The Christmas Treasure Read online

  Sarah's eyes clouded with sadness. "The night the baby was born, Gabe was away. By the time he returned, one week later, both she and the little one were dead. That was five years ago"

  "Oh no!" Lorilla breathed, shocked by the horror of the untimely deaths. She felt as if a giant hand had taken hold of her heart, it ached so. "That is so sad. He lost his wife and his child at the same time?"

  "I know." Sarah squeezed her hand. "Is that not just the saddest, most romantic story you have ever heard? Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean romantic exactly. But it's so tragic. They were so young."

  Lorilla shook her head. "I didn't know." She stared at the empty cup clutched in her hands. "He must have been devastated." Apprehension grew inside her. Did Gabriel expect her to take the place of his beautiful, young, exotic wife? Why her? Why bring a wife from halfway across the country? There certainly were enough pretty young women here tonight. Why had he chosen her?

  Lorilla tried to concentrate on Sarah's words.

  "…never been the same since." Sarah sighed. "In the past year or so, however, he has been talking about an heir, a son to continue the Beltran name."

  "An…an heir?" Lorilla stammered, her face growing warm.

  Sarah nodded. "I think he is feeling older and lonely. His mother and father are both dead, and his wife and son. But of course, now he has you."

  "Yes," Lorilla answered, a strange hollow feeling inside her. "Now he has me."

  "Come. Let's get something to eat."

  The last thing Lorilla wanted was food, but she followed Sarah. She couldn't force a morsel past the lump in her throat. Sarah's words rang in her ears. Feeling older and lonely. An heir to continue the Beltran name.

  Lorilla blinked, realizing Sarah had spoken to her. "Pardon me?"

  Sarah gestured and smiled. "I said, here is your husband come to fetch you."

  A thrill pierced Lorilla's insides as she looked up and saw Gabriel, suddenly at her side. He was tall and strong as an oak tree. His powerful, possessive hand was held out to her. Shyly, she placed her hand in his, and the now familiar thrill coursed through her.

  "Thank you, Senora Gentry, for taking care of my wife." He smiled at Sarah, then briefly pressed his lips against Lorilla's fingers. "We should get into place for La Piñata."

  Lorilla wasn't sure if she was relieved or not that he hadn't kissed her palm again. Just the thought of his lips, firm and warm, on her skin made her blush. Dipping her head to cover her confusion, she allowed him to guide her across the courtyard where children gathered, with all the noise and excitement one would expect from youngsters. Lorilla smiled as she watched the little ones bounce up and down, and run and sing.

  Some of these boys and girls were the age his child would have been had it lived. She looked up at his profile. His brows were a dark slash across his forehead and his jaw ticked with tension. Did it hurt him to watch these children? Did he feel as alone and bereft as Lorilla had since her mother died? She blinked back tears.

  As if he felt her gaze upon him, Gabriel glanced down at her briefly. "Are you all right?" he asked, his hand at her back pulling her closer as the crowd gathered.

  As the warmth of his body pressed against hers, all other thoughts flew out of her head. She had never been so close to a man, nor felt the strange excitement that coursed through her whenever he was near. She took a deep breath, trying to slow her rapid pulse.

  "Tell me, Senor Beltran," she hesitated over his name, "what is La Piñata?" Her tongue stumbled over the words. She moistened her lips.

  He raised one eyebrow. His hand slid around her waist, and his fingers curled against her skin. "La Piñata is a pottery figure filled with treats for the children. Here it comes now." He pointed toward a smiling man, who carried what looked like a clay donkey on a pole.

  "The children must take sticks and break the piñata before they can get to the treats."

  Lorilla watched in fascination as the children swung at the clay donkey again and again, until, with one last heave, a little boy finally broke the piñata and colorful streamers and balls and dolls and hard candies came tumbling down onto the children's heads. Lorilla laughed and clapped her hands.

  As the children scrambled to pick up the treats, Gabriel whispered to her. "Now we will go back to the church for mass, Miso de Gallo, and then we must leave for home."

