reserved for SImon Reyes. May God damn his black soul!
Chapter 13
The Santa Ana blew itself out, and the indolence of the hacienda gave way to industrious work as the spring roundup progressed. The vaqueros stayed busy counting the cattle, branding the calves, and corraling the older cattle for the rodeo that would climax the roundup.
The household servants swept, dusted, and scrubbed every inch of the whitewashed walls, and terra-cotta floors -- under Kathleen's watchful eye. If she could not perform her duties as tutor, she certainly would not give Simon any reason to complain about her duties as mistress of the hacienda.
Diligently she saw to it that the bed linens in each of the nine bedrooms were fresh, that vases of columbines graced each room with their honeyed scents, and that Maria Jesus began preparations for the many meals that were to be cooked during the fiesta. As the day of the fiesta approached, even Diego roused himself from the sunny place on his bench to help oversee the decorating of the courtyard.
In every sense of the word -- but one -- Kathleen was mistress of Valle del Bravo.
At night the thought she would be too tired to do anything but collapse in her bed, but she felt more than ever driven to work so there would be no time to think. Restlessly she would pace the room, brushing her hair, checking her list for last-minute preparations.
Seeing her mistress so distracted, Amelia smiled pityingly to herself. She could tell the proud, young maestra what was needed to cure her ailment, but she doubted that the maestra would believe her. A man like Julio could wipe away that look of discontent that haunted the plum-colored eyes.
Qué suerte that Julio couldn't see the maestra now without those ugly glasses and with her hair hanging loose like an Indian woman's! But then, Julio had been too busy with the roundup to come around the hacienda. Hopefully she would see more of Julio when the roundup was over. Perhaps when Padre Marcos came for the rodeo festivities she could even persuade Julio to seek the good father's blessing in marriage.
Amelia crossed herself quickly in hopeful prayer.
Kathleen's thoughts were not tender ones of romance. At the moment she was cursing Simon Reyes with every vile word she had ever heard the vaqueros use, wishing him as dead as the long-deceased Father Serra, the founder of the California mission system.
The confrontation between her and Simon earlier that afternoon still stung her thoughts, simmering within her like Maria Jesus's tallow for candles.
The confrontation had occurred shortly after the siesta hour, when Simon worked in his study while the others rested. Diego had summoned her from the kitchen with the message that el patrón wished to see her.
Kathleen rapped on the study door, and Simon's low voice bade her enter. From behind his desk he looked up as Kathleen crossed the room. He was dressed in dusty denim pants and a worn red baize shirt.
"You wanted to see me?"
"I've just learned you were out riding last week -- alone, dressed as a muchacho."
"Are you trying to tell me I'm a prisoner here, that I'm forbidden to do as I wish with my own time?"
"Enough, Kathleen!" Simon's bronze hand slammed down on the oak desk, and he came to his feet, his stern face only inches from hers. "I'll not have my men so inflamed by the sight of a woman in pants that they're incapable of working."
His hard eyes moved past her throat to where the small mounds of breasts rose in agitation. A flush of heat spread over Kathleen's cheeks as she remained unmoving under his sneering regard.
"Unless you happen to enjoy being raped," he finished. "And in that case, I'm sure my vaqueros could provide --"
"Ohh!" Kathleen's hand came up to deliver an intended blow. But the memory of another time she had struck him and Simon's resulting anger halted her. Abruptly she swung her hand across his desk, scattering the papers on the floor.
"You bastard!" she hissed.
Simon's green
Chapter 13
The Santa Ana blew itself out, and the indolence of the hacienda gave way to industrious work as the spring roundup progressed. The vaqueros stayed busy counting the cattle, branding the calves, and corraling the older cattle for the rodeo that would climax the roundup.
The household servants swept, dusted, and scrubbed every inch of the whitewashed walls, and terra-cotta floors -- under Kathleen's watchful eye. If she could not perform her duties as tutor, she certainly would not give Simon any reason to complain about her duties as mistress of the hacienda.
Diligently she saw to it that the bed linens in each of the nine bedrooms were fresh, that vases of columbines graced each room with their honeyed scents, and that Maria Jesus began preparations for the many meals that were to be cooked during the fiesta. As the day of the fiesta approached, even Diego roused himself from the sunny place on his bench to help oversee the decorating of the courtyard.
In every sense of the word -- but one -- Kathleen was mistress of Valle del Bravo.
At night the thought she would be too tired to do anything but collapse in her bed, but she felt more than ever driven to work so there would be no time to think. Restlessly she would pace the room, brushing her hair, checking her list for last-minute preparations.
Seeing her mistress so distracted, Amelia smiled pityingly to herself. She could tell the proud, young maestra what was needed to cure her ailment, but she doubted that the maestra would believe her. A man like Julio could wipe away that look of discontent that haunted the plum-colored eyes.
Qué suerte that Julio couldn't see the maestra now without those ugly glasses and with her hair hanging loose like an Indian woman's! But then, Julio had been too busy with the roundup to come around the hacienda. Hopefully she would see more of Julio when the roundup was over. Perhaps when Padre Marcos came for the rodeo festivities she could even persuade Julio to seek the good father's blessing in marriage.
Amelia crossed herself quickly in hopeful prayer.
Kathleen's thoughts were not tender ones of romance. At the moment she was cursing Simon Reyes with every vile word she had ever heard the vaqueros use, wishing him as dead as the long-deceased Father Serra, the founder of the California mission system.
The confrontation between her and Simon earlier that afternoon still stung her thoughts, simmering within her like Maria Jesus's tallow for candles.
The confrontation had occurred shortly after the siesta hour, when Simon worked in his study while the others rested. Diego had summoned her from the kitchen with the message that el patrón wished to see her.
Kathleen rapped on the study door, and Simon's low voice bade her enter. From behind his desk he looked up as Kathleen crossed the room. He was dressed in dusty denim pants and a worn red baize shirt.
"You wanted to see me?"
"I've just learned you were out riding last week -- alone, dressed as a muchacho."
"Are you trying to tell me I'm a prisoner here, that I'm forbidden to do as I wish with my own time?"
"Enough, Kathleen!" Simon's bronze hand slammed down on the oak desk, and he came to his feet, his stern face only inches from hers. "I'll not have my men so inflamed by the sight of a woman in pants that they're incapable of working."
His hard eyes moved past her throat to where the small mounds of breasts rose in agitation. A flush of heat spread over Kathleen's cheeks as she remained unmoving under his sneering regard.
"Unless you happen to enjoy being raped," he finished. "And in that case, I'm sure my vaqueros could provide --"
"Ohh!" Kathleen's hand came up to deliver an intended blow. But the memory of another time she had struck him and Simon's resulting anger halted her. Abruptly she swung her hand across his desk, scattering the papers on the floor.
"You bastard!" she hissed.
Simon's green
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