The
Locket
By:
Ariel O’Neil
DISCLAIMER:
The characters
mentioned in this Fanfic story remain the sole property of their creators, the
various television networks who originally aired the shows, and/or the
production companies and others so affiliated with the original copyright of
the property. This Fanfic is not
intended as an infringement upon these rights and is solely meant for
entertainment.
RATING: PG 13
For
tense, violent scenes and mature themes (death, and some references to sex).
Abstract: The
Locket
Mano’s elusive demons have
been working overtime. He is unhappy and irritable — and can’t explain why. He
only knows that nothing feels good anymore. His carousing is becoming
increasingly self-destructive — and every thing, including Buck’s horse, annoys
him.
Mano has equated the
emptiness that permeates his existence to a certain ‘worthlessness’ of his
life —
until he spends some time with
the owner of a locket he found down the side of a steep ravine.
Chapter One
Manolito
Montoya shivered under his heavy wool serape.
It was
unusually cold — even for a January morning in the
A moody
Manolito was grudgingly grateful for the lack of snow at this elevation. The
cutting, icy wind blew down from the white shoulders of the mountains,
whispering and moaning as it whipped and stabbed at him and his friend, Buck
Cannon.
Manolito’s
complaints were lost in the swirling winds.
“Ay yi yi! The frozen wind blowing
right through my serape and I am miserable! My head! I just want to be warm and
sleep forever.” He tugged the wool scarf up around his ears.
Lately,
it seemed to take more of everything for him to feel anything — and Manolito’s
latest round of desperate carousing was taking its revenge.
Two
bottles of tequila — how much he spilled and how much he drank was uncertain —
a knife fight and two fistfights left their marks. When he thought about it, he
wasn’t sure who or what angered him, but it was clear to him that he was
venting his anger on himself.
He was
just so tired of it all; tired of being vaguely unhappy, tired of feeling
unsatisfied — tired of the numbness that had become his life. No matter how
hard he worked, drank, loved or fought nothing seemed to fill the emptiness.
He
frowned as Buck’s horse, Rebel, jigged and pranced alongside him on the road.
The horse shook his head, noisily chewing his bit in the crisp, bright morning
air. Manolito knew Rebel would only behave for a limited time in ‘frisky’
weather like this.
He
jerked the reins, reprimanding his horse, Mackadoo, for mimicking Rebel’s bad
behavior. Irritated with Buck’s half-hearted efforts to control Rebel, Manolito
snorted in disgust.
Rebel’s
prancing trot became an animated lope that went more up and down than forward.
The horse snorted sharp bursts of white breath and tossed his head with each
bounding stride.
Manolito
tried to watch calmly as Rebel grew rowdier.
“Hey now!” yelped Buck as Rebel added a small
“crow-hop” to his buffoonery.
“You is
jus’ plumb fulla your self, ain’tcha?”
laughed Buck as the frolicking horse lengthened out into a full gallop with no
apparent resistance from his rider.
Manolito
scowled and held Mackadoo back. He would catch up with Buck later. His head
still pounded from his hangover, and Manolito preferred Mackadoo’s fluid,
rhythmic, jog trot to a bounding gallop.
He often
bragged that Mackadoo’s collected stride was so smooth that a glass of water
placed on his rump would not spill so much as a single drop. The big sorrel’s
hooves barely cleared the ground as he moved forward. Mackadoo’s haunches
functioned like steel springs, cushioning the hung-over Manolito from what
would, on any other horse, have been a miserable ride.
He
closed his eyes and listened to the sound of Mackadoo’s two-beat gait.
Click-click, click-click; it reminded him of a metronome. The monotonous
hoofbeats and the motion of Mackadoo’s gently swaying stride lulled him to
semi-consciousness; his head drooped forward, nodding gently with the motion of
the horse, his chin nearly touching his chest.
A bright
flash of light startled Manolito. Suddenly alert and sitting bolt upright, he assessed the terrain around him. Sensing danger,
he drew rein, stopping in order to locate the source of the light.
Was it
the sun reflecting off a rifle-barrel? No, it was too bright for that. Or perhaps an Apache signal-mirror? His eyes scanned left,
up the rocky cliffs above him, then to the right of the road and down the
ravine, but he saw nothing to explain the flash.
Manolito
softened his hold on the reins and moved Mackadoo forward at a slow walk.
Again,
the light flashed, but this time he marked its origin. The hair on the back of
his neck prickled as a cold shiver ran down his spine. Dismounting, pistol in
hand, he walked to the right side of the road and looked down the slope,
searching the landscape intently.
He
peered over the edge of the road. Below him, a scree and loose rock slope
plunged some thirty feet at a dizzying 20-degree angle. At the bottom of the
slide was a rock ledge about two feet wide. The ledge paralleled the road for a
half-mile or so. He could see it was actually the top of a red-rock cliff,
dropping straight down another 8 to 10 feet before reaching the floor of the
ravine. Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, he considered his next
move.
Holstering
his gun, he stepped off the road and picked his way gingerly among the broken
rocks. Five feet down. Eight feet down. Now ten feet below the surface of the
road, Manolito was working his way diagonally across the treacherous surface when
he found it.
Carefully,
he dug the object out from between two large rocks. It was heavy and
egg-shaped, encrusted with dirt and gravel. The sense of having found something
extremely precious filled him with excitement as he secured it in his jacket pocket.
For the first time in months his broad grin was genuine, an expression of true
pleasure emanating from the joy bubbling deep within him.
Climbing
back toward Mackadoo, Manolito was almost to the top of the slope when the rock
under his left foot gave way. Panic knotted his stomach. Down he plunged,
uncontrolled, sliding wildly toward the narrow ledge above the red rock cliff.
Desperate
to slow his rate of descent, he spread his arms and legs wide and dug in with fingers
and feet. Terror lent him the strength to stop his downward slide just above
the narrow rock ledge. Not daring to move, he rested his head against the rocky
slope to catch his breath.
Slowly,
testing every hand and foothold before trusting it, he began working his way
back up the slope. A quarter of an hour later, he pulled himself onto the
surface of the road. Breathing heavily from the effort, he looked at the slope
below and shuddered, shook his head and grinned at his narrow escape.
