An older woman, gray-haired and diminutive, bustled from another part of the house and met them in the hallway.
“Rafael!” She squealed with delight, her dark eyes disappearing into the myriad of wrinkles on her face. “It’s about time you visited,” she scolded him in her heavily accented English, trying to be stern but failing completely, her expression full of love and pride.
Rafael didn’t hesitate. He hugged the woman, lifting her off her feet—gently—making her laugh. When he let her down, he kissed her on her wrinkled cheek then turned toward him. “Marshal Devlin Goodrich meet Natalia Chavez y Ruiz, mybisabuela.”
“Bisabuela?” Devlin asked, unfamiliar with the word, as his gaze swept over the woman, noticing her sharp eyes, that, like Jake Hannigan, seemed to miss nothing.
“Great grandmother.”
Devlin extended his hand. “A pleasure, ma’am.”
She didn’t take it. Instead, she spread her arms wide, obviously expecting a hug as well. He obliged, bending low and embracing her tenderly. If there was ever a moment when he felt an instant kinship with someone, this was it. The love in this woman’s heart seeped into his troubled soul in that one brief instance. He broke the embrace then took a step back as Rafael’sbisabuelaturned her attention back to her great-grandson.
She reached out to smooth her hand against his face. “What are you doing here,mijo?”
“I wanted to introduce the marshal to the family.”
“Your brothers and sisters are out in the pasture. It’s calving season. As for yourpadres, you just missed them.”
“I did? Where’d they go?”
Natalia laughed. “Yourmadreandpadrewent into town to take you for a late lunch.” She glanced at the grandfather clock in the hallway. “If you leave now, you might still catch them. They left about twenty minutes ago.”
Rafael glanced toward him. “Maybe we still can meet up with them. What do you think?”
Devlin shrugged. “It’s up to you.”
“Go. Go.” Natalia waved her hands in a pushing motion, shushing them both out of the house. “But come back another time. I miss you,mijo.”
“I miss you, too,bisabuela.” Rafael stopped in the doorway and faced her. “I promise. I’ll bring Ventura by this Saturday for dinner. We might even stay the night.”
That made the older woman happy, if her expression was any indication. “I will hold you to that promise.” She gestured to Rafael to bend low, planted a kiss on his cheek, then turned toward him, her dark eyes piercing. “You keep mymijosafe.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He touched the brim of his hat. “I will.”
He watched the door close, then mounted up. Anticipation filled him. He couldn’t wait to get home, where he could share a cup of coffee with Tresia and tell her about everyone he’d met today.
The thought startled him. When had that become important to him?
CHAPTER 8
“How would you like to come with me to the Emporium, then visit Miss Lucy?”
Avery nodded enthusiastically and pushed her lunch plate away after taking the last bite of her sandwich. She scooted off her chair, as if prepared to go right now, a big smile on her face.
Tresia laughed, loving this child’s enthusiasm. She still didn’t speak very much, but she was getting better, and a lot of their conversations now were not one-sided. She’d learned in over the three weeks she’d been taking care of Avery that she was smarter than average…and stubborn, like an old mule. That was all right. Sometimes stubbornness was all one had.
“There might be a lot of people there. Miss Lucy seems to always have someone at her house. Will you be all right with that?”
Avery nodded, perhaps hoping to see Savannah again. In one afternoon, the girls had become fast friends, bonding over their love of swinging and the caterpillar they’d found crawling in the grass.
“We’ll have to fix your hair.” So far, Avery insisted on doing it herself…and it showed. She also insisted on washing her hairherself in the bathtub, though she did allow Tresia to help her rinse the soap from it. Even her father wasn’t allowed to brush her hair. “Will you let me do that?”
The words, spoken so casually, made the smile fade from Avery’s face. Her lower lip began to tremble as she shook her head.
“We could tie it up in a pretty ribbon to show off your beautiful curls. We could brush Cecily’s hair, too, and put in a matching ribbon. Wouldn’t you like that?”
Again, Avery stubbornly shook her head and took a step away from the kitchen table, as if at a moment’s notice she would dart out of the house, her little legs carrying her far, far away.
