The Diamond of the Rockies [03] The Tender Vine (32 page)

She tried to back away, but he locked the fingers of his other hand with the first, trapping her waist. “Your papa said I’d find you here.”

“What do you want?”

“You know what I want.” His voice softened. “And I know what you want.”

She stared into his face. If he really knew, would he persist in tormenting her? If he just said the word, maybe her family would relent. Engagement promises were broken. If both parties were willing. What could he possibly gain by continuing his suit with her already married?

He sobered, dropping his chin just enough. “I was wrong.”

Her breath caught. Had he finally seen? Could they make their peace and be done with it?

“But you have to know Divina never meant anything to me.”

What? What was he saying? What had Divina to do with it?

“It’s always been you, tesora. Don’t you know that? I told you in every letter, every kiss.” He pulled her closer.

She put her fists up between them, heart rushing. “What are you doing?”

“You want me to apologize. Very well. I deeply apologize for wounding you. It was foolish and . . . unfaithful.”

Carina bristled. “Who told you to say that? Mamma?” She struggled, but he held on. “Did she think if you admitted your fault I would fall back into your arms and swoon?”

His eyes flashed. “You’ve grown a tongue like Divina’s.”

“Can you blame her, the way you used her?”

“Me?” He raised his brows with a snort. “It was she who came to me.”

Carina glared. “And you merely accommodated.”

He pressed her into the tree. “I’ve apologized, Carina. Now you must pardon me.”

She stiffened. “I forgave you already.”

He raised one hand to cup her face. “Yes?”

She swallowed the tightness in her throat. This was Flavio, whom she had loved most of her life, with whom she would always have a connection. Could she make him see? “I left here to hurt you, to make you pay for hurting me. A thousand miles I wanted you to come and beg my forgiveness. But in Crystal, I learned another way. I forgave you without an apology because the bitterness would have destroyed me. And I no longer wanted to hurt you.”

He dampened his lips. “Then why did you marry
him
?”

Had Quillan no name to Flavio? He could not honor him even so far? “Because I love him.”

She saw stark hurt in Flavio’s eyes, and it saddened her to put it there. It wasn’t what she wanted after all. There was no joy in breaking his heart. Then his face changed, and he went to that place inside himself where she couldn’t follow. His breath thinned, and his hand tightened on her jaw. Something savage came from inside him, something she had never seen before. His voice rasped, “For that, I will destroy him.”

She trembled. Flavio’s hands left her abruptly, but she stayed pressed to the tree until he had left the courtyard and stalked away into the deepening dusk. She must go to Quillan, warn him. She gathered her shawl. Outside the walls of the courtyard, the wind was cold. Spring had not yet gained control, and she shivered as she hurried through the deepening darkness. No brother stopped her, likely because they had given Flavio his privacy. And they wouldn’t guess her foolish enough to go out so late afoot.

There was enough of a moon to show her the road, little more. But she knew the way. Her chest heaved inside her corset as she all but ran. What if Flavio had gone directly? But that would be murder. Flavio could not, would not . . . She had time, she tried to tell herself, but her feet wouldn’t listen.

At last she reached the plaza. Unlike Crystal, where music blared and hollers and gunshots broke the night, Sonoma was merely pleasantly lively. People enjoyed themselves at the hotels and restaurants, but there was a lazy quality to their passing. In contrast, Carina’s pace was frantic.

Where would she find him? The store? No, it was all closed up and dark. She rushed to the Union Hotel and passed through its front doors.

The clerk looked up from his book. “Good evening, Miss DiGratia.”

She glared, then realized he had no way of knowing she was married. “Good evening, Mr. Renault. I must see one of your guests. It’s urgent.”

“Who is it, miss?”

“Quillan Shepard.”

The clerk looked at her a moment, then checked the register and said, “He’s in room thirteen.”

She hurried up the stairs and banged on number thirteen’s door. In less than a breath it swung open and Quillan grabbed her inside.

“What is it, Carina? What’s wrong?”

“I looked for you at the store.”

“I haven’t gone over yet.”

She clutched his hands. “You can’t go.”

“What’s the matter?”

His tone and expression were far too stoic. She had to make him see. Her words came in a rush. “It’s Flavio. He’s going to hurt you—destroy you, he said. We have to go. Now. Before it’s too late.”

