The color of Dar’s skin never mattered to Juanita. When she gazed at him, she did not see a white man; she saw only a man, the man she loved. His race was not a factor. To all the naysayers she had replied, “I do what I have to.” She could no more deny her heart than she could stop breathing.
Dar was a devoted husband. His sole purpose in life, he once told her, was to make her happy, and to that end, he laid claim to the fertile grassland to the south of the Rio Largo and built the DP into a prosperous ranch.
“My sweet beloved,” Juanita breathed into her pillow. She yearned to have him beside her, to take him in her arms and smother him with kisses. If only it were all a bad dream. If only Dar and Berto were still alive.
Sniffling, Juanita rolled onto her side. She would unravel the mystery of their deaths if it was the last thing she did. She did not believe for a minute that the Circle T was responsible. The Toveys were too decent, too honorable. To what end? was the question she always brought up when they were accused. The notion that the Toveys wanted to take over the entire valley was laughable.
But if not them, then who? Juanita had asked herself that a thousand times. Clearly, someone was out to inflame not only her family, but the vaqueros, as well. Seeds of hatred had been planted, and unless something was done, those seeds would result in more violence and more bloodshed.
Juanita suspected an outside influence. Someone was trying to set the two ranches against one another. It was the only possible explanation for the knife found near Berto’s body. She saw through the deception, even if some of her own children did not.
Her children. Juanita feared for their safety. Her sons in particular. Logically, they were next on the killer’s list. She had asked them to be careful and not go anywhere alone, and although they assured her they would not take unnecessary risks, they had their pride, and would not be coddled.
A sudden gust of wind on Juanita’s damp cheek brought her up onto her elbows. The door to the small patio outside her bedroom was open. Many a night, she and Dar had sat out there, she with her head on his chest, sharing their dreams and their love.
Juanita was fairly sure she had closed the door before retiring. Then again, caught up in her grief, she might well have forgotten, and only imagined she had. She slid off the bed, gathered her nightgown about her, and crossed the room to remedy her oversight. One of the heavy curtains rustled.
Juanita wondered if a storm was brewing. She opened the door wider, and peered skyward. Not a cloud to be seen. She started to draw back, and pull the door closed after her.
Belatedly, Juanita saw an arm reach from behind the curtain. She twisted away, but she was too slow. A calloused hand clamped onto her mouth, and she was dragged roughly to the floor. Before she could cry out, metal glinted. Pain exploded in her head. The world faded to gray, and then black.
It was like falling into a bottomless well.
Motion roused her.
Juanita was aware of a swaying movement. She was on her belly, over a horse. Her head hurt abominably, so much so, she could barely think. She was still in her nightclothes, and she was cold. Her wrists pained her. When she tried to move her arms, she discovered they were bound. So were her ankles.
“Do not struggle, por favor.”
The voice pricked her. Juanita knew that voice, but she had to think before she had a face to go with it. “Hijino,” she said.
“Si, Senora Pierce,” came the reply. “Your humble servant.”
“A humble pig,” Juanita rejoined. She turned her head. He was on his white horse, leading the animal that bore her.
Hijino laughed gaily. “Your tongue is as sharp as my knife. But I never take offense at a lady’s insults as I would a man’s. Women deserve special consideration.”
“Is that what you call this? Special consideration? What do you think you are doing? Kidnaping me?”
Again Hijino laughed. “You will figure it out soon enough. When you do, do not blame me. Blame yourself.”
“You talk in riddles. Was it you who killed my Dar?”
“No. Berto, yes. But not your husband.”
Juanita believed him. She tested her wrists and ankles again. The rope was so tight it dug into her flesh.
“I told you not to struggle,” Hijino reminded her. “No one has ever slipped a knot of mine.”
“You said I was to blame?”
“Si, senora. When you told your son to ask around in San Pedro about strangers, I knew you suspected the truth. You had to be dealt with, I am afraid.”
Fear stirred within her, but Juanita smothered it by force of will. “You would not dare. Murdering men is one thing. Murdering a woman is another.”
“Not to the murderer. Killing a woman is no different than killing a man. But you have a point. Others see it differently. To them, killing a woman is the worst offense of all.”
“Second worst. The worst is killing a child.”
“I have done that, too, senora. But I always make it quick. They do not suffer. Nor will you suffer. Much.”
Juanita’s mouth went dry.
“Out of respect for your daughter, I will grant you that boon.”
“My daughter? Dolores?”
“Oh, please. She would not permit a vaquero to touch her. No, it is sweet, young Trella. Last night she gave herself to me. Completely. Of her own free will.” Hijino smacked his lips. “She is a delight. So innocent, yet so wild. Does she take after you in that regard?”
Juanita cursed him. She used words she had heard, but never used. When she paused for breath, he fed her anger by laughing.
“You sound like my mother. She had a mouth. She could swear better than anyone in our village. Outdrink anyone, too.”
Clutching at a straw, Juanita asked, “What would she say if she knew what you plan to do with me?”
“She can not say anything. I killed her long ago.”
Juanita had heard of men like him. They plagued the frontier. South of the border they were called bandidos. North of the border they were called outlaws. Whatever they were called, they had certain traits in common: no respect whatsoever for human life, or for another’s property. They lived as they pleased, accountable to no one. Most lived short, violent lives that ended at the end of the rope, or by a bullet through a vital organ. The wild ones. The reckless ones. The ones Dar has shielded her from. She missed him now more than ever.
“Nothing to say, senora? Did I shock you?”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” Juanita said. “I am not a child like Trella. I am not swayed by swagger and deceit.” She arched her back to raise her head as far as she could. In vain, she searched for the lights of the ranch, or a campfire.
Hijino divined her purpose. “We are alone. You can scream if you want. No one will hear you.”
“How did you spirit me away without anyone noticing?”
“It was easy,” Hijino said. “All the vaqueros were asleep. Your house was dark. I had the horses waiting nearby.”
“What do you hope to accomplish?”
“Need you ask? You are not stupid. With my share, I will live like a prince. Or maybe go to Spain. I have always wanted to visit Madrid.”
The absurdity of her plight impressed itself on Juanita. Here she was, calmly talking to a man who in a very short while was going to murder her. “What if I pay you to let me go?”
“Do not insult me.”
“I am serious. How much would it take? Five thousand dollars? Ten thousand dollars? I give you my word you will be permitted to leave in peace.”
Hijino slowed, and tugged on the lead rope so the spare horse came up alongside his white one. “Ten times that amount would not be enough. The men I am with, they would do things to me that would sicken you if I betrayed them.”