  Lorilla nodded. Home. Her heart pounded as they walked to the church. At the door, he lifted the lace mantilla, which had fallen to her shoulders and covered her hair. For a moment, he stood there, his hands poised as if he were cradling her head. Lorilla stood mesmerized as his tense jaw relaxed and his mouth curved upward in a smile.

  "What is it?" she asked, then bit her lip in anxiety. "Do I not suit?"

  "Si, Senora. You suit. It is just your hair." He touched one fallen tendril, then pushed it back under the mantilla. "It catches the sunset like a prairie fire." He turned his gaze away. "We should sit. Over here." He led her to the carved wooden pew, genuflecting before he sat down beside her.

  Later, Lorilla could not recall the service at all. Her whole attention was on her husband, on the long, muscled thigh that brushed against her skirts, on the firm arm resting against hers, on the midnight hair that spilled over the collar of his jacket. She saw it all, even though she never once turned her eyes his way. It was as if she had already memorized his face, his body, his heat.

  By the time mass was over and Gabriel escorted her through the crowds to a beautifully tooled carriage, she was trembling with fatigue and reaction.

  Benito held the carriage door for them. To her surprise, Gabriel put his hands on her waist and lifted her. She felt light as air and giddy as a schoolgirl when he swung her up into the carriage. As she sank into the cushions, she was suddenly acutely aware of every muscle in her body. Each one ached with fatigue. Yawning, she closed her eyes.

  Immediately, Gabriel's face rose before her inner vision. She was married. The thought sent a shiver up her spine. She was married to a handsome, wealthy stranger and now was on her way to his home. Anticipation warred with anxiety inside her. Gabriel Beltran was so big, so strong, so--masculine. She could not even envision what the next few hours held in store for her.

  Lorilla had some basic understanding of what was involved in marriage and how it inevitably led to children. But try as she might, she could not imagine actually engaging in such activity. Especially with someone so large and manly as Gabriel Beltran.

  She sank further into the cushions and wrapped her arms around herself. What had she done, coming here alone to marry a man she did not know? A wealthy, vigorous man who had loved once, had fathered a child and had lost them both. Sarah's words taunted her. Gabriel wanted an heir. Was that all he wanted, someone to bear his child? And if so, what would happen to her after the child was born?

  And as it had before, the most important question of all echoed in her mind. Why had he chosen her?

  She thought of her comfortable, shabby rocking chair in front of the fireplace in her stepfather's kitchen. At least there, she had known what to expect. The boys would complain about supper, and Ray would make some insulting remark about her lack of suitors and how much it cost him to feed and clothe her. But her stepbrothers would eventually go to sleep, and Ray would either go to the saloon or fall asleep in his easy chair in the front room, then the night would be hers. She could read or sew or just rock and daydream.

  To any casual onlooker, it would seem that at last, her daydreams had come true. She was married. She had a home. But just exactly what lay ahead for her? She leaned her head back against the carriage seat and let her thoughts drift.

  The next thing Lorilla knew was the feel of a strong, warm hand on her shoulder. She sat up blinking. It took her a few seconds to focus on the intense blue eyes that studied her face with a trace of amusement. Gabriel Beltran. Her husband.

  "We're home, Senora."

  "Home?" The words sliced through her like a well-stropped razor. Home. He couldn't know w
hat that word meant to her. She looked around. The night was pitch dark, except for torches that drew strange shadows on whitewashed arches and played over a terra cotta terrace. Behind the arches loomed a huge, shadowed building, with pale lights flickering in its windows.

  She covered a yawn with her hand, and pushed her hair away from her face. All the while, she felt Gabriel's gaze on her. She supposed he was waiting for her to make an appropriate response.

  "It's beautiful," she offered.

  "It's as dark as the inside of a root cellar, Senora. You should save your compliments for something you can actually see."

  Suppressing an overwhelming urge to stick her tongue out at him like her youngest stepbrother, Lorilla lifted her chin and straightened her bodice of her dress.

  Gabriel leaped from the carriage and offered his hand to her. "Come, enter your new home."

  So here she was, on the brink of a new life, married, hundreds of miles from the only people she knew. She smiled wanly. "Thank you, Senor Beltran."

  He stared at her without moving, then he raised one brow and smiled, a false smile if she had ever seen one. "You are welcome, Senora Beltran."

  Lorilla had no trouble telling that his words were a lie.

  h

  CHAPTER THREE

  Gabriel swung her down from the carriage and guided her across the terrace, through the torch-lit arches, to a set of double doors. As they approached, the doors flew open and Lorilla faced a short, round woman with snapping black eyes and a tight bun of coal black hair. "Senor Gabriel," she said in greeting.

  The sound of his name in the woman's voice was beautiful, the name of an angel rather than that of a very large, very intimidating man. She bit her lip nervously.

  "Josepha." Gabriel's tone was stern. "I trust our rooms have been made ready?"

  "Si, Senor. Even though I have only hours of notice, I still manage to make the rooms comfortable and clean." Josepha turned her sharp black eyes on Lorilla. "I am very sure the Senora will be pleased."

  Lorilla opened her mouth to agree, but Josepha didn't give her time.

  "So you are the new young Senora. Ah, but you are muy bonita. Est muy bonita, eh?" she said in an aside to Gabriel.

  He didn't respond.

  "So come, come, Senora. You must be so tired, after the long journey. Where is your duenna?" Josepha looked beyond them to the closed front doors, then back to Lorilla, disbelief shining in her eyes.

  "Duenna?" Lorilla repeated. She shook her head. "I'm sorry…"

  "Your ah, maid, your servant."

  "I'm afraid I don't have a…maid." Lorilla's face burned. What would these people think if they knew that she had been the servant in her stepfather's household?

  Gabe spoke rapidly in Spanish to Josepha. Josepha spat words back at him as if she rather than he towered over everyone. Had Lorilla been less intimidated by both of them, she might have smiled at the picture of the small woman scolding the tall, imposing man.

  Josepha turned to her. "Senora, it is regrettable that you have no servant to see to your needs on the long journey. From this moment, I will be most happy to look after you."

  "Josepha, thank you, but I'm not used to having a servant. And please, call me Lorilla."

  The small woman beamed as she shook her head. "No, no. That would never do. So…Senora Lorilla, you would like a bath sent up, yes?"

  Lorilla stared at Josepha in stunned disbelief. "A bath? Really? But it must be long after midnight. That would be entirely too much trouble. I can't ask you--"

  "No, no. You have the long journey. I send hot water immediately. Gabriel, show your wife to your rooms."

  Gabriel frowned at Josepha, and again, Lorilla had an urge to smile at the way she apparently ran the household like a little general. He guided Lorilla to the magnificent polished wood staircase that dominated the front hall of the house. Her boots clicked and Gabriel's resounded deeply on the smooth clay tiles laid in an intricate pattern over the floor.

  "Your home is beautiful, Senor Beltran," she said, although her lips wanted to speak his other name, his given name Gabriel. "And this time there is enough candlelight to see."

  A short, sharp sound from her husband made her think he'd laughed, but when she turned her head, his gaze was on the top of the staircase and his face was shuttered.

  "Is everything all right?"

  "What? Yes, everything is fine. Turn right here at the top of the stairs. Our rooms are here."

  He led her through a set of double doors into a large sitting room, complete with a cheery fire in the fireplace. Dark wood gleamed in the firelight. On either side of the room were doors. Gabriel gestured toward the doors on his left. "Your dressing room." Then to the right. "My dressing room and our bedroom."

  Our bedroom. Lorilla swallowed, and felt her pulse pounding in her throat. She tried to smile, although her lips quivered. "It is lovely. Just lovely."

  She bit her lip. She sounded like an idiot, repeating the same words over and over again, but she was literally overwhelmed at the wealth and splendor that surrounded her. She had never seen anything like these rooms. They were larger than her stepfather's whole house.

  She glanced at Gabriel, but his face was unreadable. Pushing tendrils of hair back into place, she composed her face and tried to pretend she saw this sort of thing every day. Consciously forcing her mouth not to gape wide in astonishment, she took in the lavish sitting room--the carved wood, the deep burgundy and green tapestries, the low tables and comfortable chairs gathered around the fireplace. Nothing, not the long journey during which she had fantasized about her new husband, not Ray's assurances that Gabriel Beltran was wealthy, had prepared her. She shivered, stunned.