Manolito
swung up on Mackadoo. Digging in his jacket pocket, he pulled out his newfound
treasure. His heart soared at the touch of it in his hand, his eyes refused to
be diverted from it. Without picking up his reins, Manolito clucked to the
ever-dependable Mackadoo, trusting him to navigate the road as he jogged along.
Manolito
concentrated on opening the beautiful but mysterious object. He rubbed away the
encrusted dirt and examined the silver locket and chain. Both were of fine
silver and together they nearly covered his palm. Exquisite filigreed spirals
framed the perfectly oval locket.
The
chain was made of a series of interlocking links, each in the shape of a flat
spiral. It reminded him of something, but he couldn’t quite remember what.
Turning
the locket over in his hand, he nearly dropped it when it suddenly popped open.
Recovering from the surprise, he looked inside, where he found an elegant
engraving of a brief and plaintive poem:
Together
We will always be
Forever —
Come to me . . .
He
puzzled over the locket, searching again for some indication of the owner’s
identity. This obviously belonged to a woman of quality, but what would a woman
like that be doing out here? How did it come to be nearly buried at the side of
the road? And, now that he thought about it, how could something buried down
the side of that embankment have flashed such a bright light in his eyes? He
was perplexed; he had many questions and no answers.
There
were no other markings on the locket. Manolito frowned. He disliked mysteries.
The ‘unknown’ had a tendency to put one at a disadvantage in difficult
situations. He put the locket back in his jacket pocket and picked up his
reins.
“MANO! LOOK
OUT!” The alarm in Buck’s voice rang through the canyon.
Startled,
Manolito looked up to see Buck galloping straight towards him, rifle raised and
aimed in his direction. Little puffs of smoke issued from the barrel in rapid
succession.
Then he
heard the tawny giant of a cat scream from the rocky ledge directly above him.
He was
nearly unseated as the panicked Mackadoo squealed and lurched forward. The
cacophony of echoing explosions from Buck’s rifle terrified the horse even
more.
Frantically,
he hauled back on the reins with all his strength to keep the spooked horse
from jumping down the embankment.
The dead
cougar flopped onto the road and rolled under Mackadoo’s feet. The hysterical
horse reared, screaming, and threw himself backwards in terror.
As
Mackadoo went over backwards, Manolito pushed away from the falling horse to
keep from being crushed. He arced through the air, landing hard on his right
side at the edge of the road.
The
momentum of the fall carried him over the rocky edge and sent him careening
down the scree slope. This time, he was stunned and the wind had been knocked
out of him; he was unable to slow his violent slide toward the bottom of the
ravine.
Chapter Two
Unable
to avert his eyes as Mano rolled and slid down the slope, Buck watched him
crash into the rocky ledge, flip over, and vanish from sight. All was silent for
a moment, and then he heard the small ‘thwap’ made by
Mano’s body as it hit the bottom of the ravine.
Blinking
in shock and disbelief, Buck realized he must somehow get himself and both
horses down to the bottom of the gully, ‘cuz he was pretty
sure his friend wasn’t gonna be climbing out on his own. Buck took hold of
Mackadoo’s reins and began searching for a way down to the spot where Mano lay.
Just a
hundred feet down the road, Buck found a well-used deer trail that would take
him safely to the narrow valley floor.
Mano
wasn’t difficult to find. He lay face down on the sandy bank of the little
stream that flowed through the arroyo.
Buck
jumped from his horse and ran to his friend. Feeling for broken bones, he ran
his hands gently over Mano’s arms and legs. Finding none, Buck breathed a sigh
of relief. Mano moaned softly as his eyelids fluttered.
“Mano,
amigo — can you hear me? Mano, it’s me, Buck.”
Mano
slowly opened his eyes, blinked and tried unsuccessfully to smile.
“Aw, Mano! Amigo!
It sure is good to see them purty brown eyes open
again!” Buck feigned a cheerful attitude as he rocked back on his heels to
assess their situation.
Mano
struggled to sit up, but swayed and slumped back to the ground with a pained
grunt.
Buck
frowned.
Mano
weakly raised one hand in protest, and gasped “No, Buck… I am fine…. I just…
need… to catch my breath…a little.”
Buck looked up and down the ravine, then once more
at his injured friend and made a decision. “Mano, I shore am hungry. How’s
about we make a campfire and cook us up sompin ta eat?” Not giving Mano time to answer, Buck set off in
search of a good campsite.
Chapter
Three
Manolo
watched Buck disappear around the bend. Finding himself alone for the moment,
he began gingerly checking for injuries. He found that he could move his arms
and legs — no apparent broken bones.
“Que bueno, it is difficult to
ride with broken bones, no?” He chuckled weakly at his own joke and continued
with his exploration.
All
seemed well, except that his head hurt — much more than it did when he
left town this morning — and his stomach was doing summersaults.
“Bueno, perhaps I should take a little siesta until Buck
returns, eh?” he mumbled as the darkness flooded in around him.
Chapter Four
“Mano. Mano!
Open your eyes, amigo!” Buck dabbed the injured man’s face with the wet
neckerchief and tried again.
“Mano. Come on
now — look at me!”
Buck
studied Mano’s face as he mopped at the dirt and cuts. The pallor of his
friend’s skin worried him, as did the shallow breaths he took and the tiny
beads of sweat forming on Mano’s upper lip and forehead.
Mano
stirred, his eyes opening part way as he whispered, “Oh, Buck… I was jus taking
a little siesta. I am fine now.”
“Hey, compadre.” Buck tried to sound cheerful and encouraging but
his southern drawl always got thicker when he was nervous..
“Let’s jus see if you kin walk over to the camp — it’s jus ‘round that bend, yonder. Ah’l help you. OK?”
He tried
to hide his concern when his friend couldn’t stand without help. Saying
nothing, he put his arm around Mano’s shoulders and helped him into camp. Mano
made no fuss when Buck guided him over to the blankets already laid out next to
the fire.
