Hope Redeemed--A Spanish Novella Read online

  Of Gold & Blood series

  Poisoned Legacy #1

  Brother Betrayed #2

  Double Jeopardy #3

  Tangled Destiny – A Christmas Novella and Prequel #4

  Unbridled Vengeance #5

  Hope Redeemed – A Spanish Novella #6

  HOPE REDEEMED – A SPANISH NOVELLA

  OF GOLD & BLOOD

  BOOK SIX

  Jenny Wheeler

  Published by Happy Families Ltd

  Copyright 2019 Jenny Wheeler

  Table of Contents

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

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  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  COPYRIGHT

  Tardé una hora en conocerte y solo un día en enamorarme. Pero me llevará toda una vida lograr olvidarte.

  It took me an hour to get to know you and just a day to fall in love. But it will take me a whole life to be able to forget you. Anon., popularized by Acción Poética.

  1

  “Do I have to?”

  Caleb Stewart’s — and Rancho Del Oro’s — head vaquero Santiago Valaquez warily eyed the baby bundle his cousin held out to him, the child’s newborn form obscured by the frothy fall of the lace-edged christening gown. The reluctance signaled by his twisted mouth was contradicted by the impudent sparkle in his hazel eyes as he challenged Francine’s gaze.

  She broke into her characteristic bubbly giggle, her auburn curls bobbing with joy as she handed the child over. “You most certainly do. You’re el padrino, after all.”

  Francine Esterhazy thrust the white-gowned infant toward him, her face glowing pink with a new mother’s pride. “If you’re not careful, I’ll insist you’re photographed with him, as well. I know how you’d just love that.”

  Giggles overflowed once more. “Our son and heir is in safe hands with you as godfather, Santiago. I know it.”

  He felt a warmth in his chest. The one thing he wanted to do today was get through the occasion without causing embarrassment to those closest to him — Francine and her mother, his Aunt Benecio. Being shut up in an ornate room in a dinner jacket was so far outside his normal territory he had to keep reminding himself to relax.

  Francine wreathed her arm lightly around the back of his neck and leaned in. Her breath was warm on his cheek. “It’s so wonderful to see you again, Santiago. It’s been far too long.”

  They’d grown up together in an extended Los Angeles family compound shared with aunts and uncles, cousins and “orphans” like him. Francine and he were cousins rather than siblings, Francine’s mother, his Aunt Benecio, having raised him from birth after his mother Luisa — Benecio’s youngest sister — died in labor. But he’d always regarded her as his half-sister.

  They had a special bond that felt closer than mere cousins, with him three years older and always looking out to protect Francine from her older brother Leo. When they reached their teens, life carried them in very different directions, and he’d seen very little of Francine for the last few years.

  Santiago gazed down at the baby boy’s calm, milky-blue eyes and was gripped with a sudden solemn sense of responsibility.

  “I can’t believe it. My little ‘sister’ married to one of the California wine kings, and a mother as well. You’re really leaving me and Leo in the dust.” He grinned in an attempt to recapture their earlier gaiety, but Francine’s eyes sharpened.

  “About that, Antal wants to talk to you later. We both think you should put your vaquero days behind you. Start building yourself more of a future.”

  The baby in his arms wriggled and gave a little cry. Santiago mimicked rocking cradle movements for a few seconds before thrusting him awkwardly back to Francine.

  “Charlie needs his mother. And don’t worry about me. I’m fine.”

  The buttery yellow walls of the Esterhazy’s spacious reception room seemed to throb with the chatter from the extended tribe gathered to celebrate the arrival of Charles Frederick Esterhazy, scion of wine-making Hungarian nobility now thoroughly settled in California. And in case anyone forgot the family’s origins, the chandelier-lit room, its high walls punctuated by deep arched windows and topped by gilded crown moldings, were reminder enough of the enviable wealth and social status the Esterhazys had brought with them to the Golden State.

  Santiago pivoted on his heel and wondered if it was too early to steal away. A quick survey of the room showed Caleb and his French fiancée Madeleine standing near the string quartet in animated discussion with Caleb’s sister Josefa. They were here because Caleb’s Vino d’Oro winery venture shared common interests with Antal and Francine’s Orleans Hill winery. He guessed the two men would be talking viticulture over cigars later.

  Santiago moved across the room to join them, his heart lifting at the sight of Josefa’s grave face, her dark eyes gazing out from under strong, arched brows. Her generous mouth quirked at his approach.

  They’d got close over the last winter, no doubt about it, as Josefa had wrestled with coming to terms with the violent death of Rory Mackinnon, her beloved betrothed. As he closed the gap between them, he reminded himself yet again that “close” was as far as it would ever go.

  He’d fallen into his familiar pattern, protective of her just as he’d been of Francine. But she was an heiress, sharing in a family heritage of a 5000-acre ranch dating back to the days of the old Spanish land grants. He was a lowly ranch hand, a footloose and fancy-free vaquero, with nothing to offer by way of money or prospects.

  “My word, Santiago. You polish up well, don’t you?” Madeleine smiled up at him from her aquamarine eyes. “You’ll be turning all the ladies’ heads in that dinner jacket.”

