CHAPTER TWO
The sun had barely risen over the eastern horizon the next morning as Diego
and Felipe rode into the pueblo. Felipe was going to escort Don Alejandro
back to the hacienda, while Diego was going to stay in town to work on the
newspaper. The arrival of a ship in San Pedro always brought news from the
outside world, and the young man whom Diego had hired to gather that information
was probably already on his way to Los Angeles.
As he and Felipe tied their mounts to the railing in front of the tavern,
Diego yawned. He had spent what had been left of the night tossing and turning,
with fevered dreams of both Victoria and Señora Murillo disturbing
what little sleep he had received. Dreams which made him feel uncomfortable
and guilty.
But all that was driven from his mind as a loud clanging sound came from
inside the inn, followed by raucous shouting. With a smile, Diego turned to
see Felipe's eyebrows raised with alarm. "I think Victoria is giving her guests
a rather vigorous wake-up call this morning," he said with a chuckle.
He opened the door and was greeted with chaos. The old caballeros, who had
been so lively the evening before, were mere shadows of their former selves.
They came stumbling out of their rooms, most clutching their heads.
"Señorita, por favor." Don Arturo pleaded softly as he made
his way down the staircase. "Stop that infernal racket."
Don Alejandro who following closely on his amigo's heels, grasping the wall
like a lifeline, begged in a bit more strident tone, "Madre de Dios,
Victoria. Have some pity on some poor fools."
The lovely innkeeper gave the large pot she held one more whack with a wooden
spoon. "At least you realize you are old fools," she said smugly. Her eyes
darted upward and her grin grew even wider.
Diego followed her gaze and saw the two women step out of their dormer,
displeasure apparent on both their faces. A jolt of lust shot through him
as he singled out Señora Murillo, who looked none the worse for wear
for her rude awakening.
"Oh, I am so sorry," Victoria said as her only female guests reached the
bottom of the stairs. "I didn't mean to wake you, too." Diego seemed to be
the only one present to notice the señorita's apology wasn't at all
sincere.
"That's quite all right," said Señora Murillo. "We are early risers
anyway." She smiled sweetly at the innkeeper.
With a huff, Victoria swirled around, disappearing into the kitchen. Within
a few seconds, she returned with a tray stacked with mugs and a steaming pot.
"Coffee?"
The elder de la Vega and his friends all raised their hands. The men made
their way to a table, sitting down before Victoria placed the hot beverage
in front of them. The mother and daughter sat at another table some distance
from the others. Felipe glanced up at Diego before going to join Don Alejandro's
already crowded group.
With a casualness he did not feel, Diego sauntered over to the women's table.
"May I join you, señoras?" he asked, the words nearly sticking in his
throat.
"Why, certainly, Don Diego," said Señora Murillo. "That would be
lovely."
Diego seated himself across from the ladies. Taking a deep breath, he glanced
up as Victoria came over to them and banged three cups on the hard wooden
surface.
"Coffee?" she asked through clenched teeth.
"Si, por. . ." Diego's response was interrupted by Señora
Murillo. "We would like tea. If it's no trouble."
"No, no trouble at all." Victoria spun away and marched across the room.
Diego looked down at his empty cup then at the curtains leading into the kitchens.
Why was Victoria acting so crossly? he wondered as he resigned himself to
having a cup of tea rather than coffee that morning.
"And what are you doing here so early, Don Diego?" asked Señora Murillo,
drawing his attention back to his companions.
"To check on my father," Diego replied distractedly. With a wave of his
hand, he indicated the caballeros at the other table. "He and his amigos
were. . .uh, celebrating last night, and decided to stay here." He then realized
she had called him ‘Don Diego' twice, and began speculating on why she would
do that, when he was struck by another question.
"Murillo?" he inquired aloud. "You wouldn't be related to Antonio Murillo,
would you? He was a friend of mine at university."
"He was my husband," she said solemnly. "He died nearly two years ago."
"Oh, I'm sorry," Diego said contritely. "I didn't know. My deepest condolences,
señora." He then knew why she had addressed him by his honorific. "Antonio
was a fine fellow."
"Si, he was," the señora sniffed, tossing a quick look at
her mother. "He spoke of you often, Don Diego."
"Kindly, I hope."
"Oh, yes," she stated promptly before smiling slyly at him. "Although I
could hardly say differently now, could I?"
"I suppose not," Diego agreed with a laugh. Both women joined in his amusement.
A throat being cleared loudly caught their attention and all three of them
glanced up to see Victoria standing there with a pot of the requested tea.
"Oh, gracias, señorita," said Señora Murillo. "We are
absolutely parched this morning. We just learned Don Diego was a friend of
my dear departed husband. Isn't that the most amazing coincidence?"
"Yes. Fascinating." Victoria's clipped answer was almost as abrupt as her
filling their mugs. She plopped a couple of silver containers on the table.
"Sugar and milk. Will there be anything else?" She had stashed her tray under
her arm, looking as if she couldn't wait to leave.
"Oh, this will be fine," replied Señora Murillo. She turned her gaze
back to Diego as she added a scoop of sugar to her tea as Victoria left in
a huff. "Don Diego, you must tell us all about the trouble you and my husband
got up to at university."
"There isn't much to tell, Señora," Diego declared before taking
a sip from his cup. "And you can just call me Diego."