Leaving Mano to rest up, Buck walked along the bank
of the stream, looking for additional firewood. He returned a while later with an armful and
selected a few large pieces to put directly on the fire.
Looking
around, Buck was satisfied the campsite he chose was a good one. Nestled in a large
hollow in the rocky cliffs, they were sheltered from the worst of the wind and
not visible from the road. The ground, a beach made of packed sand and gravel,
was smooth and level — much more comfortable to sleep on than the sharp gravel
in the open desert. Maybe by morning Mano would be well enough to ride. Buck
sighed and walked back to his friend.
He
didn’t like the puffiness around the dozens of small cuts on Mano’s face and
neck. Some of them were still bleeding lightly and some had pieces of gravel
and sand packed in them. He was grateful he had packed a little tin of honey
alongside the biscuits
While
the coffee and beans heated on the fire, Buck cleaned each of Mano’s cuts with
soap and water before dabbing honey in the wounds to prevent further infection.
“Buck, stop. This is
Apache torture. I will be covered in red ants before morning — they will
eat me alive.” whined Mano as he tried unsuccessfully to escape from Buck’s
efforts to treat the wounds.
For the
moment, Buck ignored the complaints as he surveyed his work. He noticed a
slight swelling above the left temple. It was beginning to discolor slightly.
He swallowed hard and tried not to frown as he realized his friend’s pupils
were different sizes — very different sizes.
“Now
Mano, ever’body knows them ants don’t come out when
it gits cold.” Buck put some food on a plate, holding
it out to Mano.
“Here,
now. Stop your bellyachin’ and try to eat some of
these beans.”
Mano
made a face that clearly said the last thing wanted was food, but he struggled
to sit up anyway. He took the plate of beans from Buck and picked up the spoon.
Mano’s already pale face took on a greenish tinge as he pushed the beans around
on the plate.
Across
the fire from his friend, Buck sat down to eat.
He
witnessed Mano’s struggle to hold the spoon with his right hand — his fingers
would not stay closed and his arm flopped like a marionette’s. Finally, in an
apparent fit of anger, Mano dropped the plate and spoon on his lap.
Buck ate
slowly as he silently watched his friend grapple with the plate of food.
Suddenly,
Mano looked up. “What? I am only trying to cash a fish gogoro…”
Mano put his head in his hands and continued
muttering incoherently.
A
dumbfounded Buck blinked in confusion. Then he swallowed the mouthful of beans
he had been chewing; his attention now riveted to his injured friend.
“Yush guju fuu
ahhhw cowffee ‘nstead,” slurred the incoherent Mano without lifting his
head.
Buck put
his plate down and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth — the alarm
growing in his eyes.
Mano
lifted his head for a moment. His eyelids fluttered and he slumped to one side
on his blanket, the plate sliding off his lap to the ground.
Buck
closed his eyes in anguish and hung his head as he ran a hand through his
short, curly blonde hair. He took a ragged breath and sat up, looking into the
crackling fire as he tried to puzzle out the best course of action.
Muttering
and shaking his head, Buck talked to himself, “Mano is hurt — bad hurt.
If I try to put him on his horse, he’ll probably jus’ fall off again. Most
likely, the next bump on his head could oughta kill
him . . .fo’ sure.”
Buck was
distracted by a low moan. Dismayed, he saw Mano, now on his knees, hands
outstretched, staring into the twilight beyond the camp. His words were garbled
except for one: Angela. He pronounced it with the Spanish pronunciation:
ANG-hey-la.
Buck
frowned and licked his lips in indecision. He was frightened and confused, but
his instincts told him to humor the injured man.
“Hey
Mano — who you talkin to?” he called to his friend.
Mano
pointed into the growing darkness and looked at Buck as if to say “SEE?” Then
he tried to tell him, but the words were slurred almost beyond understanding. “Sjee Bug? Dher, Sjee er?”
Buck
responded gently, “See her? — See WHO? I
— I don’t see nobody out there, amigo.”
But Mano
was looking into the deepening dusk, and trying to smile as he called out to
his phantom, “I — I have locket — Iz jurz?”
Buck
looked for any sign someone was out there in the blue-gray shadows, but there
was nothing. The knot of fear tightened in his stomach. Buck stood up.
“Hey, amigo. I musta turned around too slow — I didn’t get to see your
friend. Whad she look like?”
Mano
whispered “Oh Buck. Bueiful, bueiful. All drez n whyd. Que linda…
so… bueiful… una Angela . .
.” as he slipped into oblivion.
Buck
maneuvered the limp body of his friend back onto the blanket and covered him
against the growing cold. It was now very clear that Mano could not sit a
horse. Buck’s stomach cramped as he realized that his friend might not make it
back to the ranch at all.
He hiked
back up to the road where he could see for miles in all directions, searching
for trees to construct a travois. There were none. Despair threatened to
overwhelm him. He was afraid to put Mano over the saddle, deadman style.
Hanging upside down over the saddle would only make a head injury worse. No, he
would need a wagon or buckboard — that was the only chance Mano had to get home
alive.
To make
matters worse, as Buck returned from the road he noticed the temperature was
dropping rapidly — and the daylight was completely gone. Could Mano even
survive the night? Tears pricked his eyes and he looked up to the sky for
guidance. The first stars of the evening twinkled merrily overhead, and Buck
cursed them for their insensitivity.
An hour
later, Buck looked around the campsite one last time. He had banked the fire
and added his blankets over Mano’s for a little extra warmth. He explained he
was going for help, but he was not sure that Mano understood anything that was
said to him. Buck knew it was dangerous to leave Mano here alone, but he had no
choice.
“Well,”
Buck muttered under his breath, “it’s only around
“I shore
hope Mano kin hold on that long.” Buck recoiled at the thought and pushed it
away. Of course Mano would be alive when he got back. Buck refused to consider
any other outcome.
Buck
swung up on Rebel and turned toward the deer trail. As he reached the stream,
he stopped the horse and looked back at the camp.
Mackadoo
whinnied.
Buck
frowned.
His gut
told him to take Mackadoo with him — it would be one less way that the campsite
could be discovered before he got back with help.
