blast to come closer.”
“Really? But silver is so easy to find everywhere else in town.”
“Which makes the mine galleries so close to the surface that a heavy wagon can break through. Not by my operations, thank you.”
Viola grinned at his emphatic refusal. Lennox must have been furious when Donovan denied him, something no one else would have dared to do.
The Donovan & Sons compound was a classic mud-brick structure built in the form of an irregular square, its thick walls providing protection from both Apaches and the sun. Donovan took her in through a heavy wooden gate, scarred from past battles, and down a narrow passage into the great central courtyard, which swept in a series of terraces and steps up the hill.
She studied the compound eagerly, glad to finally see the inside of the largest residence in Rio Piedras. It was totally unlike Lennox’s house, a very modern and quite ugly wooden structure.
They’d entered through the storeroom wing, the individual rooms marked by sturdy doors and few windows. The wing on its left held a small stable, with chickens, pigs, and goats penned outside. The other two wings were evidently living quarters, one holding the teamsters’ dormitory and the entrance from the main street. The highest wing must contain living spaces for Donovan and Evans, plus the kitchen.
An arched colonnade ringed the courtyard, linking the different wings. Watchtowers stood at two diagonally opposite corners, occupied now by vigilant teamsters guarding the wagons and mules below. Viola could see them with their big telescopes through the watchtowers’ enormous windows.
Yellow roses covered arbors in the courtyard, providing shade and an illusion of privacy. Water danced in a brilliantly hued tiled fountain in the courtyard’s center, where the ancient spring brought life.
In one corner stood a small shrine containing a statue of a woman and a graceful table holding candles, incense censers, and bowls of roses. Viola immediately hoped to examine the shrine more closely at another time. The statue looked Chinese, similar to one of Kuan Yin her grandmother owned, but held a small baby, as a Catholic’s Madonna would.
She could hear balls caroming around a billiards table in the distance, but few other signs of Donovan’s teamsters.
Viola nervously wondered how the main living quarters were furnished. Donovan wasn’t here often but he was most considerate of his men’s comfort, such as Evans who split his time between Rio Piedras and Tucson. Rumor said furniture and fancy goods had been delivered but no one knew what they consisted of.
Perhaps Donovan had a private parlor or even a private bedroom. She shivered at the thought and his hand tightened on her elbow.
“Are you well, Mrs. Ross?”
“Yes, thank you. Just a breeze from the valley, I think.”
Donovan made a noncommittal sound but drew her closer. His hot male strength burned through the thin calico and his breath stirred her hair against her cheek. She wanted him to move away so she could remember how to breathe. At the same time, she longed for him to come closer so his knowing hands could touch her intimate flesh again.
She gulped at the thought.
Mercifully, they reached the main wing a few minutes later, after crossing the last terrace. His houseman waited there in front of the colonnade, face impassive when he bowed. “Good evening, sir.”
“Good evening, Abraham,” Donovan answered easily. “Mrs. Ross, this is Abraham Chang, my houseman, who I would trust with my life. I’ve asked him to guard you when I cannot.”
Abraham bowed deeply. “Mrs. Ross.”
Viola blinked, then smiled shyly at the big Chinaman. As the younger daughter and considered unlikely to marry, she’d never had a personal servant before, unlike her mother and older sister. “I’m very glad to meet you, Abraham.”
Abraham bowed again. “It is my honor to serve you, Mrs. Ross.”
“Is dinner ready, Abraham?” Donovan
“Really? But silver is so easy to find everywhere else in town.”
“Which makes the mine galleries so close to the surface that a heavy wagon can break through. Not by my operations, thank you.”
Viola grinned at his emphatic refusal. Lennox must have been furious when Donovan denied him, something no one else would have dared to do.
The Donovan & Sons compound was a classic mud-brick structure built in the form of an irregular square, its thick walls providing protection from both Apaches and the sun. Donovan took her in through a heavy wooden gate, scarred from past battles, and down a narrow passage into the great central courtyard, which swept in a series of terraces and steps up the hill.
She studied the compound eagerly, glad to finally see the inside of the largest residence in Rio Piedras. It was totally unlike Lennox’s house, a very modern and quite ugly wooden structure.
They’d entered through the storeroom wing, the individual rooms marked by sturdy doors and few windows. The wing on its left held a small stable, with chickens, pigs, and goats penned outside. The other two wings were evidently living quarters, one holding the teamsters’ dormitory and the entrance from the main street. The highest wing must contain living spaces for Donovan and Evans, plus the kitchen.
An arched colonnade ringed the courtyard, linking the different wings. Watchtowers stood at two diagonally opposite corners, occupied now by vigilant teamsters guarding the wagons and mules below. Viola could see them with their big telescopes through the watchtowers’ enormous windows.
Yellow roses covered arbors in the courtyard, providing shade and an illusion of privacy. Water danced in a brilliantly hued tiled fountain in the courtyard’s center, where the ancient spring brought life.
In one corner stood a small shrine containing a statue of a woman and a graceful table holding candles, incense censers, and bowls of roses. Viola immediately hoped to examine the shrine more closely at another time. The statue looked Chinese, similar to one of Kuan Yin her grandmother owned, but held a small baby, as a Catholic’s Madonna would.
She could hear balls caroming around a billiards table in the distance, but few other signs of Donovan’s teamsters.
Viola nervously wondered how the main living quarters were furnished. Donovan wasn’t here often but he was most considerate of his men’s comfort, such as Evans who split his time between Rio Piedras and Tucson. Rumor said furniture and fancy goods had been delivered but no one knew what they consisted of.
Perhaps Donovan had a private parlor or even a private bedroom. She shivered at the thought and his hand tightened on her elbow.
“Are you well, Mrs. Ross?”
“Yes, thank you. Just a breeze from the valley, I think.”
Donovan made a noncommittal sound but drew her closer. His hot male strength burned through the thin calico and his breath stirred her hair against her cheek. She wanted him to move away so she could remember how to breathe. At the same time, she longed for him to come closer so his knowing hands could touch her intimate flesh again.
She gulped at the thought.
Mercifully, they reached the main wing a few minutes later, after crossing the last terrace. His houseman waited there in front of the colonnade, face impassive when he bowed. “Good evening, sir.”
“Good evening, Abraham,” Donovan answered easily. “Mrs. Ross, this is Abraham Chang, my houseman, who I would trust with my life. I’ve asked him to guard you when I cannot.”
Abraham bowed deeply. “Mrs. Ross.”
Viola blinked, then smiled shyly at the big Chinaman. As the younger daughter and considered unlikely to marry, she’d never had a personal servant before, unlike her mother and older sister. “I’m very glad to meet you, Abraham.”
Abraham bowed again. “It is my honor to serve you, Mrs. Ross.”
“Is dinner ready, Abraham?” Donovan
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