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She was hypnotized by his black eyes. She knew there was no going back to the way her life had been drifting along. “I will meet you anywhere as soon as I can.”
“Then listen to me, my love. You will ride out on your horse later this afternoon. I will be returning from town, but instead of coming back here, I will meet you at the peak. It is where you always go, I know—I have watched you.”
“Yes...perfect.” she gasped as his finger found her wetness.
If she questioned herself, she quickly put those questions aside. She needed him in her life.
And such was their beginning!
* * * * *
Rodrigo was thirteen. He was heir to the great San Jacinto Estancia. He was the only child of Don José and Rose. His father had instilled in him a sense of responsibility, a sense of order, a need to rule justly.
His mother had doted on him. He considered himself a man, and indeed, he was already showing signs of being taller than his six-foot father. His hair was black, thick, and fell in waves around his good-looking countenance. His eyes were dark like his father’s.
He had been noticing his mother’s behavior as of late. He witnessed her change of moods, her daydreaming, her looking at their gauchos, one in particular, Facón.
He frowned over the problem. The months passed and he became distraught, torn by his loyalties. He loved and respected his father, but he adored his beautiful English mother.
He, even at so young an age, understood the complicated matters of love between men and women—affairs of the heart. He knew these things were a part of life amongst his class. Marriages were arranged, and often a husband would find another woman he would keep away from his family. He knew wives often looked elsewhere for affection. But his mother seemed distant, and he was worried.
He knew his father was certainly attached, if not in love with his mother. He couldn’t be certain his mother had taken on a lover...but it did seem so. How would this affect his father?
Both his parents had told him how he had seen her in London and courted her for weeks until he was able to convince her father to agree to the match. In truth...Rodrigo knew his father had actually, in a sense, purchased Rose’s hand in marriage. Her family had been in debt and were willing to let her go across the seas to another world for the price he paid them.
Would his mother grow bored with the gaucho? Would she? He was not old enough, had not experienced romantic love, but from what Rodrigo witnessed, his mother was lost to the wild gaucho Facón. This disgusted him.
He looked towards Varjona, also a gaucho. Did he not enjoy, and yes, even love his friend, Var? Hadn’t he even taken measures to raise Var’s station in life by insisting his father see to his education?
He watched his mother climb, assisted by Facón, into her carriage. She was going shopping in town. He saw her invite him into the carriage. He heard their laughter as he joined her within the confines of the coach. Rodrigo was torn. She never really laughed when she was with his father. He wanted his mother to be happy, but...had his father noticed what was going on? He sorely did not want his father hurt.
And thus, more time passed, and he turned fourteen.
* * * * *
Facón studied Rose. He loved her beyond distraction, and he told himself if he loved her, he shouldn’t have asked her to run away with him. But he needed her.
“Don’t look back, Rose. That life...is gone.”
Rose caught a sob in her throat, and her voice was scarcely audible as she dived into his arms. “It is for Rodrigo I grieve. He will be so hurt. And I—I won’t be there to help him, to watch him grow into a man.”
“He is already a man. You have seen who he has become and must be proud. In the future, when he has experienced more of life, he will understand.” Facón sighed. “As to the rest, you will have our sons to watch and touch and bring up to manhood.”
She still could not smile. She had left her husband, who she knew would weather her leaving. He had, in the last year, taken a mistress, and he was a strong man who was no longer in love with her. He was a good father, and she had no fears on that score. Yet—she loved Rodrigo. How could she go away and never be there for him, with him? Would he feel deserted? What would he think of her? He would hate her, wouldn’t he? “Facón, he will hate me,” she whimpered.
“No. He will be angry, but he will have good memories of you. Come now, we must ride if we are to make camp by nightfall. Hurry, my Rose.”
Thus, she left that day with her gaucho to enter a new world and leave her family in the old...
* * * * *
Rose was correct. Her husband quickly moved on. He had her declared dead and took a new wife.
His life actually improved.
It was not so for his son.
Rodrigo found it impossible to forgive his mother, and as time passed, he hardened about her, indeed, all he could think was she left him. He did feel deserted by her. He had understood about her and the gaucho, but this...her abandoning him, he could not understand.
