“Señor Jared, are you awake? Time to get ready for your trip. Señora Lauren, do you hear me?”
Only silence greeted her until Jared mumbled a sleepy, “I’m awake.”
“Señora Lauren, do you want me to help you?” Elena twittered, thinking that the new husband would probably take over some of her former duties.
There was a rustle of bedcovers, a muttered curse, and then Jared said, “She’s in her room. Go wake her up.”
Elena had stood outside the door staring at it in a puzzled fashion. “But, señor—”
“She’s in her room,” he growled.
Now, as she packed last-minute additions to Lauren’s bags, Elena shrugged. Why wasn’t
Lauren sleeping with her new husband? The ways of the gringos had always been a mystery to her.
The one possession that Lauren had that kept her from coming to Jared as a pauper bride was her riding habit. It had been a gift to her from the Prathers, who had insisted that she attend a riding academy. The blue velvet habit with its long, trailing skirt and tightly tailored jacket fit her figure to perfection. It had taken up an exorbitant amount of space in one of her valises, but she couldn’t bear to part with the finest garment she owned when she left North Carolina.
Elena eyed the riding habit dubiously and asked Lauren tentatively if she wouldn’t prefer wearing one of the split skirts that Mrs. Gibbons had made for her.
“No,” Lauren adamantly refused as she thrust long pins into the smart matching hat with its decorative veil. “I want Jared to see me in something of my own. Something his mother didn’t buy for me.”
The two young women were snapping shut the fastenings of her bags when Pepe tapped lightly on the door. Elena opened it and he bowed swiftly and said, “Señor Jared, he is waiting.” Pepe picked up Lauren’s bags and preceded the women down the stairs. He looked at her attire skeptically and muttered to himself in Spanish, shaking his head in bewilderment.
He carried her valises through the large front door. Stubbornly Lauren detoured into Rosa’s kitchen for a quick cup of tea. The morning was chilly, and the tea warmed her body, but nothing could warm the chill in her heart. She had not yet seen Jared, and after their confrontation at the bathroom door, she dreaded facing him again. What would his mood be today?
Rosa was bustling around the kitchen even at this early hour. As Lauren was eating fresh, hot tortillas dripping with butter, Rose saw the sadness on the young gringa’s face. Rosa knew everything that went on in the house, and she wasn’t fooled into thinking this sudden marriage was based on love. Maternally she reached out and patted Lauren’s arm. “Señora Lockett, everything will be all right. Señor Jared, he… he hurt inside. Here.” She placed a plump hand over her enormous breasts. “But he is a good man. He like you very much.” Lauren moved to protest, but Rosa went on quickly, “Rosa knows the boy since he is born. I can tell.” She smiled radiantly, reassuringly, and squeezed Lauren’s hand. “Vaya con Dios,” she whispered.
Pepe poked his head through the kitchen door, cleared his throat, and said apologetically, “Señor Jared, he…” and indicated with his head that Lauren should follow him without delay.
Before she left the kitchen, Lauren turned to Rosa and hugged her, her arms barely encompassing the woman’s girth. Elena was standing by the front door, tears glistening in her eyes. Lauren hugged her as close as her protuberant stomach would allow.
“I’ll be upset if the baby comes while I’m away. Can you send word to me? I hope you’ll be all right.”
“I will let you know, but don’t concern yourself. The niño, he will be born fine.” Elena laughed.
“Goodbye, Elena.” The two women clung to each other for a few seconds, then Lauren stepped through the door
Jared was sitting on the large palomino that had been tied to the back of the wagon the day Lauren arrived. He was a vaquero again. He wore tall black boots, the customary tight black pants tucked into the tops of them. A leather jacket protected him against the coolness of the October morning. A blue shirt was under that, and a red bandana had been tied negligently around his throat. The black hat was pulled down low over his brows, and he was casually smoking one of his thin cigars.
Jared looked her up and down, only his eyes moving, and in the early-morning darkness his expression was inscrutable. Pepe held the reins of a saddled mare. Both the mare and Jared’s stallion pranced skittishly when Jared’s deep laugh roared through the still morning.
“Where the hell do you think you’re going in that getup?”
Lauren was stunned. She thought she looked quite fetching in the riding habit with its rich fabric and matching bonnet. “Th-this is a riding habit,” she stuttered lamely.
“I know what it is,” Jared said witheringly. “It’s just going to be entertaining as hell to see how you get up on that horse in it, that’s all.” He chuckled.
Lauren looked at the beautiful sorrel mare. She seemed to be placid enough. Then she saw the saddle and swallowed convulsively.
“I would prefer a sidesaddle, Jared,” she said with all the poise she could muster.
“You would?” he drawled, securing the cheroot in the corner of his lips. “Well, that’s too bad, because all we have are western saddles. Can’t you ride astride?”
Again the gauntlet was thrown down. “Of course I can,” she retorted.
“Then go change into some of those new clothes you have and get your… rear… out here quick. We’re wasting time.” As she turned back to the front door, he added, “And do something with your hair. You can’t wear a proper hat over that…” He made a descriptive motion with his hands around his own head. “And if you don’t wear a hat, you’ll scorch that buttermilk complexion of yours,” he said scathingly.
Lauren lifted her heavy skirt and stumbled back into the house. Elena, who had been standing inside the door and had heard everything, sympathetically took Lauren’s arm and led her back upstairs.