  "Cold?" Gabriel's voice sounded distracted. Lorilla realized she was standing in the middle of the room, with her arms wrapped about herself.

  She smiled tentatively at him. "A little. More tired, I think."

  He frowned and Lorilla regretted her words. "I don't mean to complain."

  "Not at all, Senora." He dismissed her worries. "You have been traveling for months. I regret that you were subjected to the wedding and to Nochebuena on the same day. Had it been possible, I would have brought you straight home. But I have certain responsibilities in the capital."

  "The capital?"

  "Santa Fe is the territorial capital."

  "Oh, of course, I understand." Lorilla turned away from his intense gaze. She stepped closer to the fire and shivered again, this time with chill.

  "There is Benito now with your hot water, just in time to keep you from freezing. I will leave you to your bath."

  Lorilla whirled, but he was gone. She opened the door to the dressing room.

  "Ah, Senora Lorilla. We will have two more buckets of water, then you may relax in your bath." Josepha turned on Benito, and regaled him with a long, lyrical string of Spanish words that seemed to have no effect whatsoever on the wizened little man. He merely continued to pour steaming water into the hipbath.

  "The driver bring up your bag." Josepha nodded toward Lorilla's worn carpetbag. "The rest will come?"

  Lorilla shook her head, her face growing warm. "No. Um, I didn't bring a lot. Coming here," she gestured vaguely, "I didn't think it would be necessary."

  "Of course. The new Senora Beltran will have a new wardrobe." If possible, Josepha's face beamed even more brightly. "We will order fabric next week and begin."

  "Oh, but, I didn't mean --"

  "This will be so exciting, to have someone to sew for again."

  "Again?" Lorilla repeated before she could stop herself.

  "Ah, forgive me." Josepha gestured dismissively. "I do not offend? It is only that since Elena died, there has been not much brightness here at the hacienda. However," she beamed at Lorilla, "I believe you return the sunshine to the rancho, yes."

  "Josepha…" Just as Lorilla spoke, Benito lumbered in, weighted down by two more buckets of steaming water.

  Lorilla welcomed the interruption. She had bee
n about to ask Josepha about Elena. Benito had certainly saved her from embarrassment. Gabriel's first wife was none of her business.

  Josepha shooed Benito out as soon as he was done, speaking rapid Spanish to him the whole time. "Vamanos," she finally cried and waved her apron at him as if he were a banty rooster.

  "Thank you, Benito," Lorilla called as Josepha slammed the door behind him.

  Putting thoughts of the first Senora Beltran out of her head, Lorilla dipped her hand into the water. "A hot bath," she murmured. "I don't even remember the last time I bathed in hot water." She unpinned her hair and shook it out, then twisted it into a messy knot on top of her head. "I feel like I'm dragging half the dust in Texas along with me."

  Josepha placed soft cloths and towels on a table and unwrapped a square of soap. "This soap, it is from France. You will smell like springtime."

  "Oh, thank you, Josepha."

  Josepha stood calmly next to the tub.

  Lorilla waited, but the little woman didn't seem inclined to leave. "Um, Josepha. I don't really need any help with bathing. And I'm sure you must be exhausted." she stopped delicately, and gestured toward the door.

  "Ah," Josepha said, then giggled. "Si. I understand perfectly. The Senor, he is back soon."

  "Oh, wait, on second thought --" Lorilla started but Josepha held up a quelling hand.

  "No, no, that is quite all right, Senora Lorilla. Such a pretty name for a pretty young woman. I leave you to your bath, and to your new husband." Josepha bustled out of the room, leaving Lorilla standing in the middle of the floor, her cheeks burning.

  "But, I didn't mean --"

  The door closed, and Lorilla was alone for the first time since she had embarked on her journey. Alone with a bath of hot water, sent up just for her. She was surrounded with such luxury as she had never imagined. She closed her eyes and saw herself gliding through the corridors of the hacienda, dressed in the latest fashion, her loving husband by her side. Gabriel's hand would be at her waist, and he would incline his head to listen to her, then smile indulgently and lift her hand to his lips, and…