  Before he could respond, Leo appeared at Josefa’s side. “Really? Good old Santiago? I wouldn’t think he’d be anything to write home about.” Leo attempted to disarm the barb with an ingenuous smile, but the chatter chilled to awkward silence.

  After a moment, Santiago realized that the others may not have formally met Leo. He’d have to do the honors. He suppressed a surge of irritation and gestured toward his cousin.

  “Oh, sorry. Caleb Stewart and Madeleine Laurent. Meet Leo Carver.” Leo stepped forward to shake Caleb’s hand and proffer a slight bow to Madeleine. Santiago gestured to Josefa. “And Caleb’s sister, Josefa Stewart. Leo Carver.”

  Leo stepped forward and took up Josefa’s hand. He brushed his lips across it lightly and held it for a moment before gently letting it go again. Josefa’s eyes widened.

  “The unparalleled Miss Stewart. Word of your beauty precedes you and is not exaggerated.” His face puckered in sympathy and he added more quietly, “Allow me to offer my heartfelt sympathy for your recent loss.”

  Josefa’s eyes flickered uncertainly, and Santiago’s chest felt as if someone had thrust a knife into it.

  Caleb stepped in to cover the awkwardness. “So, Mr. Carver, you’re Francine’s brother? Do you have any involvement with Orleans Hill?”

  “No, no, definitely not.” He shot Santiago a challenging look. “I’m not a man of the land. Not at all, I’m afraid. I prefer easier ways of getting my hands dirty, so to speak.” He fl
ashed a weak grin at Caleb. “I’m a lawyer with property and business interests in San Francisco.”

  He turned to Josefa. “Would you do me the honor of taking a stroll in the garden, Miss Stewart? I very much wish to learn more of your interests. I feel certain we’d find we have something in common.”

  After a moment’s hesitation Josefa nodded and offered him her arm. “Charmed, I’m sure, Mr. Carver. I believe Antal’s glasshouses are something to behold.”

  Santiago fought the urge to bunch his fists as the pair strolled away. The pain in his chest intensified. “Nice for Josefa to get out and about,” he said to Caleb. “She’s had a horrible time the last few months. It will do her good.”

  Caleb’s returning gaze told him he didn’t believe a word of what he’d said. And neither did he.

  2

  Leo Carver’s face was oval. His olive skin matched his raven-dark hair and hooded eyes. As he led Josefa from the reception room, she shot him a side-long glance. His expression revealed nothing of what he might be thinking. Nothing at all. Josefa couldn’t decide whether that made him mysterious and exciting, or shifty and questionable.

  As they left the crowd behind, they caught a refreshing waft of cool air as they passed by a small sitting room. The door was ajar and Francine sat with her back turned from full view, a white bundle cradled in her arms. Her husband hovered at her shoulder, everything about his stance indicating he was on tenterhooks to offer his wife any kind of service she might desire.

  Josefa swallowed back the hard lump that rose in her throat at the sight of them. That could have been her. Raising her child with Rory, her one true love. He would have been a wonderful father, she knew it. Just as he was a caring lover. And now, because of a horrible trick of fate, she would have to go through with bearing and raising their child alone. No loving man, no caring father at her side.

  Unless she managed to find one before too much longer. She steeled her heart. It could never again be like it was with Rory, she knew that. But maybe she could make a business-like marriage. Such arrangements were common in the Californio world. There hadn’t been a big age difference between her parents, but her Mexican mother and Scottish father had enjoyed a very happy union until Fergus Stewart’s too-early death. And there’d certainly been a business aspect to it — the Spanish grant had come through her family, not his.

  In that world, young girls were often married off to much older, well-to-do men. And from what she’d seen, the marriages often worked well for both parties. She could think of several such arrangements in her wider family circle that had been highly successful partnerships, the wives even assuming family business interests after their older husbands died.

  “You’re awfully quiet. A penny for your thoughts.”

  Leo halted his progress to the conservatory and held her arm out, one hand supporting it underneath, the other caressing. Stroking, stroking. Very gently on top.

  She felt unaccustomed tears spring to her eyes.

  No! This is dreadful! I am not going to cry in public. And especially not in front of this handsome, single man.

  She squeezed her eyes shut and cleared her throat. “Oh, nothing. Really. Do let’s find some fresh air.”

  They progressed along the open paths and into the conservatory, marveling at the unusual plants Antal’s gardeners were propagating under glass. South American tomatoes and pawpaws. Big desert cacti. Espaliered pears and apples and, of course, many varieties of grapes.

  And then Leo propelled her to a corner bench, invited her to rest, and launched in. “Josefa. Forgive me, dear lady, for getting right to the point. But there is something about you, something strong and calculating, that makes me think you will appreciate a direct approach.”

  He took her right hand and once again lightly brushed it with his lips. A strange little shiver ran up her spine.

  “I always consider business — successful business — very romantic. And I think we could do very successful business together.”

  Again, a weird little tingle ran through her. Who is this man? Some sort of shaman?

  When she responded she sounded breathless. “Business? What sort of business?”

  “The best kind.” He pushed up beside her, so their thighs touched on the bench. He reached over and gently turned her face towards his. “The sort that combines business and pleasure.” And he leaned over and kissed her, the barest brushing of his lips across hers.

  The moment hung in time. Never had she known such a small movement to have such a breathtaking impact. She stared at him, hardly believing what he’d just done, the tingling running up her arms, down her back. Her head was buzzing. The man is a sorcerer.

  She rose slowly, one hand still lightly clasped in his.

  “Mr. Carver,” she said. “Please explain yourself.”

  His eyes flicked to her waistline, then he waved his free hand in a sinuous line. “Miss Stewart, I believe it is generally recognized in your private circles, very private circles I assure you, that you are, shall we say, in a compromised situation?”

  He lifted one eyebrow. He looked like a pirate, she thought. Not like a San Francisco lawyer at all. And he was as relentless as she imagined a pirate would be.

  “I expect you would appreciate your situation being, shall we say, regularized as soon as it possibly can be. Certainly well before the birth of your child.”

  Josefa sat down again with a gasp, and he stroked his index finger lightly across the top of her arm as he continued to talk, drawing mesmerizing figures of eight on the thin fabric of her sleeve.

  “I would propose that we come to an arrangement. Your brother settles a generous dowry on you, in return for which we will wed and give your child a respectable name. In return, I will settle a share of my substantial estate on you. We both benefit, and your child does too.”

  He patted her arm comfortingly. “If anything, heaven forbid, should happen to me, you and your child would be well-provided for life. And likewise, if anything happened to you, I would have the security of knowing the child had his own legacy for his education and care.”

  He appeared delighted at his own cleverness. “What do you think?”

  What did she think? The truth was, she couldn’t think. She sat dumbfounded, staring at him. She jerked her arm away, suddenly irritated by the hypnotizing touch.

  “I think this is all rather sudden and unexpected, Mr. Carver. Do you really expect me to give you an answer right now?”

  “Not right now, no, of course not. But I think you’d agree, you haven’t got a lot of time to spare, do you?”

  3

  “Antal, I appreciate the offer. I do.”

  Santiago scanned the crowd around him, checking they weren’t in danger of being overheard. Josefa hadn’t returned from her stroll with Leo. Caleb and Madeleine were perched in a comfortable corner taking coffee with Benecio. He should join them. He hadn’t had a chance to do much more than greet his aunt, and she was looking so much older than he remembered.

  He ran his finger around his collar, which suddenly felt as if it was half-choking him. As Francine had hinted he would, her husband had drawn him aside and made him a generous offer.

  Santiago leaned his elbow on a small bar set up at the far end of the room, deep in a man-to-man heart-to-heart conversation, pausing occasionally to savor the warmth of the brandy as it slipped easily down his throat.

  “Come and work for Orleans Hill as assistant cellar manager,” Antal had said, “and we’ll train you up in all aspects of viticulture.”

  The money he was offering was half again what he was being paid at the ranch. And he’d still be spending a good part of his working day outside among the grapes.

  Antal Esterhazy clapped a brotherly hand on his shoulder. “I know you love the open range, Santiago, and I’m sure you’re a great asset to Del Oro. But you have to ask yourself, do you really want to spend the rest of your life as head vaquero on someone else’s outfit?

  “This way you�
�ve got an opportunity to build a future. If you take to it, and learn the business, Francine and I will cut you in on a share in a few years. You’ll have a chance to make something of yourself.”

  Santiago felt the color rising in his cheeks. He hated the feeling that he was some sort of family project.

  Poor old Santiago. He’ll never amount to anything. Is that what they thought? Even worse, were they right?

  Antal grasped his hand, as though he was reading his mind. “This isn’t some family favor, Santiago.”

  He gestured to the empty bar stools and perched his rear on one. “Sure, Francine thinks the world of you. That’s true. And we all know you got a rough deal after Benecio married Leo’s father. There are some wrongs there that deserve to be righted. But if that was all there was to it, we wouldn’t be talking. You’ve proved yourself a capable manager of men. Tough but fair. We’ll be getting someone we know who can do the job, someone we trust. And believe you me, these days, that means a lot.”

  Santiago edged his butt onto the stool facing Antal and sighed. “It’s a great offer, Antal. Really, it is.”

  He wondered why his heart wasn’t doing cartwheels in gratitude. Everything Antal said was right. So why did a heaviness open up in the pit of his stomach at the thought of leaving Del Oro?

  He loved the freedom of the range, the escape with the wind in his face. He didn’t have to think about the nastiness, the stifling mess he’d left behind at Benecio’s. At Del Oro he could pretend none of it had ever happened.

  He leaned back and surveyed the room again, thinking of how to respond.

  Josefa and Leo had returned. They were slowly moving towards the corner where Benecio held court, but had been intercepted by a tall man who apparently had something he wanted to tell Leo. Josefa’s arm was firmly glued to his, and they were walking in step, looking already as though they’d forged some sort of alliance.