Buck
untied the sorrel from the picket line and led him alongside as he turned Rebel
towards the trail again. As he reached the trailhead, he looked back one last
time to make sure that the camp was not discernable from the road. Satisfied,
Buck spurred his horse towards the ranch.
Chapter Five
Manolo
awoke to a moonless and very starry sky. He was pleased; his nap seemed to have
cured his headache and upset stomach. He stood, wrapping a blanket around his
shoulders, and stirred the fire. Once it was crackling again, he put a pot of
coffee on to brew. The smell made him hungry and he happily rummaged in the
saddlebags for jerky and some of
Manolo
returned to the fire and warmed his hands as he munched on the cold biscuit.
Behind
him, a woman laughed. He spun around to look.
What he
saw was himself, reflected in a large, cracked mirror. It hung on the wall
behind the bar in a small and very dirty cantina. He shifted his gaze to the
reflection of the woman sitting near him. She was relaxed, almost lounging, in
a large, fan-backed leather chair.
He
smiled his most engaging smile as he admired her radiant presence. She was
dressed in lace so white it glowed. Her hat was a wide loop of rigid net held
in place with a gauzy veil that both framed and partially obscured her perfect
oval face. Hair the color of raw honey cascaded in thick, luxurious waves down
and over her shoulders. Her arms and legs were long and sinuous, her bones fine
and delicate. Her skin was creamy and flawless, like fine porcelain. But it was
her eyes and mouth that held Manolo captive.
Her
sensuous, gold-flecked brown eyes were deep pools of calm, in whose depths a
hint of merriment swirled. He felt he could fall into her eyes and happily
drown in the joy they promised.
Her lips
were soft and pink, delicately curled upwards at the edges in a haunting smile
that sometimes flashed, full blown, to stab at his heart — a spell binding
smile that emphasized her femininity and fragile beauty — one that made him
forget everything but his desire to possess those lips.
To
himself, he said, “Andale, Manolo!”
To the
woman, he said, “I will pour you a cup of coffee, yes? It is fresh, I just made
it — and I make very good coffee.”
“No,
thank you, I don’t drink coffee.” The woman smiled, and laughed quietly as she
shook her head. Her laughter sounded like water bubbling over stones.
He
poured himself a cup and returned to his seat at the bar. He felt drawn to this
woman. No — he was compelled to be near this woman. He smiled into his
cup as he took a sip and asked, “What do they call you?”
“Many things.”
“No, I
meant, what is your name?”
The
woman sat silent and motionless until Manolo looked up.
She held
his gaze to hers as she replied, “Is it important?”
“No. No,
I suppose not.” He made the effort to look away. “It is just that, well, out
here it is usually men who do not wish to share their identities.”
“Hmmm. Why is
that?”
Manolo
regarded her for a long moment. Her scrutiny paralyzed him as he searched for
an answer. The one that escaped his constricted throat surprised him.
“Fear.”
He did
not consciously choose that word, but he knew it was a profound truth unshackled
from somewhere deep inside.
The
woman’s eyebrows went up. “Fear? Of
what?” Fixing her languorous eyes on his, she waited for an answer. Her
good humor taunted him with a small, impish grin that tugged at one corner of
her sensuous mouth.
“Fear.” Manolo
half sighed, half laughed as he felt the pressure of words bubbling up in his
throat. The words reached his mouth and poured out in a torrent of pain — he
was helpless to stop them.
“Fear
that you will be found out! Fear that everyone will see that the Great Manolo
Montoya is only . . . ordinary.” He looked away, struggling to control his
voice.
His eyes
dropped to the coffee cup in his hand, his voice was barely a whisper. “Not
special.”
The cup
in Manolo’s hand had become a bottle of tequila, and he took a long drink from
it. He shifted his defiant gaze to her as he declared in an angry, biting,
voice, “You know, to be a Montoya, ‘Ordinary’ — it isn’t allowed. It isn’t enough.”
“Hmmm. So,
that old routine, Dazzle and Bewitch, covers up a lot?”
“Yes.”
Manolo
was silent for several seconds. His eyes darted about the room as if looking
for an escape route. There wasn’t one. Held transfixed by her eyes, he told the
truth:
“Yes, I
try to cover up many things.” There was another long pause before he added, “to
be charming — well, it hides many imperfections, does it not?”
Manolo
looked again at his image in the mirror. He chuckled at the disheveled sight,
pointing at the reflection with his chin.
“Ha!
There is nothing charming about that! The very picture
of a reprobate, no?” He exhaled a harsh breath and rubbed his hand over
his mouth as he waited for her answer.
Her eyes
softened. Her smile saddened. He knew she waited for him to touch the heart of
the problem.
“Ah, yes. The whiskey.
The tequila. The mescaline . . .and
the women . . .many, many women.” Manolo closed his eyes, squeezing them tight.
His voice betrayed his pain.
“You
must be disgusted at even the thought of me.” He swallowed hard, and fixed his
eyes on the bottle in his hand.
Again, the laughter tinkling like fine crystal, the
eyes wrapping him in their warmth, the hint of a grin.
Gliding
to his side, she leaned close to Manolo and whispered provocatively in his ear,
“Disgusted?” She giggled softly. “No. Quite the opposite.
I find you fascinating.”
Manolo
smiled and let his eyes close as he sat breathing slowly, deeply, feeling life
and vigor spread throughout his body with each breath.
Chapter Six
The
sound of running water prompted Manolo to open his eyes. Before him gurgled a stream
that opened out into a tree-shaded water hole, an oasis, high in the White
Mountains. He lolled contentedly in the dappled sunshine beneath the trees.
“And
what then, is Life?” Her voice pulled him out of his reverie to bask, instead,
in the warmth of her eyes and her smiles.
“Ah, Life.
Intensity of feelings! The surging of blood in the veins.
Awareness. The feeling that
everything is a little bit more real.” He paused, fidgeting with a twig
as he pondered the definition.
“When I am about to fight a battle, yes, in those moments where I must risk
everything, I truly experience Life. That is how I feel, too, when I make love
to a woman. At that moment when our very souls are entwined — it is almost as
if I could touch the face of God. That is Life.”
