Crista’s leg healed well over the next few days and by the end of the week she knew it was nearly fully recovered. She hadn’t seen much of Diablo. It was almost like he purposely avoided her, but she didn’t mind. It was better that way. She had too many mixed feelings around him. One minute he seemed kind and caring and the next it was as if he was the devil himself. He was not a man she could trust, but then why did the thought strike her that she ever could trust him? He was an outlaw, an infamous one at that.
The sound of music caught her attention and she stepped outside. The campsite was alight with campfires, delicious scents filled the night air, and people danced as if in celebration. Her eyes immediately went in search of Diablo but she didn’t see him anywhere.
Alma and Evia sat together smiling and watching the young ones’ dance. Crista was surprised to see Vilia dancing with Ramos, but then Ortiz had yet to fully recover from the whipping he had received. It was good to see Vilia enjoying herself and from the look on Alma’s face, she was pleased to see her granddaughter doing so.
Crista thought to join them, but she really wasn’t one of them. Diablo might think of her as a guest, but she felt more a captive. Once again she let her glance drift around the camp and when she caught movement in the shadows, she knew it was Diablo.
She left the porch, keeping herself removed from the activities as she made her way to where she had seen the dark shadow among the night shadows.
“You don’t join the festivities?” she asked as she drifted into the shadows to join him.
“You don’t as well?” he asked surprised she had seen him there.
It took a few moments for Crista’s eyes to adapt to the darkness and finally make out the dark shroud that covered Diablo.
“I asked you first,” she said with a teasing laugh.
“The devil is not festive. What is your excuse?” he asked.
She laughed. “I suppose that’s true. Or perhaps it’s because the devil can’t dance?”
“The devil can do anything. And your excuse?” he reminded, she having ignored his question.
“I am a stranger among strangers,” she said, suddenly feeling the weight of loneliness. The lively music had brought to mind the many celebrations she had enjoyed with her family in Spain. “What do they celebrate?” she quickly asked, not wanting to dwell on memories that nearly brought tears to her eyes.
“Life,” Diablo said, seeing sadness wipe away her smile.
“They are happy.”
“And you wonder how they could be?” he asked, seeing her brow wrinkle in question.
“Only because of you,” she said.
His brow wrinkled in question this time, though she couldn’t see it. “Me?”
“Si,” Crista said with a nod. “They lead a simple, but full life filled with family and friends, a blessing indeed. However, being with you, a notorious outlaw, can cause them great sorrow.”
“I wouldn’t let that happen,” he said with a confident defiance that couldn’t be ignored.
“So you believe, but there is one thing in life that we can all count on… that fate can change everything in a mere blink of an eye. And we are left to deal with what fate has dealt us.”
“And fate has brought us together,” Diablo said and silently cursed himself for saying so.
“But why?” she asked without thinking.
“I suppose that is for us to find out,” he said, thinking fate had made a dreadful mistake, which made him say. “Do not think to trust the devil, Crista.”
Feeling emboldened by the lively music, she found her response spilling from her lips, “I would never trust the devil. It’s the man beneath the shroud that stirs my curiosity.”
She was shocked when she found herself planted against his chest, his arm tight around her waist. “This shroud protects you from looking upon evil himself. So make no mistake, there is no difference between the two.”
He shoved her away from him and disappeared deeper into the shadows, dismissing her without saying a word.
Crista made her way back to the porch and went inside the house, no longer interested in the festivities. A deep sorrow had grabbed hold of her, twisting and turning her stomach and her heart. She ached for the family who had taken her into their care and the wonderful life she had had with them. They were home to her, not this foreign land that held nothing but heartache. As young as she had been when she left here, she could still clearly remember how her madre had handed her to the strange woman and they had sailed away on a big ship. Her little heart had broken that day and she didn’t think it had ever mended.
Her home, the family she loved was in Spain. This wasn’t her home and she feared it never would be. Fate had seen to that when Fate had sent the devil to greet her on her return to Los Angeles.
Crista went to bed wishing she could return to Spain and the family she loved.
