Chapter 2: Chapter 2
For some reason, Don Jorge hadn’t seemed upset by the loss of his son, muttering a Spanish word Tom didn’t recognize. Don Jorge had looked Tom over from head to foot, then hired him to gentle the horses he raised.
Tom had never thought to fall in love. He’d trained horses for the cavalry and then became a horse wrangler. He was a tall, angular man, not the sort to draw interested looks from women, until one woman had given him such looks—the most beautiful young woman he’d ever seen. The petite se?orita had come out to the paddock where he was gentling a gelding intended for the don’s daughter. When she’d strolled up to the fence to watch, Tom’s fingers had twitched with the urge to stroke the silky black hair that cascaded down past her hips.
He’d been dismayed to learn she was the don’s daughter, but he’d taken one look into her liquid brown eyes and had fallen head over heels in love.
It had taken him almost six months to convince Don Jorge to give him his daughter’s hand, but he’d finally been successful. For five years he’d had a wonderful woman, who had given him an even more wonderful son.
Before she’d died, Analeigh had pleaded with him not to let her father have the boy. She’d known that was most likely to happen, having lived with the man all her life.
If it came to that, Tom had had years to become aware of the sort of man his father-in-law was.
Did Don Jorge really think Tom would leave his son to be brought up by a man with no heart? No warmth?
Tom looked down at George as he leaned against his leg. He stroked the blue-black hair that was so like his Mama’s, for while Tom was very fair, the only thing he had passed on to the boy were his blue eyes.
“Papa?”
“We need to leave, George,” he said softly in English, saddened when his son’s lip quivered. “I know Mama and Mora are here, but if we stay, your grandpapa will want you to be his boy. He’ll keep you and make me go away.” At least he’d try to.
“Is that why he calls me Jorge instead of George?”
“Yes.”
George shivered, and Tom wanted to shoot his father-in-law.
“Where will we go, Papa?”
“Away from here.” Even speaking English, Tom couldn’t risk anyone overhearing that he intended to take his boy east, back to the States.
The sound of clumps of dirt landing on the wooden coffin followed them as Tom led George to the cottage that wouldn’t be their home for much longer.
* * * *
A few hours after sundown, Tom woke his son. “It’s time to go, George.” He hurriedly dressed the boy. “I packed earlier, while you were sleeping.”
Anyone who saw him filling the saddlebags and packs would assume he was doing so because of Don Jorge’s orders.
His money belt held all the cash money that was left from what he’d earned with Guillermo. He had no intention of taking the gold coins Don Jorge kept in a chest in the hacienda. Considering how much the don wanted George, he’d accuse Tom of theft and see him strung up. Of Analeigh’s jewels, though—he took two ruby brooches; one he’d given her at the time of George’s birth and the other he’d planned to give her after this last baby was born. He paused a moment to catch his breath, almost overwhelmed by his loss, then closed his fist around the locket that held miniature paintings of Tom and Analeigh. That was mostly for their son to have something of his mother’s to remember her by.
Tom had saddled Sunrise, his buckskin mare. He planned to leave behind the fat little pony he and Analeigh had given George on his last birthday and instead take Analeigh’s rangy black gelding—the horse he’d been gentling for her when they’d first met and which she’d named al Caer la Noche—Nightfall. He’d switch horses every few miles, enabling him to cover more ground without wearing them out. Having a remuda would have been better, but the additional horses would have made too much noise. He was bringing a mule, though. He’d worked with Sancho Panza since the mule had been foaled, and Tom knew he could trust him not to throw a tantrum at the worst possible moment.
He gathered up his son, hurried to the stable, and swung George up on Sunrise’s back.
“Papa?”
“We need to make good time, and none of Don Jorge’s horses can keep up with Sunrise.” Tom slid his rifle into its scabbard and mounted behind his son. He’d tied the mule’s lead to his saddle, and now he caught up Nightfall’s reins and nudged Sunrise’s sides.
Gifts
-- Gift
received Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone