The Fire of Greed by Bill Yenne Page A

into which they were riding, save the general knowledge that it
is
a wilderness untouched by the niceties with which gentlemen are accustomed.”
    â€œA wilderness indeed,” Richardson agreed. “And the reputed lair of Geronimo and company if one travels farther south into the Mogollon Rim country.”
    â€œA long way indeed from New York . . .
or
Richmond,” Waldron observed.
    â€œOr Santa Fe, for that matter,” Richardson added.
    â€œWhat was it that you wanted to ask me before we started talking of fugitives and bounty hunters?” Richardson said.
    The table remained quiet for a number of minutes, as the two men savored their dinners.
    â€œMay I speak candidly?” Waldron asked at last.
    â€œOf course.”
    â€œAnd in confidence?”
    â€œYou have piqued my curiosity, sir.” Richardson smiled.
    â€œMiss de la Gravière,” the New Yorker said, nodding toward Therese’s daughter, who was swirling about a table across the room delivering plates of delicacies.
    â€œNicolette? Yes?”
    â€œA lovely young lady,” Waldron said, blushing slightly.
    â€œHer beauty is that which clearly attracts the eye,” Richardson confirmed with a nod. “Her smile can melt ice, and she has an agreeability of disposition which is so often lacking in women of such radiance.”
    â€œDo you know whether she has a man who is . . . ?”
    â€œI am unaware of such a man, although I cannot be counted as an authority on her private life. I take it that you harbor aspirations in that direction.”
    â€œI do,” Waldron said and nodded sheepishly.
    â€œI
do
know that she is only about twenty-three, and I take you for nearly twice that,” Richardson said protectively.
    â€œFour years short of double that number, but this is not an
unusual
separation of ages,” Waldron insisted.
    â€œThat would be none of
my
business,” Richardson said. “It would be something for you to take up with her.”
    â€œWith that in mind, I’d like to ask you for an introduction to her mother so that I might clear the way for doing just that.”
    â€œTo ask Therese . . . ?”
    â€œWhether I might approach her daughter with an offer to escort Miss de la Gravière to the theater.”
    Richardson paused, mulling it over in his mind. At last, he raised his hand, signaling for Therese to approach their table.
    * * *
    â€œMAMA!” NICOLETTE DE LA GRAVIÈRE SAID IN EXASPERATION. “WHAT DID YOU TELL HIM?”
    â€œOnly that he might, with my permission, speak to you on the matter,” Nicolette’s mother explained.
    It was early morning, and the two women had just taken the day’s delivery from the man who sold them the vegetables for Refugio del Viajero.
    â€œMama, he is so
old
,” Nicolette insisted, as she sorted and washed a basket of greens.
    â€œMay I remind you, Nicolette, that you are not so young yourself. You are nearly twenty-four, an age when a woman should be seriously entertaining suitors. When I was your age . . .”
    â€œMama, I
know
that you had become engaged to Papa, but you did not wed for two more years.”
    â€œAt least I was, as the Anglos say, ‘spoken for.’”
    â€œJohn was courting me when I was twenty,” Nicolette insisted.
    â€œWhere did
that
get you?”
    Tears began welling up in Nicolette’s eyes.
    â€œI’m sorry,
ma chère fille
, I know that the pain of the wickedness in his breaking of your heart continues to tear at you . . . but, my child, you
must
move on.”
    â€œI don’t know, Mama,” Nicolette choked out. “I’m unsure . . . I’m afraid.”
    â€œYou must not allow this fear to prevent your happiness now . . .
and
in the future.”
    â€œI know . . . My
mind
knows that you are right,” Nicolette admitted. “But