Madison DeWitt cursed, threatened, but Don Joaquín stood firm, saying nothing, merely gazing at him with tolerant boredom. When the man finally left, Don Joaquín heaved a deep sigh. It was time, he supposed, that Gabriel did travel to Spain. His grandparents wouldn’t live much longer, and there were many cousins for him to meet. Yes, it was time for him to see more of the world.
TWO
Brent Hammond walked out of the dim saloon of the Colorado House into the bright afternoon sunlight. He was smiling with satisfaction. He’d just won two hundred dollars in a poker game with a greenhorn and a cheat. Most of it was from the cheat, and in only four hours. He stretched then turned to look up at Presidio Hill behind him. Up there he imagined one could forget the stench of garbage that lay about in the filthy narrow streets in the flats, and draw a decent breath of clean salt air.
He was eyeing several loose cows wandering about amid the scruffy adobe buildings when he heard the gunshots. He’d whirled about and taken two steps, when a body smashed against him. He rocked back on his heels, keeping his balance, but she went sprawling on the ground at his feet.
Byrony cried out, and let go of her two packages. One of them burst open and flour spewed out, raining down white.
“Oh dear,” Byrony said. Her bottom hurt, but she began laughing, she couldn’t help it. She struggled up to her knees.
“I’m sorry,” Brent said, dropping to his haunches. “Here, let me help you.”
She looked up at the man she’d just cannoned into and her breath caught in her throat. He had the most beautiful dark blue eyes she’d ever seen. He was trying to keep from laughing.
“Hello,” she said, her eyes never leaving his face. His thick black hair was clean and shone in the sun. She noticed the scar on his cheek, white against his tanned skin, and wondered how he’d gotten it.
“Hello yourself,” Brent said. He clasped her upper arms and drew her up.
Byrony was tall, but the man was nearly a head taller. She watched his lips part, and laughter, deep and clear, flowed over her.
“You’d best let me go, or your suit will be white rather than gray.”
Brent hadn’t realized he was still holding her. He quickly released her arms and stepped back. “I’m sorry I ran into you, ma’am,” he said again.
“No, it wasn’t your fault,” Byrony said, and began shaking out her skirts. “I wasn’t paying attention.”
“I heard the gunshots,” he said.
“Oh, that,” she said, her eyes narrowing in ill-disguised contempt. “It was just some of the young men target-shooting, this time. Nothing to worry about.”
“I wasn’t really worried, just interested. What do you mean ‘this time’?”
She shrugged. “Unfortunately, San Diego has something of a reputation for violence. Dueling, gun battles, knife slashings. We’ve got them all, I’m afraid.”
“It shares its reputation then with every other town I’ve visited.”
She raised her eyes to his face again. “I’ve never seen you in San Diego before.”
“No, this is my first visit. Actually, I’ll be leaving tomorrow.”
“Are you a gambler?” she asked, looking briefly back at the Colorado House.
“Yes, I guess I am.”
She continued staring at him, and in an unconscious gesture, her tongue glided over her lower lip.
“Are you enjoying the view?”
She blinked, not understanding, then saw the amusement in his eyes.
“Yes,” she said.
Brent wasn’t expecting that. A blush, perhaps, a stammered accusation that he wasn’t a gentleman. “Well, let me return the favor. You’re beautiful even with flour on your nose.”
She grinned, but shook her head at his nonsense. She knew well enough what she looked like. Her hair was drawn back in a severe knot at the nape of her neck. Her cotton gown was a dull gray color and about as flattering as a potato sack. But she couldn’t seem to look away from him. She realized that he was a very large man, but she didn’t fear him. It was odd. “You have very unusual eyes. Forgive me for staring.”
He arched a black brown. “I believe they’re both still the same color, ma’am, or did the flour get to them?”