He
glanced from the twig to her face. “To ‘not feel’ is a walking death.” He
shrugged. “To be numb is survival or, at best, mere existence. I have been
somewhere between numb and dead for a long time, now.”
She
sighed. “I know.”
“And what about Truth?” She walked along the edge of the pond. Her
garments flowed and rippled as if in a breeze.
Manolo
smiled. “Hmm. Truth? The absence of
lies.”
She
laughed again. “And Lies?”
“Ah,
well. Lies are always a matter of perspective, no? A thing
that can only be judged from a particular point of view. What is a lie
to me may be the truth to you, you see?” Manolo grinned and shrugged his
shoulders for emphasis.
She
stood still at the edge of the pond. Her face was soft, but devoid of expression.
He knew he couldn’t evade the answer.
He
sighed deeply. “These are slippery things. It is so hard to know.”
She did
not move or speak.
His eyes
filled with sadness and his shoulders drooped. His voice was barely audible. “Truth? The truth is that sometimes I do not know where the
Truth ends and the Lies begin.”
“And Fidelity?” Her voice carried to Manolo as a sigh on a waft of
air.
“Do you
mean Faithfulness?”
“Yes.”
Manolo’s
face clouded and he turned away from her. “I do not like to have to choose.”
“Sometimes,
you have to choose.” She stood next to him now. Her eyes held his again.
“Why?
Why must I choose?”
She said
nothing, her eyes were sad, her smile wan.
Her
silence pinned Manolo in place, refusing to let him escape in deflections or
deceptions. The pressure to expose his soul infuriated him. He snapped at her.
“Ah! But
a desert is more than one cactus, no? Why should I not have the whole desert?”
Her
voice was gentle. “So women are as cactus to you?”
“NO! NO.
No…” He sighed in defeat. “Yes. In a way. Women are
the hope of life in a sea of death. Hope of salvation.
Of regeneration.”
He
contemplated the twig in his hand.
“They
carry life itself within them in a way that men cannot. I love them for it.
They have a — a power over me. Sometimes, I hate them.”
Manolo
looked far into the distance and sighed.
“With
women, I am like a cat, chasing dapples of light as they dance across a wall in
a tree-shaded garden.”
“So you
chase them all?” Her voice sighed on the breeze.
“Yes.”
Manolo breathed deeply, exhaling slowly.
“I have
been unfaithful to so many good women who did nothing to deserve such
treatment.”
He
shrugged. “Even my father has had enough of my ways.”
She
waited patiently, her eyes warm and accepting.
“Some son
I have turned out to be, eh? Still, Pa-Pa wishes for me to marry, but I cannot
imagine why any woman of quality would choose me — and I do not want a woman
who does not want me.”
The
white lace of her skirts floated across Manolo’s lap as the woman knelt in
front of him. Her face was inches from his as she laid her beautiful, willowy
hands, encased in their frilly, white, net gloves, upon his chest.
His
breath grew ragged as his heart pounded beneath those fragile hands.
Slowly,
caressing him gently, she moved her hands up the sides of his neck until they
cupped his face. She leaned even closer. Her whisper so soft, it was little
more than a thought.
“I can
think of many reasons for wanting to be with you, Manolo.” She gently stroked
his cheeks with her thumbs.
Exhaustion
seeped from his heart, and spread slowly through his body. He sighed and closed
his eyes, grateful for the darkness folding in around him.
Chapter Seven
The heat
made rivulets of sweat run down his neck and back. Manolo rubbed his eyes with
the back of his hand. Removing his hat, he offered his arm to her as they
entered the chapel of
The
woman looked around the room. “Hmmm. What of Beauty?”
Manolo
sat down to think. “Beauty? An
illusion. It cannot be placed: some beauty comes from a happy confluence
of physical features, some from a source impossible to name.”
He
cocked his head and aimed one of his famous smiles at her.
She
smiled a bemused little smile and returned his gaze. Her eyes danced with
merriment, but she said nothing.
He held
his smile, moving only his eyes, letting them prowl slowly over the woman’s
countenance.
She
laughed, loud and hearty. “You are such a flirt!”
Her eyes
beckoned to him as she turned and moved toward the walled garden with its
small, private patio. The walls were whitewashed adobe laced with scarlet
vines. She sat on a small bench near the fountain in the center of the garden.
“Hmmm. Mothers?”
He
smiled and chuckled under his breath. “Ample. Cheerful.
Dependable...” He paused and shot a sly wink at her. “Alluring.”
She
ignored the wink. “And Fathers?”
“Yes,
Fathers,” Manolo sighed wistfully. “Fathers are strength, guidance and
protection. They are admirable.” He grinned. “And handsome!”
“Mhhmmm. Your Father?”
“Ah. Don
Sebastian Montoya. The Lion of
Manolo
paced in the small space of the garden, staring at the tiled floor as he walked.
“He is a
schemer, a cheat, a womanizer . . .a rogue! And he is
a staunch defender of the helpless.” Manolo stopped and smiled.
“In another life, he would have been a Knight
of the Realm . . .if he were taller!”
Manolo was
rewarded with more of the beautiful laughter that sent shivers of joy rippling
through him.
“Ah,
well.” He laughed under his breath. “My father. Well.
Being who I am — which is all that I have ever, truly, wanted to be — has never
been enough. I am always his ‘stupid son’ or the ‘wild one.’ For some reason,
he sees only his expectations — he has never been able to see me. Sometimes I
am almost willing to try to be like him, just so he would approve of me.”
He
turned away from her.
“I fear
we will never honor each other as Father and Son should.” Manolo walked back
towards her.
“But,
even so, I love my father. And my sister, Victoria, I love unconditionally, as
she does me.”
“Tell me
about her.”
“La
Señora Victoria Montoya-Cannon. She is everything that a woman should be. She
can be kind, gentle and understanding… or fierce, proud and unyielding —
depending on the circumstances and what is required. She is beauty and grace;
love, heart, and courage. I am proud to be her brother.”
The
woman patted the bench beside her and Manolo sat down. She waited patiently.
