Honor Bound (Honor Bound 1)

“Absolutely nothing, mi Coronel.”

Three elephants.

“And was the investigation conducted carefully? Will it go undetected?”

“Absolutely, mi Coronel. You have my personal assurance about that.”

Which means he will know we searched his car.

“And where is he now?”

“We have just had word from our man at Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo that he is with his father.”

“I don’t want him lost again, Habanzo.”

“I understand, mi Coronel.”

“Provide whatever personnel are required. See that they have adequate funds to cover any contingency.”

“Sí, mi Coronel.”

“My function, Habanzo, is to know everything there is to know about el Coronel Frade and his associates. I think that his son could be considered an associate, don’t you? His long-lost, recently returned son, who just happens to be—he says—a recently discharged American officer?”

“Yes, of course, mi Coronel.”

XIV

[ONE]

Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo

1115 15 December 1942

Two gauchos, sprawled on the wide steps to the verandah, were waiting for them when they returned from their ride. As they approached, Clete’s horse, a magnificent sorrel, shied at something and, with a shrill whinny, reared. Despite the strange saddle, Clete managed to keep his seat and to control the animal, and more than a little smugly noticed both surprise and approval on the faces of the gauchos.

The Norteamericano did not get his ass thrown. Sorry about that, guys!

The gauchos took the reins of the horses and led them away. And Clete followed his father and Claudia Carzino-Cormano onto the verandah. The more he saw this woman, the more he liked her. If she and Aunt Martha met, they would form an instant mutual admiration society. Like Martha, Claudia was a first-class horsewoman; and like Martha, she said what was in her mind, rather than what she thought a lady should say. And, like Martha, she ran a ranch. An estancia almost, but not quite, as large as San Pedro y San Pablo.

He was touched and amused at his father’s blustering attempts to paint her as just a platonic acquaintance who happened to drop by now and again. The servants obeyed her orders the way they’d obey the mistress of the place. And last night, when his father suggested, “Since it’s late, Claudia, why don’t you spend the night? I’ll have one of the guest rooms set up for you,” she winked at Clete and smiled.

“Thank you for your hospitality, Jorge,” she said.

And when he got up the next morning and went looking for something to eat, Claudia was already up too, wearing a white blouse and baggy trousers, and soft, black, tight-over-the-calf leather boots, obviously a gentle lady’s riding costume—which his father apparently expected him to believe just “happened” to be in the house.

“Your father is insufferable until he has had his second cup of coffee,” she greeted him. “It is best to ignore him, or anything he says.”

Clete had ridden hornless saddles before—at Texas A&M, the ROTC horses had Army-issue McClellan cavalry saddles—and after a few minutes, he became accustomed to the Argentine saddle. It was called a recado, Claudia told him. Although everyone else in the area had been using “English” saddles since the turn of the century, his father insisted on keeping them, because he was too cheap to throw anything away.

When Clete’s father overheard her tell Clete that, he flared up at her: “I am not cheap, my dear. I am frugal, and I respect our traditions. Since they have been properly cared for, they have not worn out.” She rode close to him then, murmured, “Precioso, I’m sorry,” and leaned out of her recado to kiss him.

Acting as if the kiss—which calmed him down immediately—never happened, Clete’s father then delivered a lecture on the history of their saddles. A brilliant saddler made them on the estancia during the tenure of Clete’s great-grandfather. The shape of the seat, he went on to say, together with estribando largo—long stirrups—permit the rider to sit in an almost vertical position, the merits of which for herding cattle over long hours do not have to be explained. Except perhaps to a woman.

“Sí, mi jefe,” Claudia replied, laughing.

When they came onto the verandah, Señora Pellano was supervising the arrangement of a little “after the morning canter” refreshment. There were two bottles of champagne in coolers, and an array of sweets and cold cuts.

“I would suggest, Cletus,” Frade said, “that you pass up the champagne.”