“No, Madre, no, I be good,” Crista cried as her mother handed her to the strange woman. “Please. Please, Madre, I be good.”
Crista bolted up in bed, the all too familiar dream returning after years of keeping it buried. She hurried out of bed, worried she would fall back asleep only to be trapped once again in the awful nightmare. She rushed to the other room, her bare feet skimming the plank floor, so anxious was she for a drink of water and for a reprieve from her nightmare.
She stopped abruptly when she saw the dark figure standing in the middle of the room. For a moment she thought death had come to claim her, but she finally realized it was Diablo.
“I heard you screaming,” he said.
Lucia had seen her through the endless nightmares that had come all too soon after the incident. She had taken her into her arms, rocked her, and assured her with soft, loving words, until finally, her screams had stopped. Lucia’s arms had offered the comfort she had needed and she ached for that comfort now.
Unwise as it was to seek comfort from the devil, something pushed her to do so. She hurried toward Diablo and before she reached him, his arms spread wide to receive her. She fell against his chest, her head resting there, and her arms went around him as his strong arms wrapped around her protectively.
“Worry not, mi amor. You’re safe,” he said his voice powerful as if he commanded it so.
Crazy as his words seemed, she never felt as safe as she did at that very moment, especially with him calling her my love, and yet she was in the arms of the devil. The thought should have made her see her error, but it didn’t. She didn’t want to leave Diablo’s arms. She wanted to remain tucked against him and the comfort his strong embrace brought her.
“A nightmare?” he asked, holding her tight, hoping it would ease her trembling.
She nodded, his warmth, strength, and the distinct scent of campfire smoke and pine, adding to her comfort.
Diablo remained there, holding her, not wanting to let her go, enjoying the feel of her in his arms tight against him, as if she belonged to him. But she didn’t belong to him. Or could she?
Crista’s senses returned to her like a cold splash of water to her face. What was she doing in the devil’s arms? Had she gone insane? This man had abducted her, though he did so to save her from what would definitely have been a horrible fate. Still, that was no excuse for falling into his arms.
Why then did his arms feel so good?
She stepped slowly and reluctantly away from hm. Had she felt his reluctance to let her go—a slight tug of sorts to keep her close? A thought that surely was complete madness.
Words hurried out of her mouth. “I want to go home.”
“And where is that home, Crista?”
A shiver ran through her at the intimate way her name rolled off his tongue. It was like a delicate, lingering stroke of his hand over her naked skin.
“I don’t know anymore,” she said with a gentle shake of her head.
“At the moment, it is here with me and while with me, you are safe. Always remember that,” he said as if important for her to do so. “Return to bed and sleep, and dream of returning home.”
“Soon?” she asked with anxious hope.
“Soon,” he confirmed and turned and was out the door quickly.
With hope strong in her, Crista went to bed and hours later and woke shaking her head. She had hoped, more expected, to dream of her return home to her family she barely knew, but instead she had dreamed of Diablo. He had held her hand as though he would never let her go as they walked and she hadn’t minded. The thought frightened her. Did it mean he would keep her and that eventually she would grow accustomed to being with him? Would she never get home?
But then where was home?
A couple of days later, Crista walked out onto the porch to see Alma crying to Diablo. When they finished talking, two horses were brought to him. Diablo mounted one horse and Ramos the other, and they rode off.
Crista hurried to Alma, Evia already there consoling her.
“What happened?” Crista asked.
“Vilia is gone. She’s run off with Ortiz,” Alma said through tears.
“Diablo goes to find and return her?” Crista asked.
Alma shook her head and more tears fell.
Evia spoke up. “Diablo cannot stop her from being foolish. He can only protect us from what Ortiz may do.”
“What is that?” Crista asked a shiver of worry racing through her.
“Bring danger to the camp,” Evia said.
“It took only a couple of hours to learn the news was not good. Carts and horses began to arrive and people were piled into them. That the camp was being evacuated was obvious.
While things were chaotic, people moved around with purpose and it made Crista think that a plan had been formed in case a time like this came and everyone had to leave quickly.