“I
remember teaching
“To tell
you the truth, until then, I had never considered it cruel to use my
sharp-roweled spurs. Not even when the horses sometimes bled from the cuts they
made.” He turned back to her. “
“Perhaps.” The
woman’s smile was inscrutable, her eyes veiled and unreadable, but Manolo did
not notice.
“Yes.” A
wicked grin spread across his face. “But before that, I would keep you all to
myself for as long as possible.” Manolo laughed at the delicious prospect.
“Are
those the rules?” Her eyes were keen, sharp, and hawk-like.
“Rules? Oh.
Well, some rules, they are followed all the time because if you don’t you will
die or suffer some other horrible fate, No? As for the rest, well, I do what I
can — for as long as I can get away with it, right?” His eyes were laughing as
he caught hers and held them.
“Love. What
about Love?” The golden flecks in her brown eyes glittered as she waited for
his answer.
He could
not explain it, but he could not seem to distort his answers to her, or
redirect her pointed questions, no matter how unflattering to him the answers
might be. His honest feelings were the only expression he seemed capable of in
her presence. He found it exciting, exhilarating — and, at the same time, it
confused him.
He
plunged ahead, answering from his heart. “Well, I have found saying ‘I love
you’ to be useful, certainly. But, there have been only a few times I may have
actually felt love.”
“What
was the name of the girl you bought the side saddle for?” Her smile taunted
him, again.
He tried
to wave the question away. “That is not important….”
“Yes. It
is. You said you wanted to marry her. You wanted to dress her in silks. You
loved her. What was her name? Sweetheart? Darling? Querida? Enamorada? Corazon?” Her eyes did not leave
him as she waited for an answer.
“Ah,
Blue’s cousin, the one with eyes like the sky before a storm . . .yes . . .She
rejected me for Sam Butler . . .” Manolo stalled for time, searching his mind
for her name.
White
lace fluttered in the hint of a breeze that drifted through the garden. She
sighed and gave him the answer. “Caroline. Caroline Elizabeth Madigan.”
The name
filled him with sadness.
“Oh.
Yes. That was it.”
He
suddenly felt drained and tired. His head nodded forward into his hands and he
closed his eyes, retreating again into the darkness.
Chapter Eight
Manolo
squinted against the harsh afternoon sunlight as he finished tightening the cinch
and put the stirrup down. He patted the big sorrel, and went to find his woman.
He intended to take her for a ride in the desert at sundown. The spectacular
scenery and skyscape would be a fitting backdrop for what he had in mind.
It was
exceptionally quiet at the ranch today, but that suited his plans, too. There
would be no interruptions, no interference.
Everything
about this woman captivated and excited him. He had made up his mind to do
whatever it might take to win her for his own — and yet, at some level, he knew
no one could ever ‘own’ her. Still, he could not bear the thought of being
parted from her for even a few minutes; how could he ever just let her leave?
He
thought about the way she seemed to know him on some deeper level. No woman had
ever made him so comfortable — and uncomfortable —
at the same time. He felt he could almost see a physical connection
between their souls. She knew his darkest secrets and fears, and she did not
shun him. At times, her unconditional acceptance of him was overwhelming.
Manolo
found her on the veranda.
Her
smile was lazy and suggestive; her eyes, soft and deep, enticing him closer.
He swung
up on Mackadoo and leaned down to lift her up before him. She weighed almost
nothing. He sat her across his lap and put his arms around her.
The sky
was just warming up for what promised to be a fantastic sunset. Thin strings of
clouds spread low across the late afternoon sky, assuring brilliant colors and
spectacular effects.
Neither
of them had spoken a word. Yet, he felt totally connected to her, one with her.
She sighed and leaned into him as they rode out through the main gate of the
High Chaparral and towards the open desert.
“Hmmm. Bodies?” She nuzzled the base of his neck.
“What?”
The question caught him off guard.
“Bodies. ”
Manolo
took a long, slow breath, pondering the topic. “Bodies move in beautiful,
sensual ways. The way women walk. The sway of their skirts as
they follow the motion of the body. The caress of silk as it moves
across skin. Touching, loving. All manner of sensual contact
— that is what bodies are to me.”
He
halted Mackadoo and lightly touched the woman’s cheek with the tips of his
fingers.
From the
open desert, a rogue blast of sandy wind howled as it struck them. He touched
Mackadoo with his heel and the horse shifted, turning his hindquarters into the
wind as Manolo tried to protect the woman with his body. Just as suddenly and
inexplicably as the wind rose, it died.
Manolo
smiled and leaned closer to her, letting the fragrance of her fill his senses.
It made him giddy and light headed. Contemplating the rarefied beauty held
captive in his arms, a fierce desire to possess her pushed all other thoughts
from his mind. He would not leave her; not for anything, or anybody. This was
his love for all time.
He let
his fingertips linger on her cheek and trail gently down her throat to the base
of her neck. She closed her eyes and sighed. He leaned forward to kiss her.
Victoria’s
voice, thin and wispy, tugged at him. It sighed in his ear as if blown on the
wind from far away.
His
sister was calling him. He straightened and hesitated. No.
Again,
he leaned forward to kiss her. His lips brushed hers ever so lightly. Again,
she sighed and did not move away.
Another
blast of wind struck them. Manolo straightened again and strained to hear the
sounds on the wind: Victoria’s voice, stronger this time, calling him to her.
Again, he chose to ignore the voice in the wind.
The
persistent wind whipped at him, savagely pulling at his clothes. Sobbing? Yes —
he heard the far away sound of a woman sobbing as if her heart would break. Was
it
He
hesitated, and then chose to pursue his goal with the beautiful woman in his
arms.
Manolo
touched Mackadoo with his heels and rode to the top of a small butte to watch
the sunset as the sobbing wind died behind him.
The
golden light of the setting sun filled his heart with joy.
“This is
fitting, no?” He whispered in his woman’s ear.
“In what way?”
“The spectacular end of a day to commemorate the
end of a long chapter in my existence. I wish
to make a change in my life.”
“Hmmm. What would
that be?” The gold flecks swirled in the depths of her soft brown eyes and
flickered with the promise of passion as she turned her face up to his.