Quillan stared into her face as though he hadn’t heard.

“I don’t care about my things. Let’s take the wagon and leave.”

He let go of her. “I can’t run, Carina; don’t ask me to.”

“But—”

The side of his mouth twitched. “I thought you said he was a pacifist.”

He would joke? “You heard Ti’Giuseppe. Whatever he believes, or thinks he does, is subject to his heart. And right now his heart is violent.” She gripped his forearms. “You must believe me.”

“I do. But I won’t run away. I won’t give him the satisfaction.”

“Oh!” She shook him. “This is not the time for pride.”

“It’s all I have.” He jerked his arms free. “If I can’t think well of myself, who will? Your family? The DeMornays?” It was a bitter tone she’d not heard from him in some time. But that was less important than his danger.

She had to make him understand. “Flavio will do what he says. And he will have the whole community behind him.”

Quillan didn’t answer, just stood opening and closing his hands at his sides. “I won’t run.” He turned and walked to the fireplace, stared into the brazier.

“It’s not running, Quillan. It’s . . . starting over.”

“It’s admitting I don’t belong.”

He didn’t belong! That was the point. He was not one of them and never would be. But she couldn’t tell him that. She dropped her hands to her sides, tears sparkling in her eyes. “Please.”

He came to her and held her shoulders. “I know you don’t understand. But—“his voice thickened—“if I were driven away again, I don’t think I could stand it.”

She covered his hands with hers, seeing his pain. She hadn’t known, hadn’t realized the depth of his need to be accepted. He would rather die than fail again. And he might. “Signore, help us.” She closed her eyes on her tears.

“Don’t cry.” His hands tightened.

“What are we going to do?” She clung to him.

He brought her gently into his arms. “I don’t know.”

Her hair fell over his hands, and she held onto his waist as though to a buoy at sea. She remembered the time in his tent when he had impulsively held her just so, trying to calm her hysterics. He’d been so solid, so convincing. She wanted nothing more than to hold him, to feel him warm and breathing and strong. “Don’t make me go back.”

“You have to.”

“Not now.” She clung tighter.

He rested his face in her hair, his breath warming her scalp. “No, not now.” And he kissed her.

Quillan lay beside his wife, too agitated to sleep. Her breath was a warm mist on his arm, and he studied the fall of her eyelashes on her cheek, the curve of her lips. They were slack and slightly parted, just showing the edge of her white teeth. He would have to send her back. There would be no end to strife if he kept her at the hotel. And only from within the bosom of her family could she resolve her need.

He would not let her choose him out of desperation. But as he looked out at the heavy mist of the gray, dawning day, he felt desperate himself. Was he wrong? He forked his fingers into his hair. Carina stirred. Her eyes opened drowsily. She smiled.

He touched her smile, giving her one of his own.
Dear God, I love
her
. He shifted his position to face her. Maybe he shouldn’t have kept her last night. People would see her going out; the clerk would know when she came. But maybe it was time people knew. He was not going to skulk behind some cactus wall even if that was good enough for Flavio. Carina deserved better.

She raised up onto her elbow. “What are you thinking?”

“That I’m the luckiest man alive.”

She shook her head. “You have every hand raised against you, and you’re the luckiest man?”

“First, it’s not every hand. There are more than Italians in Sonoma. Solomon Schocken said last night that he’s very pleased with my work. Mr. Marconi, as well. And he’s one of yours.”

Carina gave him a sad smile.

“And secondly, I wasn’t referring to anyone but you. If I had nothing but you, I’d still be luckiest.”

She cupped his shoulder. “Then let’s leave. This morning.”

He looked down at her velvety skin. “All right. Never mind your mother’s broken heart, the sorrow you’ll give your father. They had their chance. And as for your brothers, they’re hardly sentient beings; no reasoning with them. Ti’Giuseppe . . . now it would have been nice to say good-bye, don’t you think?” He looked back into her stricken face. He’d known what expression he’d find, but it cut him anyway. They were all still her most important thing.

He cradled her face in his palm. “No, Carina. We can’t leave. We have to see it through.”

She didn’t argue. She knew she had shown him her feelings. “I’ve prayed and prayed for the Lord to make my family see. But they’re blind and deaf to me. Is God, too?”

