Chavez was furious at Gabe’s high-handed interference. What did the man think he was going to do: rape his sister in public! Two things El Lobo did not do: kill in cold blood and force favors from women. Any woman who was with him was there because she wanted to be. Miss Sadie Hart was no exception.
Except she was, he thought, with a wry smile on his face. Oh, she was enjoying his company and his touch, no doubt about that. But she should not have been. She should have been frightened and intimidated by the wicked Juan Chavez.
This time his smile was slow and appreciative. He suspected it would take a lot to scare Sadie Hart and for some strange reason that made him feel pleased. Not exactly happy, but then, he hadn’t been happy since he was eight years old.
He should want her to feel threatened, he thought, for his attentions to her were part of his job. But at least he had made her brother very angry, and that was certainly part of his responsibilities.
His own anger had faded as he walked across the courtyard and he realized he was in front of the dessert table. On the other side, unwrapping cheesecloth from a rich, dark cake, was Mrs. Burke. There were pieces of pie and cake already sliced in front of him. He could have picked up a plate and gotten out of her way easily. There was something about this woman that disturbed him, and he did not want to spend time around her, though he couldn’t have told anyone why, which bothered him even more.
“Would you like some pie, Señor Chavez?” From the strained tone of her voice, Chavez knew that he had the same effect on Mrs. Burke as she did on him.
“No, gracias, señora, but I would like to taste the cake you brought.”
Elizabeth picked up a knife and held it in her hand for a moment as though she was speculating what it was good for.
“That is a sharp knife, señora. I hope you are only going to cut cake with it,” said Chavez ironically.
Elizabeth looked over at him and as always, was surprised at how much of a gringo he looked despite his name and his fluency in Spanish. The green eyes were somehow familiar, as was the teasing edge to his voice.
“It takes a sharp knife to cut this cake, Señor Chavez, because it is so moist with fruit and brandy,” she answered, her voice steady this time. She carefully sliced one of the cakes and putting two thin slices on a plate, offered them to Chavez. She hoped he would just go, once he had what he wanted.
Chavez picked up a slice in his fingers and lifted it halfway to his mouth. As the rich odor of spices and brandy reached his nose he stood very still, as though frozen in place. He wasn’t in New Mexico anymore, he was in his mother’s kitchen. It was Christmastime and he had snuck in to steal a piece of her black cake. He had just been lifting it to his mouth when his sister caught him….
“Señor Chavez? Is there something wrong with the cake?”
Her voice brought him back. But the disorientation of those few moments left him dizzy and he looked over at Elizabeth Burke as though he’d never seen her before.
“Are you all right?” she asked him gently.
“Si, señora.” he made himself bite into the cake, though he was terrified that somehow he’d be transported again to the past. It tasted as delicious as it smelled and he complimented Mrs. Burke politely, relieved that nothing more had come back to him.
“It is an old family recipe, señor. I usually only make it at Christmas, but it seemed appropriate for a birthday too.”
“I am sure Mrs. Mackie appreciated your effort, Mrs. Burke.”
“Thank you, Señor Chavez.”
Chavez took one more bite and then setting his plate down, he turned and left. Elizabeth stood open-mouthed in amazement. The Chavez who had come to the dessert table had been the man who frightened and disturbed her. But after that strange moment when he seemed frozen in place, he felt a different person altogether. Almost a familiar one, although that was a foolish thought. How could such a man be familiar to her? But if he was not familiar, he was most certainly more vulnerable in those few moments. Then she almost laughed aloud at her fancies. Juan Chavez vulnerable? El Lobo, Eduardo’s probable killer? She must have been imagining things. But why did she suddenly feel a stirring of sympathy for the man? Because, she told herself, he had become real to her. He wasn’t just the hired gun or the coldblooded killer. In his eyes, for those few seconds, she had seen something of the boy he must have been, and the man he was, as capable of confusion and fear as anyone.
* * * *
“Madre de Dios,” Chavez whispered as he walked off. What had happened to him back there? He never remembered the time before the hacienda. He couldn’t let himself. During the first few weeks of captivity, when he had remembered, he had tried to block the memories, for if he remembered his father and mother and sister alive, then he had to remember them dead. All of them dead, except for him.
Damn Mrs. Burke and her black cake. Somehow the smell of cinnamon and nutmeg had brought back memories of his childhood. Not just a memory; he felt like he’d been there in his mother’s kitchen. The present had become the past and it seemed as though the very earth under his feet had shifted.
“Chavez, I saw you chatting with Mrs. Burke. I hope you convinced her of our desire to be better neighbors?”
It was Mackie who had come up behind him and he hadn’t even noticed. “Si, Señor Mackie. Mrs. Burke and I had a nice chat about recipes.”
Mackie clapped him on the back and laughed. “Recipes, eh? Next thing you know she’ll be giving you cooking lessons. Good job, Juan.” Mackie slapped him again and moved on.
“Good job.” He always did a good job. He always did just what his employers wanted, he thought bitterly. Truly, El Perro might be a better name for you than El Lobo, Juan, verdad?
* * * *
Michael had seen Chavez by the dessert table and when Elizabeth joined him a few minutes later, he took her hand. “I hope that man wasn’t disturbin’ ye, a ghra?”
“Just his presence usually does, Michael, but this time he seemed more human…almost familiar,” Elizabeth added wonderingly.
“Well, I think we’ve been here long enough to prove our good intentions. Let’s say our good-byes and head home.”
On the way back to the ranch, Michael laughed and said to his wife and daughter, “Between Chavez and Mackie’s neighborliness, you’d think that nothing atall had happened in this valley for the last few months. Maybe Eduardo’s murder was their last try.”
“I don’t believe Señor Chavez had anything to do with Eduardo’s death, Mr. Burke,” replied Sadie, surprising herself as well as him.
“You don’t, do ye? And why is that?”
“He told me he didn’t.”
Caitlin looked at her in wide-eyed astonishment. “You believed him? What else would you expect him to say, Sadie?”
“I don’t know,” Sadie confessed. “I’m not saying he never killed anyone. I’m just sure that he is not Eduardo’s murderer.”
“It will take more than his saying it to convince me,” Michael responded flatly.
Later that night, when they were going up to bed, Cait stopped in front of Sadie’s door.
“Do you really believe that Juan Chavez is innocent, Sadie? After all that has happened.”
“I didn’t say he was a good man, Cait. And neither did he claim to be to me,” she added with a smile. “Just that I believed him innocent in this one situation.”
“Then who did kill Eduardo?”
“Oh, I’ve no doubt Nelson Mackie had him killed, Cait. But he has plenty of men capable of doing it, doesn’t he?”
Cait shuddered. “He certainly does. Some of those men there today were as frightening as Chavez. I guess I would have no problem believing one of them could have killed Eduardo.”
“Neither would I,” agreed Sadie.
Caitlin bade her a good night and Sadie slipped under the covers. She lay there remembering Juan Chavez’s caresses and feeling an aching sadness at the thought that she would not likely be alone with him again.