The Outlaw's Bride

She herself knew nothing of the sort, Isobel admitted as she rolled a tortilla and took a bite. The more she thought about the man who had never written to her, never even sent a token of commitment to her mother, the less she trusted Guillermo Pascal.

And Noah Buchanan wanted neither a wife nor children to clutter his life. Besides, the vaquero was too common. Any connection between them was impossible.

Isobel forced a laugh as she stepped to the washstand. “Noah thinks he’s a king,” she told Susan. “He makes me wash dishes. He sends telegrams without my permission. He gives orders left and right.”

Susan giggled. “He gives you orders?”

“Noah fancies himself my equal. But he has nothing.”

“Nothing except a good job and a quick draw. Out West that can make a man a king. Look at Dick Brewer. He works for the Tunstall operation, but he bought land and a house, and he manages his own cattle.”

“You were interested in Dick Brewer last night.”

Susan’s pale cheeks flushed. “I went outside for fresh air, and Dick came out, too. We talked.”

“Talked?”

“Oh, Isobel, he’s wonderful!” Susan hugged herself. “He’s handsome and kind and strong. I’ve never met anyone so perfect. I love him, Isobel.”

“Love, Susan? So soon? In Spain we say, Lo que el agua trae, el agua lleva. It means what comes easily can also go easily. Your parents should secure a well-to-do husband—one who can give you a fine home. I stayed in Dick Brewer’s cabin. It’s too small for a family. His land is nothing but rocks. Keep your thoughts from love and you’ll be happier.”

Susan shrugged. “My Mexican friends in Texas used to say, Mаs vale atole con risas que chocolate con lagrimas.”

“Better to have gruel with laughter than chocolate with tears,” Isobel translated the familiar adage. Susan was teasing her now, and she didn’t like it. It was bad enough that she’d hardly had any sleep, and that all night her mind had been possessed with thoughts of Noah Buchanan, but now she could hardly focus on her plans.

“I’d rather marry a cowboy like Dick Brewer,” Susan said as she helped her friend dress. “I’d rather live in Dick’s old cabin and bear him seven little roly-poly Brewers than go up to Santa Fe and marry someone like your rich Don Guillermo. You don’t even know him. He would protect you as his wife, but he might not care a fig about you. He can give you a big house and jewels, but can he give you his heart?”

“What do you know about a good marriage, Susan?” Isobel challenged her. “The great families of Spain have made such unions for centuries. No one sits about moaning for love. We marry well because it is our tradition. I am obligated to marry Don Guillermo.”

Susan embraced her friend. “Don’t be angry, Isobel. We come from different worlds. To me, Dick Brewer seems like he stepped out of a dream.”

“Dreams vanish, pffft!” Isobel clicked her fingers. “Like that!”

Susan walked to the window. “I always wanted to fall in love. I know it happened fast, but I do love Dick.”

Fumbling with the unruly buttons of her wrinkled bodice, Isobel realized Susan looked different today. Filled with uneasiness at her memories of Noah’s kisses, she hoped she didn’t appear smitten, too.

“Let’s go down to the mercantile,” Susan chirped. “We need to sew you a gown that fits. You want to look pretty for Noah Buchanan, don’t you?”

“Such nonsense you speak!” Isobel chided her friend.

Aware she was blushing, she snatched her white cotton shawl and wrapped it tightly around her shoulders as she and Susan set off. The day was sunny, and the frozen road had begun to thaw. Scraggly dogs and snuffling pigs wandered through the mud. Wisps of pi?on smoke floated from beehive ovens beside the adobe houses that lined the road. The smell of baking bread hung in the morning air, mingling with the scent of bacon and strong coffee.