubt very much that a barber can improve you in anyway, Tomás," she

said.

He grinned. "I can see that we'll have a very interesting evening."

Rowena took Esperanza's hand. "Indeed."

Like any gentleman, Tomás carried the chairs back to the table and seated first Rowena and

then Esperanza. "I apologize for the lack of elegance in our dinner appointments," he said, "but

some luxuries are not easy to come by in our little canyon."

"No?" Rowena arched a brow. "I'd have thought you could contrive to steal almost anything."

"The finer the object, the more easily broken."

"Not always, I assure you," Rowena said sweetly.

Tomás gave her a long look and gestured to Nestor. The old man brought forth a bottle

wrapped in white cloth.

"Would you care for wine, Lady Rowena?"

"No, thank you."

He didn't seem surprised. He also didn't, Rowena noted with approval, offer any to Esperanza.

Nestor poured him half a glassful and retreated.

"It's excellent," he said after his first sip. "Do you abstain?"

"Only in certain circumstances."

He finished the wine and saluted her with the empty glass. "It's true that preliminaries can be

tiresome." His eyes glinted with amusement. "You may serve dinner, Nestor."

The food the old man brought was much the same as they'd had in Rito Pequeño—strongly

spiced mutton stew, tortillas, and beans. But there was also more freshly baked bread, butter,

and fruit. Even after the small luncheon offered hours ago, Rowena found her mouth watering.

Esperanza ate as daintily as Rowena, every so often glancing up from her plate to study her

companions with anxious eyes. Tomás smiled at her and spoke in quiet Spanish. She nodded

and ducked her head.

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At Rowena's questioning look, he translated. "I asked her if she is comfortable here," he said. "I

trust you find these poor accommodations tolerable?"

"I regret that my presence has displaced you from your own home," she said coolly.

"That could be rectified, dulzura."

"Yes. All you need do is let me go."

"That wasn't the solution I had in mind." He nodded to Nestor, who gathered up the china and

all remaining food but the fruit and bore it away.

"I hardly think there's room in this house for three people," she said, refusing to blush.

"True." Idly he sipped his second glass of wine. "But a few things—a very few—are worth

waiting for. Dessert, perhaps?"

Nestor brought out fresh dishes bearing squares of puffy fried bread. Esperanza's solemn face

lit up as one was set before her. Rowena tasted hers; the hollow inside was smothered with

honey that melted on her tongue with sinful abandon.

"The young know how to live," Tomás said softly, watching Esperanza savor each bite. "They

enjoy everything life has to offer, and don't waste time worrying about the future or the past."

It was exactly the opening Rowena had waited for. "Speaking of children," she said, mustering

her determination, "I have a number of questions about yours."

"Mine?"

"Enrique, Pilar, and all the rest. You've taken responsibility for them, have you not?"

She was gratified at his expression of surprise. It was obviously not a subject he'd intended to

cover. She continued her sally. "Yes, your children. What becomes of them when you ride out

to kidnap and rob?"

"Becomes of—" His expression cleared. "Who cares for them? Nestor and Isaaque, our

shepherd, are always here. You've met Nestor—"

"One aged man can look after so many? Surely a shepherd spends most of his time with his

flock."

Tomás stood up and walked across the room, coming to a stop at the door. "Your concern is

touching, but you have no need to fear for them. They are perfectly safe here."

"Safe, perhaps. What of the other essentials of a reasonable life?"

He turned to face her. "They have what they require— food, shelter, amusement—"

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"Naturally you would list amusement as one of life's essentials. What of suitable clothing,

especially for the girls? What of education? Can any of them read or write? And what sort of

example do you set them—you and your band of cutthroats?" She rose, bracing her hands on

the table. "These poor children must think that thievery and kidnapping are seemly

occupations. Have you done anything to counter such a depraved and immoral view of life?"

This time he had the grace to look abashed. "I do not encourage—"

"But you do not discourage, either. You must see how the boy Enrique looks up to you, and

wishes to be exactly like you."

Tomás stared down at the tips of his boots. "He… is a good boy."

"For how long, before he follows in your footsteps? You must realize that you've failed in your

responsibility toward those who have no choice in how they live."

"I am relieved to hear that you think me capable of such sentiments."

"I am appealing to whatever decency you still possess," she said. "And I believe you do care for

them, in your own way. That is why—"

She broke off as he strode toward her. "I see that you know far more about such matters than I

do. What do you suggest?" He stood toe to toe with her, his face inches from hers. "Shall I

separate them from their fathers and send them to some cold and proper school where they'll

learn to be good, conventional citizens like your Cole MacLean?"

Rowena took a step back. "You could do much worse—"

"I doubt it." He sighed. "You do not understand. Family is important to us. These children have

lost one or both parents, and I will not send them away."

"Nor will you give up your occupation," she said. "Nothing will change. You have not a single

woman in this place to care for these children. No nurse, no teacher—not even a kindly

housekeeper."