The words welled up and his heart overflowed.
“I wish
never to be apart from you, ever. You have claimed my heart and my soul; will
you accept the man, as well?”
She
spoke slowly, carefully.
“Are you
sure you want that, Manolo? If I grant it, you can never change your mind for
all eternity.”
His
heart soared — she was considering him!
The wind
rose again, attacking viciously and shrieking as it tore at him with sandy
fingers. The sheer fury of the attack forced him to close his eyes.
Chapter Nine
“MANOLO!” “MANOLO!”
“Manolo! Don’t
leave me! Come back to me!”
Manolo
opened his eyes. Standing around his bed were Blue, Big John, Buck, Vaquero and
Don Sebastian.
“Calmate, hermana; calm yourself, my sister.” He searched
“Oh,
Manolito, I thought I had lost you forever. You weren’t breathing very well and
you would not open your eyes,” sobbed
Tenderly,
he wiped her tears away.
“No,
Victoria, you are mistaken. I just closed my eyes against the wind. But I have
found my true love. You interrupted my proposal — she was about to accept me!”
Straining
to sit up, he searched the room for his beloved.
“Where
is she? Ah, she must have gone back out to the veranda, no?” Exhausted, he sank
back onto the bed.
Shocked
silence filled the room. The men exchanged confused, apprehensive looks —
‘knowing looks’ that said, other than Victoria and Violetta, there had been no
woman in the room, the house, or anywhere on the ranch since he came home in
the wagon nearly a week ago.
Astonished,
Manolo realized they didn’t believe him.
“My
jacket; give it to me, please,
Victoria
stiffened and clutched her stomach, her eyes filled with alarm.
“No,
Manolito, your jacket is not here. It — it was badly damaged when you fell and
Violetta is fixing it, and you must rest now.”
Buck’s
eyebrows bunched as a look of confusion spread across his face. He looked down
at the floor, shook his head and looked up at
Manolo saw
Victoria look sideways at Buck, her eyes pleading. She turned her worried gaze
back to Manolo and busied herself with straightening his covers.
“You
need to rest now, my brother. You are just a little over wrought.”
Buck let
out a big sigh, shaking his head, his face still a picture of confusion, he
shrugged his big shoulders and reached behind him to gather something Manolo
could not see. Buck sidled towards the door, keeping one hand behind his back and
trying to look nonchalant as he crabbed through the doorway and disappeared
into the hall.
Chapter Ten
Downstairs
the little group reconvened to discuss Mano’s plight.
Big
John’s brow was deeply furrowed. He was very concerned about Mano’s
hallucinations.
“Now, I
don’t suppose that anyone here has seen this woman, have they?” He growled, as
he looked each person in the eye.
One by
one, they each shook their head “No.” Except when Big John
got to Buck.
“Waal, Brother John, Mano was talking to somebody when we was in camp. You remember me tellin’
you that, right? He kept on sayin’ how she was
dressed all in white and was real purty. ‘Bueiful’ he kept sayin’. ‘Course,
he couldn’t talk real good then and that’s why I went for the wagon to fetch
him . . .”
Big
John’s face hardened as his frustration level rose.
“BUCK!”
he bellowed. “Enough! I asked if anyone saw a strange woman here on the ranch.
Did you?”
Buck
looked down at the toes of his boots. “N-no, Brother John, I surely didn’t.”
“Thank
you. That’s what I thought. John sighed and sat down on the couch next to
“Well.
This is a difficult situation. The doctor said not to upset him if he did
regain consciousness, so we need to play along with his little fantasies until
his head can heal up from that fall.”
“But
John, please. You are only going to encourage him, I
do not think we should indulge these visions. They could be dangerous. The
Padre told me so when he came to give Manolito the Last Rites. He said there
could be demons and even the Angel of Death could tempt him! Please, my
husband, don’t encourage this.”
He hated
to see his wife upset, but choosing between authorities was not his decision to
make. He took a deep breath and looked to Mano’s stunned father.
“Well,
Don Sebastian, he’s your son. I think this is your call. Do we listen to the
Doctor or to the Priest? Tell us what you want here.”
“Ay, Dios mio. I think the Doctor ees more believable. God forgive
me, but I do not belief een demons and the like. And
if this beautiful woman of breeding and quality ees
the Angel of Death, then she will know to stay far away from my stupid son. How
could he have seen such a creature, except as a result of this injury?
Don
Sebastian paused and shook his head.
“No, I
belief the Doctor” He sighed. “
Buck
spoke hesitantly. “Uh, Don Sebastian, I took it. It seemed like
Blue
looked up at Big John with sad eyes. “Pa? I got an idea.”
“Yeah,
Blue?”
“Well,
Mano was insisting that he found some kind of locket and that it’s in his
jacket, right? So why don’t we just look and see,
before we give it to him, just to be sure.”
Big John
harrumphed.
“Normally
I would tan your hide for suggesting that we search a man’s personal
possessions with out his permission. But, in this case, I think you may be
right. Victoria, Don Sebastian, what do you think?”
Big John
studied the rest of the group.
“All
right, are there any other objections?”
No one
spoke.
Don
Sebastian’s eyes were full as he looked around the room. “My
son ees very lucky to have so many good friends.
I am sure he does not deserve them. Buck, the jacket, por
favor?”
Buck
handed the jacket to Don Sebastian.
“If
Manolito is to be angry with anyone, let him be angry with me. That way, it
will not change his relationship with anyone here. For that matter, it will not
change his relationship with ME, either. I will look een
the pockets.”
Don
Sebastian fished around in each pocket, finding nothing but odds and ends.
Finally, he searched the inside pocket.
Don
Sebastian pulled out a large handful of gravel. “I do not believe it. But why
would he have a pocket full of gravel?”
John
sighed. “Well, Don Sebastian, let’s put it back and we’ll go see what he has to
say about it.”
Chapter Eleven
Manolo
was floating, weightless, in the soft, warm darkness when the voice roused him.
“Mano,
wake up.” Big John gently shook his shoulder.
Manolo
struggled to open first one brown eye and then the other.
