CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Laughter wafted out of the open door of Poor Fred’s Saloon. Santiago Alvarado stopped on the boardwalk in front of the establishment and watched John’s daughters gather in the street as Henry helped the one dressed in denims down from Blake’s wagon. He’d heard the news about their arrival more than once, but this was his first sighting. Standing in the shadows, he was sure they wouldn’t catch him staring.
No one could claim John hadn’t done a fine job siring such a herd. Dios! There isn’t an ugly one among them. Two more black-clad young women exited the hotel, only to pull up when they saw their three sisters in the street. As they dashed forward, their cheerful voices caused a stir inside Santiago. This was what family was supposed to be. Unable to stop a smile, he leaned a shoulder against a corner post. Not often did Eden see such beauty all in one place. God has blessed me this day.
“Santiago,” a voice called from inside the saloon. Homer, a town local, stumbled out. “Want a drink? Something better than that Mexican whiskey you serve at your place? First one’s on me.” The man’s breath, now that he was close, was enough to drop a horse to his knees. Santiago discreetly took a step back.
“Gracias, but no. I have business to attend to.” He bent his head in the direction of the wagon. “Stopped for a moment to enjoy the show.”
The drunk leaned forward, catching his balance with a palm to the porch rail. “Would ya looky at them girls,” Homer slurred. He laughed loudly. “I hope it ain’t a hallucination.”
One young woman in particular caught Santiago’s eye. From her silliness, jumping around and hugging her sisters, he’d guess her to be the youngest. Her light hair sparkled in the sun, and her smile was infectious. Something caught her eye, and she stilled. Santiago followed her gaze to a broken-down Chinese peddler.
Homer laughed again, and she glanced their way. The vividness of her blue eyes sent a shock through Santiago’s person. Most likely she couldn’t see him under the overhang of the building, but he smiled anyway, just in case. He’d been told by more than one pretty senorita that his smile was deadly and his face would charm an angel. He’d never really cared all that much about his looks, but now, here, right before his eyes, was a prize to be won. Gringos be damned.
From the turn in the road, the stranger he’d been waiting for came riding up the street, a black bandanna tied to his saddle horn as a sign of identification. Santiago watched him smile and politely doff his hat to Brinkman’s daughters. As the rider drew closer, Santiago stepped onto the dirt road nonchalantly, as if crossing was his only intention.
“Buried behind the old barn on White Hawk Road,” he whispered as the rider passed closely. He took one quick glance up to see if the man had understood. The man dipped his chin and kept going. The whole exchange took no more than a couple of seconds. On the other side of the street, Santiago stopped, turned back, and returned his attention to the young women who had by then moved to the entrance of the hotel.
Blake Harding was pulling the buckboard into the side street between the mercantile and Poor Fred’s. Henry, at the top of the stairs, disappeared into his office. The rest of the town was quiet.
Anxiety slithered down Santiago’s spine. He’d been careful; nobody suspected a thing. Still, he turned and scanned the street, more thoroughly this time. Padre Francisco stood by the sheriff’s office. He carried his tall walking stick that resembled a shepherd’s staff, and his long brown robe fell to the ground, stopping just above the man’s boots. The wide-brimmed straw hat he wore didn’t cover his eyes. When their gazes met, the priest smiled and dipped his chin in acknowledgment.
He saw! And is making a point that I know he saw. No. That’s not possible. My back was to him when I gave the message. He couldn’t see my mouth. It’s all speculation.
Santiago looked away. Who cares if the padre knew anyway? He wouldn’t say anything. Santiago was certain of that from the many years they’d known each other, and the many scrapes he and Demetrio had gotten into as boys. Padre Francisco had an inventive way of looking at things.
A hot pain sliced through Santiago’s heart. Any thought of his older brother brought such anguish that Santiago found functioning difficult. Demetrio shouldn’t be locked up like an animal. The small cells at Sugar House Penitentiary were dug into the ground, the access at the top the only available light. At night the guards lowered down a tub for the men to do their business.
It was true that Demetrio had thrown in with an unscrupulous group of men, but when they went to rob a Santa Fe business, he’d had no knowledge they intended to kill the owner in retribution for something else. One witness testified that Demetrio, who’d never been convicted of any other crimes, had been waiting with the horses when the shopkeeper was murdered, and so he’d gotten a lighter sentence. But fifteen years in prison was still more than he deserved. Today, Santiago had set a plan in motion. To make up for the guilt he felt at not telling their father when Demetrio first began disobeying small laws. For now, Santiago could breathe easier. And that’s what he intended to do.
He drifted toward the hotel. “Hola.” He looked at the young woman who had caught his eye. He wasn’t wearing a hat, or he’d have swept it from his head.
Her face deepened in color. “Hello,” she replied softly. The other girls quieted and turned to gaze at him, all pretty, but different from one another. The oldest one stepped forward. “Hello, sir. I’m Mavis Applebee, and these are my sisters.”
Again, he made a small bow with his head. “Yes, I know.” He warmly smiled and let his gaze stray back to the youngest, the one with the sky-blue eyes and honey-colored hair.
Mrs. Applebee pointed to the sister dressed like a nice-looking young man. She might be wearing the clothes of a vaquero, but there was no disguising what was underneath. “This is Belle.”
He smiled and dipped his chin. “Hola.”
They all seemed to like his Spanish, because they smiled and tittered every time a Spanish word rolled off his tongue.
“This is Emma, Lavinia, and Katie.”
Ahh, Katie. I will know you better. You will be mine . . .
Katie blushed as if she could hear his thoughts. “We’re pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. . . .”
“Alvarado. Santiago Alvarado. Our fathers knew each other well. John made a point to open his doors to us. He hired me and my older brother many times. He was a good man. My condolences.” Daringly, he picked up Katie’s soft hand and, bending forward, kissed the back of it, lingering much longer than was proper. He didn’t even need to look up to hear the stir he’d created.
“Mr. Alvarado.” The panic in Mrs. Applebee’s voice almost made him chuckle.
“Perdóname,” he said, and quickly followed with the English: “Forgive me. I was overcome with the sunshine in your sister’s eyes.”
Across the street, Blake came out of the mercantile with a large sack resting on his shoulder. He stopped and stared. Santiago knew that look all too well. After a moment, Blake moved on around the corner to where his wagon was parked.
“Mr. Harding would like me to walk on, but I’m of a mind to invite you all to tea.” He looked to the door of the hotel and the café inside. “My treat.”
“That’s a kind offer, but I need to rest,” Belle replied, her eyelids drooping.
“Ahh, the vaquero is weary.” Again, he let Katie see his gaze lingering on her face, but kept it far from her lips. “But I will hold you to another time. My father and I own a business in town. The Spanish Trail Cantina, on the southeast end of Eden. Come see us, if you are brave enough.” He winked and they all smiled—even Mrs. Applebee, who acted like a mother hen.
“We will, Mr. Alvarado,” Katie said, her voice not as timid as it had been just a moment ago.
“Good. I will watch for you.” He gave one more small bow and walked off, feeling ten feet tall. How many men have been brave enough to approach John’s daughters? Not one that he’d seen today. And not only that, but invite them to tea? Santiago Alvarado, or Lion Heart, as Demetrio liked to call him, had staked his claim.