The Carson Springs Trilogy: Stranger in Paradise, Taste of Honey, and Wish Come True by Eileen Goudge Page A

never forget watching him wolf down his food, long since gone cold. A familiar lesson brought home to her in a profound way: not everyone was as fortunate as she was. She had made up her mind then and there never to turn a blind eye to those in need.
    Hector had been with her family ever since, working days and attending night school, where he’d learned to speak English before going on to earn his GED. Nowadays he juggled college courses with his part-time job here, occasionally lending Guillermo a hand with some of the heavier work at Isla Verde.
    As they headed up the hill on horseback, Laura turned to him. “It wouldn’t have hurt you to come, you know. I think Alice was a little offended that you didn’t.”
    “Fan belts don’t fix themselves,” he said.
    “That’s not the reason, and you know it.”
    He shrugged. “I’m not against weddings. I just don’t like going.”
    She couldn’t tell if he was serious or not. Maybe the fact that he was thirty-two and still unmarried spoke for itself. Not, she reminded herself, that he hadn’t had his share of opportunities. “Give me one good reason why not,” she said, more to needle him than anything else.
    “Maybe because most marriages don’t last.”
    A reference to Peter, no doubt. “Not everyone gets divorced,” she said a bit huffily. “Look at my parents.” The words brought a pang of sorrow. Her father should have been there to walk Alice down the aisle.
    “Being together isn’t always the same as being happy.” He drew ahead of her as the trail narrowed.
    Watching his swaying back she wondered if he knew something she didn’t. “What exactly are you implying?”
    Hector twisted around in his saddle, the brim of his straw hat throwing a wedge of shadow over his face. “Nothing,” he said. “Look, it’s none of my business.”
    “My parents adored one other. In fact, I doubt Mom will ever remarry.” Laura was brought up short by the conviction with which she spoke. Hector hadn’t said anything to suggest otherwise, not really. Why was she so defensive? “Anyway what about yours?”
    He flashed her a grin over his shoulder. “With ten kids I can’t remember the last time those two sat down and had a conversation, much less argued.”
    Laura felt a pang of envy at the thought of all those children. Women, she thought, were divided into two groups: those who could have babies and those who couldn’t. She’d go weeks without thinking about it…then there were days, like today, when she was constantly reminded of the fact.
    The brush along the trail grew thicker as they climbed. The dry, brown grass fell away, replaced by a sea of sage and creosote punctuated by tall spears of yucca and agave. Bright splashes of color dotted the ground below—wildflowers flourishing against all odds. Johnny-jump-ups and shooting stars, Indian paintbrush and wild licorice; the air was fragrant with their scent. She caught a trace of old campfires as well: illegal aliens in search of the promised land, as Hector once had been. They usually found work in the orange groves, at half the wages paid to those with green cards.
    The only sound was the hollow clacking of hooves against dirt worn to the smooth hardness of stone. Little gouts of dust spiraled up into the golden sunlight that slanted through the trees. Shadows had slipped out from under boulders and clumps of chaparral. Hector sat sharply etched against the deepening sky, a Remington bronze. She could see the muscles in his back straining against the worn fabric of his T-shirt.
    At the top of the hill, they paused to let the horses rest. The sun had dipped below the distant mountain-tops, crowning them in gold and painting those to the east a luminous rose—the elusive pink moment. Lion’s Head and Sulphur Peak, Moon’s Nest, and the snowcapped Sleeping Indian Chief. On the neighboring hill, a moat of shadow had formed around the fortresslike walls of the convent. Laura could barely make out the