her in Boston with the confidence they would wed one day.
Sarita waved to a plump, older woman riding beside an even heavier man on matching palominos. They rode their golden horses regally, dressed in the traditional Californian fashion alongside the red-haired beauty and the pretty little raven-haired girl on her pony. Sarita’s animosity crouched like a living thing between them on the balcony. Rachel chose her words carefully. “My father arranged this match for me. I had no choice in the matter. I don’t even know who my future husband is.”
“He is my cousin.” Sarita’s crimson dress clung to her generous curves and accentuated her wasp-like waist. Her eyes appeared so black and soulless Rachel could not make out where the pupils ended and the irises began. “Your father is a fool. He will pay for his folly and so will you.” Sarita reached out and yanked a handful of hair out of Rachel’s head as she strode off the balcony.
Rachel stumbled back, holding her injured scalp.
Rosa hurried out onto the balcony, looking after Sarita and the strands of blond hair hanging from her fist.
Rachel blinked away tears. “She pulled my hair for no reason.”
“Oh no, chica. ” Rosa covered her mouth with her hand, eyes big as copper coins. “She has a reason. A very bad reason. I must retrieve that hair from her.” Rosa rushed away, leaving Rachel even more confused.
Below, her father greeted his guests as they dismounted their horses near the front door. Should she tell him Sarita had just attacked her and that his mistress was chasing after his wife, trying to retrieve his daughter’s hair? What a disaster. Of course she couldn’t tell her father this. In a short while, he expected to find her in the parlor, politely pouring wine for his guests. Apprehension filled her, and she could hardly swallow.
A soft, warm breeze rustled her skirts as she watched the vaqueros gather up the golden horses. The redhead’s mount balked when the girl turned the reins over to an Indian cowboy. The horse reared on its hind legs, pawing the air in fiery defiance. The redhead impatiently yanked the reins from the vaquero’s hands and led the agitated horse toward the redwood stables herself, though the plump, older couple called after her to give the horse to the vaquero. The girl ignored them, continuing on to the stables with the vaquero trailing after her.
Rachel’s father stood with the Californian couple, watching the redhead. The unbridled interest on her father’s face sickened Rachel.
So much lust in this land. Everyone hungry for everything but God. She walked from the balcony and returned to her room, where she knelt beside her bed. Strengthen me, Lord, to fulfill the purposes you have for me here.
Roman Vasquez tumbled into her thoughts, as he often had of late at the oddest moments. Especially before she went to sleep and when she first awakened in the morning, she found herself praying for him. The man who captured bears single-handedly and questioned her about God and made her knees tremble with fear and something else she wouldn’t name.
She wondered if he’d recovered from the infection in his leg. She’d asked Jesus to heal him and kept thinking about how he had gently comforted her after the dreadful bear and bull fight. The memory of his hand on hers as they stroked the horse together sent warmth throughout her. The heat settled in her face, making her cheeks burn. Pleasure had filled her at his surprisingly tender touch that day. What was he searching for? A woman’s kindness? A woman’s gentleness? Perhaps a woman’s love?
She stopped the thought right there. Steven’s face rose before her. And then the unknown face of the man her father had chosen for her to marry. Dread flooded her. Help me, Lord. Please help me. I’m afraid of meeting him.
As she prayed, Rosa burst into the room as flustered as when she’d bolted after Sarita thirty minutes earlier. “I could not find the señora.
Sarita waved to a plump, older woman riding beside an even heavier man on matching palominos. They rode their golden horses regally, dressed in the traditional Californian fashion alongside the red-haired beauty and the pretty little raven-haired girl on her pony. Sarita’s animosity crouched like a living thing between them on the balcony. Rachel chose her words carefully. “My father arranged this match for me. I had no choice in the matter. I don’t even know who my future husband is.”
“He is my cousin.” Sarita’s crimson dress clung to her generous curves and accentuated her wasp-like waist. Her eyes appeared so black and soulless Rachel could not make out where the pupils ended and the irises began. “Your father is a fool. He will pay for his folly and so will you.” Sarita reached out and yanked a handful of hair out of Rachel’s head as she strode off the balcony.
Rachel stumbled back, holding her injured scalp.
Rosa hurried out onto the balcony, looking after Sarita and the strands of blond hair hanging from her fist.
Rachel blinked away tears. “She pulled my hair for no reason.”
“Oh no, chica. ” Rosa covered her mouth with her hand, eyes big as copper coins. “She has a reason. A very bad reason. I must retrieve that hair from her.” Rosa rushed away, leaving Rachel even more confused.
Below, her father greeted his guests as they dismounted their horses near the front door. Should she tell him Sarita had just attacked her and that his mistress was chasing after his wife, trying to retrieve his daughter’s hair? What a disaster. Of course she couldn’t tell her father this. In a short while, he expected to find her in the parlor, politely pouring wine for his guests. Apprehension filled her, and she could hardly swallow.
A soft, warm breeze rustled her skirts as she watched the vaqueros gather up the golden horses. The redhead’s mount balked when the girl turned the reins over to an Indian cowboy. The horse reared on its hind legs, pawing the air in fiery defiance. The redhead impatiently yanked the reins from the vaquero’s hands and led the agitated horse toward the redwood stables herself, though the plump, older couple called after her to give the horse to the vaquero. The girl ignored them, continuing on to the stables with the vaquero trailing after her.
Rachel’s father stood with the Californian couple, watching the redhead. The unbridled interest on her father’s face sickened Rachel.
So much lust in this land. Everyone hungry for everything but God. She walked from the balcony and returned to her room, where she knelt beside her bed. Strengthen me, Lord, to fulfill the purposes you have for me here.
Roman Vasquez tumbled into her thoughts, as he often had of late at the oddest moments. Especially before she went to sleep and when she first awakened in the morning, she found herself praying for him. The man who captured bears single-handedly and questioned her about God and made her knees tremble with fear and something else she wouldn’t name.
She wondered if he’d recovered from the infection in his leg. She’d asked Jesus to heal him and kept thinking about how he had gently comforted her after the dreadful bear and bull fight. The memory of his hand on hers as they stroked the horse together sent warmth throughout her. The heat settled in her face, making her cheeks burn. Pleasure had filled her at his surprisingly tender touch that day. What was he searching for? A woman’s kindness? A woman’s gentleness? Perhaps a woman’s love?
She stopped the thought right there. Steven’s face rose before her. And then the unknown face of the man her father had chosen for her to marry. Dread flooded her. Help me, Lord. Please help me. I’m afraid of meeting him.
As she prayed, Rosa burst into the room as flustered as when she’d bolted after Sarita thirty minutes earlier. “I could not find the señora.
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