He laughed, though the sound was strained. "What would I do with a housekeeper? Enrique is

too old for a nurse. But—" His eyes clouded in thought, and then focused on Rowena with the

half-lidded gaze of a self-satisfied cat.

"I suppose that I could find myself a mistress and bring her back. I would not lack for

volunteers."

Rowena set her jaw. Trust him to turn the conversation in that direction! Boasting yet again

about his conquests…

"You cannot imagine that such a woman would be a fit caretaker for children," she snapped.

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"I see your point." He grabbed the nearest chair, turned it about, and sat with his legs

straddling the seat and his arms folded across the back. Rowena was momentarily distracted by

the flex of his muscles under the snug trousers.

"Who would be appropriate, eh?" Tomás said. "A chilly Eastern schoolmarm? But how could I

get such a one to stay here? I have so little to offer. Unless—" His eyes narrowed. "I could

kidnap her, of course."

Rowena pushed her fingers through her hair, disarranging the pins. "Is criminal behavior your

only solution to every problem?"

"I can think of one other." He rested his chin on his folded arms and gazed up at her without so

much as a smile. "I could find myself a wife."

Eleven

The idea was so preposterous that Rowena burst into a laugh. The look in his eyes choked her

mirth into silence.

No. It wasn't possible. He couldn't mean—

Of course not. How completely absurd to even consider it.

Marry? El Lobo?

"Marry?" she repeated aloud. "You would never go so far. You've made clear how much you

relish your freedom." She clenched her fists on the table. "You have so many female admirers

who do not demand the sanctity of marriage. And any woman willing to marry you must be

tainted by your crimes and your bestial nature."

He blinked, as if he hadn't expected her reply, and his unaccustomed gravity hardened into a

glower. "As any man would be tainted by yours," he said. "Except another of our kind. Like Cole

MacLean." He sat straighter and held her trapped with his werewolf's gaze. "Is that why you

wish to marry him? Because he knows what you are and cannot be disgusted?"

Rowena backed up another few steps. "Cole has renounced his animal blood," she said, "as I

have."

"Ah. And that makes up for his many other defects."

"We are not speaking of Cole."

"But we are speaking of mating. However you may choose to live, your children will be

hombres-lobo."

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Rowena tried to block out his words. "It is the children here I am concerned about," she said,

too loudly. "Will you help them?"

He released her gaze, and she felt that she'd held him off, even obtained a small victory.

"How?" he asked.

Her courage returned. "I scarcely know where to begin. The children can't possibly be getting

any sort of education in this place; they need books, several primers at least. They also require

new clothing—especially the girls, like Pilar. She hardly knows what a dress is. A good length of

calico, a bit of plain lace, ribbon…"

"A dress?" His brows arched. "And who will sew it? Nestor? Myself?" He spread his hands.

"These weren't made for such work."

She well knew the work they most enjoyed. She swallowed. "If you can supply the materials, I

might cut a simple pattern and show Pilar how to sew it. She can teach the younger girls, when

they are ready."

Tomás cast her a look of amazement, only half feigned. "You astonish me, Rowena. I didn't

think fine ladies knew dressmaking."

"We've discussed how little you know about fine ladies."

"I also promised to be a most willing student." He swung one leg back over the chair and stood.

His expression softened into something like tenderness. Rowena was very much afraid that he

was going to touch her. "You are generous to help the children of the cañon."

"It is common decency to do so," she said, glancing away.

"Then I must warn you that to obtain the materials you need, I will have to steal them—or use

my ill-gotten gains to pay for them." His look was a challenge, balanced between mockery and

intense watchfulness.

Rowena bit her lip. "I have money," she said, "in New York. If you let me go, I can send for it."

"Another generous notion, but impractical. If I let you go, who will teach Pilar? And if we wait

for your… release"—he gave the word an odd emphasis—"you'll certainly lose interest in the

children."

"I certainly shall not!"

He folded his arms across his chest. "I leave it up to you, mi alma. Shall I ride forth to find what

you want, or leave the children as they are?"

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She closed her eyes and weighed necessity against immorality. These children were innocent

and didn't deserve to suffer for Tomás's wrongs. If he could be made to see the difference small

changes made in their lives, he might be persuaded to make bigger ones.

"I ask," she said stiffly, "that you try to purchase what you can before you try… anything more

drastic."

His mouth twitched into a wide grin and he caught her hands before she could escape. He

kissed them, one by one.

"Rubia mia," he said with a catch in his voice, "you are a queen among women."

She blushed and despised herself for basking in the compliment. Naturally he was pleased that

she'd lent her sanction, however constrained, to his illegal profession.

But that rational thought didn't prevent her from trembling at the strong, possessive warmth of

his hands. For once, he and she were in accord, bound by one goal. It felt remarkably

wonderful.

"I only regret," he said, "that I cannot dress you as a queen. But you, too, must have something

else to wear." He pulled back, looking her up and down. "That gown will not last much longer."

Indeed. She was reminded of how she'd come to be in such a state, and her gratification

vanished. "Thank you for the observation," she said tartly. "I had noticed, but you didn't allow

me to bring my wardrobe."