“I’m not the one to ask.” He shook his head. “I keep trying to understand, to find His purpose.” He smoothed his fingers over her hair. “I’m too green to have any answers.”

Carina fingered the locket that hung at his neck against his bare skin and sighed. “So what do we do?”

He hated to say it, but knew he must. “You go home. I go to work.”

“Quillan, why do you have to work so hard? Didn’t you get money from the mine? Couldn’t you buy . . . something?”

He looked down at the sheet. How could he explain that he didn’t deem that money his, and even if it were, that he hesitated to use it. Mrs. Shepard had accused him and Wolf of greed so many times, he was afraid to consider himself a wealthy man. He said simply, “I have money.”

She waited for more, and he shook his head. “It’s not about money, Carina. It’s about respect.”

“You think my papa’s not respected? Does he work himself to the bone?”

“I have to show that I’ve earned it.”

“Why?” She sat up abruptly.

How could she possibly understand, aristocrat that she was? He didn’t even understand except—except maybe he’d believed more of Leona Shepard’s words than he should.
“You’re greedy and lazy and worthless. You’ll never amount to anything. Idleness is the devil’s tool, and you’re the
devil’s spawn.”
He knew better in his head, but in his soul?

“I just do, Carina.”

She sighed. “So that’s it? I go home, and you go back to work. Then what? Wait until Flavio makes good his threat?”

“Ah, yes, Flavio’s threat.”

She pushed his chest. “Don’t scoff.”

“I’m not.” He stood up, walked to the washbasin, and poured water into the bowl. He tossed it onto his face and rubbed the back of his neck and his chest, then toweled dry and turned. “I’m not defenseless, Carina. I can protect myself.” She should know that already.

She nodded. “But . . .”

“I need to know what he is to you.”

She stared at him uncomprehending. “To me?”

Quillan grabbed his shirt and threw it on. He took her hands and stood her up from the bed. “What if self-defense becomes deadly force?”

Her jaw dropped softly as understanding dawned. She shook her head slightly. “I hadn’t thought. I’d thought only of your safety.”

At least he had that. She’d thought of him first. But now he saw the struggle inside her. “I don’t . . . I can’t—Quillan, I can’t have his death on my conscience. He’s my . . . I’ve known him forever.” She turned away. “I don’t condone his actions, but . . .”

“That’s all I needed to know.” And the gun would stay stowed in his room. That limited his odds, but he would not harm someone who mattered to Carina. His gut twisted. Of course Flavio mattered. He was one of them. And he’d been more, much more to her than any of the others. For Flavio, she’d left her family. Quillan turned away and buttoned his shirt.

Carina walked listlessly to the basin and bathed her face and hands. She dug her finger into his toothpowder and ran it over her teeth.

He grinned. “You could have used the brush.”

She shrugged, more crestfallen than he’d expected.

“Carina, it’ll be all right.”

She turned. “Oh sì. And chickens lay golden eggs.”

“Well, if they did we’d not have scrambled or fried, would we?” He caught her hands. “Get dressed. I’m walking you back to the house.”

“You are?”

“I am. And I’m asking permission to court you.”

Her breath came out in a little huff. “Asking Papa?”

“Unless you think Giuseppe’ll do. My chances are better there.” He pulled on his pants.

She stamped her foot. “Stop making fun.”

“I’m not.” He sat on the bed and tied on his brogans.

It took Carina longer to dress, but she had more layers, ties, and buttons. When she was finished, they went out together. Quillan stopped at the desk. “If Mr. Schocken comes asking for me, tell him I’ve taken my wife home, and I’ll be to the quarry directly.”

The clerk raised his eyebrows. “I will.” Then to Carina, “Good day, er, Mrs. . . .”

Carina smiled. “Good day, Mr. Renault.”

The mist was thick and chilly, collecting on Quillan’s face like a mask. Carina’s hair pearled with tiny droplets by the time they reached the livery just next door. Quillan shook the moisture from his own hair. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say it was raining.”

“It will be soon.” Carina ran her hands back over her hair as they stepped inside.

“I don’t have a cover.”

“I can stand a little rain.” She nudged him with her hip. “I won’t melt.”