His
brother-in-law was standing over him, holding the brown suede jacket.
“Ah,
thank you, John.” Manolo mumbled as he struggled to sit up. Vaquero moved
quickly to assist him.
As he
settled back against the pillows, Manolo glanced around the room and noticed
Across
the room, he watched Buck place his arm over Blue’s shoulder as if to console
him. It made Manolo wonder, what was going on? Why did they look so sad
and anxious? They looked more like they were attending his funeral than
the announcement of ‘Don Manolo Montoya’s engagement.
Stifling
his annoyance, Manolo managed a tight little smile as he took the jacket from
Big John and rummaged in the inside pocket. His fingers found the locket.
Smiling
with genuine pleasure, his eyes glowed with pride as he placed the locket in
his palm and held it out for everyone to see.
“See? Did
I not tell you it was beautiful? I have never seen such fine workmanship, have
you,
Instead
of showing interest in the locket and happiness for him, the people crowded
around his bed were long-faced with dismay —
Manolo
shifted his attention to the locket and savored the calm that enveloped him as
he lovingly stroked the filigreed decorations. Proudly, he opened it to
show them the engraving.
They
were staring at him like he had lost his mind!
Manolo
fought his anger. He couldn’t understand it — why were they reacting this way?
Was the locket not enough proof?
“Fine. I will
read it to you. It says:
Together
We will always be
Forever —
Come to me…”
Manolo
smiled and gently traced the words in the locket with his fingers. “You see?
She loves me, just as I love her.”
Manolo heard a giggle and looked up. His beloved
stood in the corner behind Buck. Her eyes beckoned to Manolo. Her mouth teased
him with her seductive smile.
He wanted her. Desire smoldered in his blood.
Her honeyed voice was warm, rich and thick.
“Sometimes you have to choose….”
Manolo held his hand out to his beloved and smiled
broadly.
“Ah, my love, come here and sit with me — I want to
wrap my arms around you again.”
Gliding to Manolo’s bedside, she passed close to
Buck, her flowing raiment brushed against his arm and leg. Buck shivered and
skittered sideways, brushing his arm as if to remove something nasty that had
stuck there.
Manolo’s attention shifted to Buck, who was
frantically searching the floor around him. Buck rubbed his hand over his face
and took a deep breath.
“Buck, what is wrong? You are very pale, my
friend.”
“O-oh, nuthin’,
Mano. I jus’ felt a chill is all.” Buck
swallowed hard and shrugged. The fear lingered in his eyes.
The woman sat gracefully on the edge of the bed,
placing a lace-gloved hand on Manolo’s chest, over his heart. He felt warm and
safe — and content — with her there. Yes, he loved this woman.
“Will you stay here with me?” he begged.
She trailed her fingers down his chest, resting her
hand just above his waist. The gold flecks in her brown eyes glittered with the
promise of ecstasy. Her lips brushed his ear as she whispered, fire raged in
his veins in response.
“No. You must choose, now. You have only to close
your eyes and you will be mine, forever.”
His breath came in short gasps. How could he choose
between his loved ones and the one he loved? In anguish, Manolo hesitated,
clutching the locket to his heart.
He looked to
Don
Sebastian looked old and sad . . .and beaten. Hope
faded from his eyes as they filled with tears. Manolo’s heart swelled, he ached
to first crush Pa-Pa to his chest in a bear hug and then curl up and hide in his
arms for comfort, as he had done when he was a boy.
Buck stared at the floor, ashen-faced with agony.
Ah, Buck — his best friend. He could not help but smile when he thought of
Buck.
Big John was stone-faced. His eyes darted around
the room. Ah, his brother in law was frustrated and angry, as he always was
when
Blue’s
eyes filled with tears. He looked away and stuffed his curled index finger in
his mouth to keep from sobbing. Manolo smiled. Such a
sensitive little friend — with the heart and soul of a poet. Sympathy
swept over Manolo — how deeply the boy feels! How upset he is that I might go
away.
A flash of pique flared in Manolo as sad-eyed
Vaquero made the sign of the cross and joined
Finally, Manolo looked back to his beloved.
“Please, don’t make me choose!” His voice was deep
and raspy with emotion. “I love them all and cannot bear the thought of leaving
them, yet I cannot let you go, either. My heart will be torn in half.”
The woman smiled a knowing smile. “Is that how you
feel?”
“Yes. I am in agony!”
Her voice was a sigh. “Hmmm.
But, you do feel.” Her smile radiated warmth that enveloped him. Slowly,
silently, substance turned to vision. Like a mirage, she shimmered, translucent
and iridescent.
Manolo desperately clutched at the shimmering
specter with both hands; his breathing ragged, open-mouthed.
The veins in his neck stood out as he sobbed, “NO!
NO! Don’t leave! PLEASE, come back to me!”
His shoulders drooped and his voice trailed off to
a tortured whisper, “I love you?” Tears formed and trickled down his cheeks.
His plea was denied. The vision shimmered again and
faded completely.
Panic rose in his throat. Nothing felt real. He
looked down at the locket in his hand. The fine silver chain began to crumble.
“NO! NO!” Horrified, Manolo shrieked in anguish as
the edges of the locket began to flake off.
Little by little, the locket fractured. He tried
frantically to push the pieces back into place — to make them turn back into
the locket — but the crumbling continued until nothing was left but bits of
gravel, rock and sand.
Even as he clutched the gravel to his chest, Manolo
knew with bitter certainty he had made the choice himself.
Panicked and sobbing,
From depths of his pain and anger, Manolo heard
“Oh,
“Shhh. Shhh. Everything is all right now, ’Toria.” He rocked her and patted her back to calm her.
“I have chosen what I love most, my family and
friends. Do not cry,
Manolo heard a man sniffle. He was surprised to see
tears running down his father’s face. He shot a questioning glance to Don
Sebastian.
“Pa-Pa?”
“Oh, de smoke from de fireplace bothered me, but
now, I am fine.” Don Sebastian hurried to wipe away the evidence.
Manolo buried his face in his sister’s hair and
mumbled, “I love you too, Pa-Pa.”
The End.
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