employer didn't precisely endear her to him
either. As for Sabrina, Ollie's misleading youthful appearance, as well as his
travel-stained clothing and sparse beard, wasn't exactly what one expected in
the servant of a well-bred, wealthy young man like Brett Dangermond. But then,
risking a glance at Brett's own bearded face and rough clothing, she decided
that they probably suited each other. Cautiously she acknowledged Ollie with a
slight inclination of her head. Ollie merely sniffed disapprovingly.
Rattled
by the morning's events, she wasn't quite as calm and collected as she would
have liked to be, and slipping lightly off Brett's horse, she said stiltedly,
"If you'll follow me, I'll lead you to the hacienda."
It
took only a second to whistle up Sirocco, and within minutes, the trio was
riding down the dusty red road that led to Sabrina's home. Forest pressed
thickly against the road—more a path than a road—pines, black willow, redbud,
and sweet gum intermixed with coral honeysuckle, wild azaleas, and cinnamon
ferns.
Sabrina's
home, Brett discovered a moment later when the forest stopped and they rode out
into the open, was a pleasant example of rustic graciousness. The outbuildings
in the distance were of adobe and rough-hewn lumber; the corrals and paddocks
of split rails were unpainted, but the weather had worn the unprotected wood to
a rich, warm, sienna brown that was extremely pleasing to the eye. The
hacienda, the casa grande , was nestled among the encroaching
forest and constructed with tiled roofs and arched walkways and windows in the
Moorish fashion. It was impressive in its size and reminded Brett vividly of
Spain.
Made
of adobe and exposed square beams, the main portion of the house was
single-storied, built long and low to the ground. The eaves of the roof had
been extended, and they formed wide, welcoming corridors of shade that served
as outside hallways. Jutting out at right angles to the rear of the main
building was a two-storied wing; a black filigreed iron railing enclosed the
narrow balcony that overlooked the front of the hacienda. A courtyard shadowed
by graceful, sprawling redbud trees and orange and lemon trees led to wide
double doors. As Brett gingerly dismounted, favoring his wounded arm, those
doors flew open and Alejandro, a warm smile on his face, came rushing across
the courtyard, saying, ''How good to see you! I have been looking for you these
past weeks and had just about given up hope that you would accept my
invitation." His smile faded though as his eyes took in the bloodstained
shirt and Sabrina's disheveled appearance. Concern on his face, he inquired,
"What has happened? Were you attacked by bandits?"
Brett
grimaced. "No. Let's just say that Sabrina and I had a . . .
misunderstanding."
Well
aware of his daughter's volatile temper and propensity for rash action, Alejandro
frowned darkly, and he threw Sabrina a look full of disapproval. "What
have you been doing this time, chica ?" he asked half-angrily, half-resignedly.
Sabrina's
soft mouth tightened, and she was slightly indignant that she should have to
explain herself to her father. But before she could formulate something less
than the heated reply that trembled on her lips, Brett broke in with, "It
wasn't her fault. She thought I was an outlaw intent upon, er, ravishing her,
and I thought she was a boy on a runaway—my actions were somewhat abrupt and to
the point. Before either of us realized our mistakes, I'm afraid she defended
her honor rather effectively." A twisted grin on his mouth, he nodded in
the direction of his bleeding arm and added lightly, "Don't worry about
this bit of nonsense. I assure you I have suffered far worse in the past."
"I
see," said Alejandro slowly. He sensed that there was more to the tale,
but not one to force confidences, he turned away, and clapping his hands, he
called loudly, "Bonita! Josefa! Clemente! Elias! Come quickly! We
either. As for Sabrina, Ollie's misleading youthful appearance, as well as his
travel-stained clothing and sparse beard, wasn't exactly what one expected in
the servant of a well-bred, wealthy young man like Brett Dangermond. But then,
risking a glance at Brett's own bearded face and rough clothing, she decided
that they probably suited each other. Cautiously she acknowledged Ollie with a
slight inclination of her head. Ollie merely sniffed disapprovingly.
Rattled
by the morning's events, she wasn't quite as calm and collected as she would
have liked to be, and slipping lightly off Brett's horse, she said stiltedly,
"If you'll follow me, I'll lead you to the hacienda."
It
took only a second to whistle up Sirocco, and within minutes, the trio was
riding down the dusty red road that led to Sabrina's home. Forest pressed
thickly against the road—more a path than a road—pines, black willow, redbud,
and sweet gum intermixed with coral honeysuckle, wild azaleas, and cinnamon
ferns.
Sabrina's
home, Brett discovered a moment later when the forest stopped and they rode out
into the open, was a pleasant example of rustic graciousness. The outbuildings
in the distance were of adobe and rough-hewn lumber; the corrals and paddocks
of split rails were unpainted, but the weather had worn the unprotected wood to
a rich, warm, sienna brown that was extremely pleasing to the eye. The
hacienda, the casa grande , was nestled among the encroaching
forest and constructed with tiled roofs and arched walkways and windows in the
Moorish fashion. It was impressive in its size and reminded Brett vividly of
Spain.
Made
of adobe and exposed square beams, the main portion of the house was
single-storied, built long and low to the ground. The eaves of the roof had
been extended, and they formed wide, welcoming corridors of shade that served
as outside hallways. Jutting out at right angles to the rear of the main
building was a two-storied wing; a black filigreed iron railing enclosed the
narrow balcony that overlooked the front of the hacienda. A courtyard shadowed
by graceful, sprawling redbud trees and orange and lemon trees led to wide
double doors. As Brett gingerly dismounted, favoring his wounded arm, those
doors flew open and Alejandro, a warm smile on his face, came rushing across
the courtyard, saying, ''How good to see you! I have been looking for you these
past weeks and had just about given up hope that you would accept my
invitation." His smile faded though as his eyes took in the bloodstained
shirt and Sabrina's disheveled appearance. Concern on his face, he inquired,
"What has happened? Were you attacked by bandits?"
Brett
grimaced. "No. Let's just say that Sabrina and I had a . . .
misunderstanding."
Well
aware of his daughter's volatile temper and propensity for rash action, Alejandro
frowned darkly, and he threw Sabrina a look full of disapproval. "What
have you been doing this time, chica ?" he asked half-angrily, half-resignedly.
Sabrina's
soft mouth tightened, and she was slightly indignant that she should have to
explain herself to her father. But before she could formulate something less
than the heated reply that trembled on her lips, Brett broke in with, "It
wasn't her fault. She thought I was an outlaw intent upon, er, ravishing her,
and I thought she was a boy on a runaway—my actions were somewhat abrupt and to
the point. Before either of us realized our mistakes, I'm afraid she defended
her honor rather effectively." A twisted grin on his mouth, he nodded in
the direction of his bleeding arm and added lightly, "Don't worry about
this bit of nonsense. I assure you I have suffered far worse in the past."
"I
see," said Alejandro slowly. He sensed that there was more to the tale,
but not one to force confidences, he turned away, and clapping his hands, he
called loudly, "Bonita! Josefa! Clemente! Elias! Come quickly! We
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