Campfires were being doused, the few remaining children placed in carts along with a couple of puppies. Belongings were gathered and soon the carts started filling with people, and not long after that the carts began to leave.
Not knowing what to do or what was to become of her, Crista hurried off to find Evia or Alma. She came across both women busy loading sacks of what she gathered were their belongings into a cart.
“I was about to come find you,” Evia said when she spotted Crista. “You are to stay here and wait for Diablo.”
“He will be here soon, before you leave, right?” Crista asked, another cart rolling past her.
“He will come for you. Do not worry,” Alma said.
“You can’t mean to leave me alone here,” Crista said, her skin prickling with fear.
“His orders are for you to wait for him and we do not disobey Diablo,” Evia said
“My clothes. Where are the clothes I wore when I arrived here?” Crista asked.
“I don’t know,” Evia said.
“Where do you go? And please don’t tell me a safer place,” Crista said, watching more people leave and growing ever more frightened.
“To different places of our choosing,” Alma explained. “Some want to leave the area, others wish to remain in the only area they’ve ever known. Diablo secured various places for us all so that we may finally be free of this life.”
“What of Diablo?” Crista asked.
Both women shook their heads.
“We leave here today, never to see him again,” Alma said with tears in her eyes. “He can be a harsh man, but a good one as well.”
“You were not part of the plan,” Evia said sorrow in her voice.
Crista turned a troubled glance on Evia. Was the woman suggesting that her present situation was her own fault?
“Hurry,” a man shouted.
Evia ran into one of the tents and Alma stepped closer to Crista to whisper, “You should know, just in case, that the path that took us to the stream that day, if followed to your right, will lead you out of the canyon.”
“He isn’t coming for me is he?” Crista asked, though she felt like she answered her own question.
“I’ve never known Diablo not to keep his word, but I also know that sometimes things don’t turn out as planned.”
“Let’s go,” Evia said, once out of the tent.
The man who had shouted orders to everyone, Benito, if she remembered his name correctly, helped Alma into the cart as Evia climbed up onto the seat and took hold of the reins. With a snap of the reins, the cart rolled off, Alma waving to her.
Benito turned to Crista after mounting his horse. “You will wait here for Diablo.”
He didn’t wait for her to respond, he rode off.
Crista stood in the middle of the deserted encampment, the quiet so intense around her that she shivered. Fear immobilized her. She wasn’t sure what to do. Did she trust Diablo would come for her or did she leave and follow the stream and hope she could find her way to some sort of safety?
She tilted her head back to look at the clear sky overhead. There were still several hours of daylight left. Did she take a chance and leave? Or did she stay? What if night fell and Diablo still hadn’t come for her? Worse, what if other outlaws made their way here? None of her thoughts helped. The only thing that did some good was recalling what Ricardo had told her one time.
Doing something is better than doing nothing.
Crista moved, searching the camp for food and a weapon. She used the blanket on her bed as a way to carry the things she found. Food wasn’t a problem, much of it had been left behind. She was overjoyed when she located a pair of boots that fit fairly well, a little big but they would do. However, she kept the sandals she’d been wearing in case the boots presented a problem. She found a worn shawl and wrapped it around her waist. Luck had her finding two knives. One she tucked in between the shawl and her skirt waistband and the other she tucked in the side of her boot. She came across a discarded hat, faded and worn from far too many years of use, but it would keep the sun off her face. The final thing she had remembered seeing in the house was a canteen. She would fill it when she reached the stream.
She didn’t know if what she was about to do was wise or foolish. All she knew was that it was better than doing nothing.
She didn’t bother to give a last nod to the camp. She was relieved to finally be leaving it, making her way home... she hoped. She didn’t know what her actions would bring her, but she was willing to face the unknown. She had done so twice in her life now and while one proved a horrific experience, the other turned out to be wonderful. So good or bad, she once again was willing to take a chance on the unknown.
If anything, Diablo had confirmed what the nuns had taught her… never trust the devil.