The Bride. Carolyn Davidson

to fill, not only on the ranch but in the community of ranchers that surrounded his homestead. He ran a thousand head of cattle, a large herd of horses and grew field after field of oats and wheat. Diamond Ranch was prosperous, and without pride, he knew that he was responsible for a good share of the profits it had gathered over the past five years.

      His father’s health had deteriorated rapidly with the onset of heart disease, and Rafael had assumed the reins once it became apparent that the elder man would be an invalid. Another attack had weakened him considerably, and by that time the men recognized Rafael as their source of authority and power. He’d worked hard for the past years, and now the time had come to reap the rewards, to become the head of the family, to occupy the master’s bedroom with his bride.

      On his lap, Isabella stirred, her bottom wiggling over his thighs, her back stretching a bit, then settling once more against him. “Are you weary?” he asked, his mouth against her ear.

      “My body is. I feel that I’ve been sitting forever, and my legs are going to sleep, my back is aching and the sun has made my head hurt.” She looked up at him, a sidelong glance that pleased him, for he saw the strength she exhibited, the aching muscles ignored as she shifted again to settle herself more comfortably.

      “We’ll stop soon,” he said, nodding at Manuel, who had cast him an inquiring look. “We need to make a pot of coffee and heat the rest of the sausage over a fire. You’ll feel better with some food in you and the ground under your feet.”

      She sighed. “I don’t mean to complain, even though it serves you right. Any man who would steal away with a woman deserves all the complaining she can come up with.”

      “You’ve been surprisingly short on complaints,” he said. “I expected you to be moaning and groaning all day long. Most women would have given me hell for putting them through what you’ve had to endure.”

      “I learned early on in life that complaining doesn’t solve the problem. Usually, I manage to handle any situation without calling for help.”

      He turned her a bit in his arms, revealing her face to him fully. “What kind of problems did you have as a child that caused you to develop so adult an attitude?”

      She only shrugged and grimaced. “Just the usual childhood upsets. I didn’t have a mother to go to, so our cook heard a lot of my woes, until I found that I was more adept at solving the problems than she. I was standing on my own by the time I was ten or twelve.”

      “And why were you sent to the convent? Did you so badly disrupt your father’s household that he wanted to get rid of you?” His voice was gently teasing as he spoke, but Isabella heard a note of concern through the query.

      “I went to the convent because I wanted to,” she said firmly. “Father tried to talk me out of it. He wanted me to be married to Juan Garcia just after my fourteenth birthday, and when I refused, he lost his temper with me.”

      “How did you win that battle?” The thought of a mere child of fourteen being married off to a man like Juan Garcia was enough to make his blood run cold, and Rafael felt anger rise in him at the thought.

      “He agreed to let me stay at the convent and learn the skills of a wife until I was sixteen, and when he died that year, there was enough money left to keep me there for another few years. I’d about decided to become a nun by then, for I knew that anything was better than marriage to Señor Garcia.” She shivered against him as she spoke, and a flood of respect for the young girl who had fought and won her freedom washed over him.

      “Señor, there is a spot ahead where the water is fresh and the area is defensible.” Manuel rode beside him and spoke welcome words, for the man seemed to be aware that Isabella was weary and more than ready for sleep.

      “Tell the men to stop where you say and set up camp,” Rafael said easily. “Isabella and I shall be with you momentarily.”

      Manuel nodded and rode to speak with the other men, leading the way to the chosen spot, an area not more than five hundred yards ahead. Slowing his stallion to a walk, Rafael spoke softly to Isabella, words aimed at soothing her and assuring her of her safety.

      “We’ll stay in my small tent tonight,” he said easily. “I’ll find enough supple branches to make a bed for you, and there is enough food to fill your stomach until morning.”

      “I’m not hungry,” she said, sounding a bit pouty to her own ears. “I don’t mean to be any additional trouble to you, señor, but I’m only tired and ready for sleep. I don’t care if I have food or not.”

      “You will eat, Isabella. I won’t have you sick before I take you to my home. We’ll have a hard day’s ride tomorrow, and I want you to feel well.”

      “Then leave me be, and give me a blanket to cover myself with. I don’t need your tent or a bed to rest on.”

      Rafael laughed, helpless to conceal his amusement at her. “You have no choice, my love. You will sleep in my tent on my blanket and you will eat first. I can be stubborn when it pleases me.”

      “I’ve noticed,” she snapped, sitting upright and leaning heavily on a part of his anatomy that protested her weight.

      He shifted her to one thigh and held her there, unwilling to tell her what she had done to cause him such discomfort, but she stiffened in his grip and twisted from his hold.

      “You are a burdensome woman,” Rafael said, bringing his stallion to a halt and lowering her to the ground. One of the men drew near to keep an eye on her as Rafael dismounted easily, and at a nod from Rafael as he claimed Isabella with one hand on her waist, his trusted man turned and walked back to the camp they were busy forming.

      A fire was already laid, the wood piled neatly with kindling beneath it, a pot of water already hanging over it on a hook. Even as they watched, Matthew opened the sack of ground coffee and measured an amount into the waiting water.

      “I know you had coffee before when you were not well, but do you normally drink it?” Rafael asked Isabella, settling her beside the fire that awaited a match. She perched on a cushion one of the men had placed there for her, and she looked at the others who worked silently around her, wondering which of them had thought of her comfort in such a way.

      “I can tolerate it, though tea is preferable, but it was only available on occasion. The Mother Superior said coffee was not a healthy drink and she forbade it to be purchased for the convent kitchen, except in small amounts.”

      “You may have whatever you desire at our home when we arrive there,” Rafael told her. “You may have anything it is in my power to provide for you.”

      She looked up at him in surprise. “Why are you so generous with me? You just told me I was…what was it you said? Oh, yes, you told me I was burdensome. Not a flattering description, to my way of thinking.”

      “I thought of something entirely different when I told you that,” he said with a laugh, a sound that was echoed by Manuel, who had apparently noticed his employer’s discomfort while riding during the last hour or so.

      “I haven’t tried to be a burden to you. But then I haven’t put forth any effort to make your life easy, either. I suspect you’ll just have to put up with me the way I am.”

      “I’m looking forward to just that,” Rafael said, bowing his head as if in tribute.

      “My father used to tell me I was a troublemaker when I was a child. But our cook defended me. She said I was too smart for my own good, and my father did not understand me.”

      “I’ll be sure towork at that, Isabella. Understanding you will be my priority for the next fifty years or so.”

       Chapter Six

      THE FOOD WAS MORE of the same, less palatable than he would find at his table on the ranch, but the men didn’t seem to find it without value, and Isabella ate what was put before her. A thick piece