"Oh, then you must call me Violetta," she said, reaching out and lightly
touching his arm.
Diego's mind began reeling from the intimate, flirtatious gesture. As politely
as he could, he jerked his arm away from her touch. "Very well, then," he
managed to say. "I'm sorry I lost contact with Antonio. I had no idea he had
even married."
"He was a terrible correspondent," said Violetta. "It doesn't surprise me
at all that you didn't know."
"Tell me how you two met," Diego suggested. Then appalled by his lack of
delicacy, he added, "unless, of course, it's too painful."
"Not at all," she replied. Violetta then launched into the tale of how she
had met his friend, which evolved into a discussion of Madrid and the university.
So absorbing was their conversation Diego didn't notice his father standing
next to him until Don Alejandro clamped a hand down on his shoulder.
"Diego, Felipe and I are heading back to the hacienda now," the old don
announced. "Are you coming with us?"
"Uh, no. I'm going to put a few hours in at the newspaper," Diego answered,
noting the other caballeros had already left. "A ship arrived at San Pedro
last night." Then realizing the elder de la Vega was staring expectantly at
the two ladies, Diego quickly introduced them.
"Charmed to have made your acquaintance, señoras," his father said,
raising Señora Gomez's hand to his lips. "Will you be in Los Angeles
for long?"
"We're not sure," Violetta responded, glancing at her mother. "We were just
passing through on our way to Monterey and remembered my late husband's old
friend lived here and thought we might call on him."
"Well, I hope you both enjoy your visit." Don Alejandro patted Diego on
the back. "Adios."
"Adios, Father."
The old don and Felipe departed the tavern, the elder de la Vega still a
little unsteady on his feet. Diego turned to his companions.
"Well, we won't keep you from your duties, Diego," said Violetta. "Mother,
let's take that stroll around this charming pueblo you suggested earlier."
"I could guide you, if you wish," Diego proposed before he could stop himself
from making the impetuous offer. The last thing he needed was to spend more
time in Señora Murillo's presence. She disturbed him in a way which
made him feel like he no longer had control of himself or his emotions.
"Oh, that's quite all right," said Señora Gomez. "I'm sure we can
find our way about. Come, hija."
The pair of women rose from their seats and gathered their belongings. Diego,
also got to his feet, then watched them as they, too, exited the building.
His whole body reacted as Violetta turned just as she was stepping out the
door and smiled at him. He shut his eyes, hoping to blot the tantalizing image
from his brain.
"You two seemed awful cozy."
Victoria's sarcastic comment broke through his failed attempt to clear the
beautiful young widow from his head. Diego opened his eyes to see the bitterness
marring the innkeeper's lovely face. "She was married to a friend of mine
from university," he explained. "We were merely speaking about our shared
knowledge of Antonio and of Madrid."
"Of course." She had been roughly placing the empty tea cups onto her tray
as he spoke. Without another word, she swirled and walked away. What was wrong
with her. . .? Diego's mouth fell open as he finally figured it out. She
was jealous!
"You're jealous," he blurted out.
She came to a halt before the curtained partition before whirling around
to face him. "What?" she replied indignantly. "Don't be sill. . ."
Diego's long legs covered the distance between them in just a couple of
steps. "I'm not being ‘silly' as you always so glibly put it," he said acidly.
"Why would I be jealous of you and that. . .that. . .?"
"The young beautiful widow of an old friend of mine?" Diego filled in the
blank for her before she insulted the good woman's character. "I could think
of a reason or two." He stared at her, willing her to admit she was indeed
envious of the fact another woman could be interested in him.
Victoria tossed her head contemptuously. "Is she beautiful? I didn't notice."
"You would have to be blind not to notice," he contended. His lips drew
up into a smirk. "I find her to be quite stunning myself. In fact, she rather
reminds of someone else. Someone I admire and respect."
"Oh." Setting the tray down onto the bar, she gazed up at him, her expression
quite taken aback. "You mean that woman you love, the one you told Zafira
about. I didn't realize you still. . .well. . ."
"Carried a torch for her?" Diego prompted again. He really ought to feel
like a cad for taunting her this way, but he was tired of her rapturous rambles
about Zorro on top of her rude dismissals of him as someone she could love.
It bothered him she couldn't see what was right in front of her.
Victoria stepped behind the counter, putting away the milk and sugar. "Don't
you have a paper to write or an experiment to do or something?" she asked
petulantly.
"Si," he replied, crossing his arms over his chest. "You haven't
answered my question though."
"Ha, as if I would," she said, slamming her tray back down on the bar. "Why
would I care who you want to spend your time with? It's certainly none of
my business."
"You're right, it isn't," Diego declared. "So why do you act so ill-tempered
any time a woman pays the slightest bit of attention to me."
"I. . .I. . ." Victoria stammered, her eyes snapping with anger. She thrust
her arm toward the door, pointing at it. "Get out. Just get out." She turned
away but then spun back around to glare at him. "And don't come back until
you apologize for your boorish behavior."
With that said, she stomped into the kitchen. Evidently he had struck a
nerve, one, if he was guessing correctly, she hadn't even known she had.
But she did have a point. He had behaved boorishly.
But an apology would have to wait. He had other important matters to deal
with first.
Z Z Z
It was over an hour later when a knock sounded upon the door of the Guardian.
His correspondent had arrived only moments after Diego had reached the office
himself, bringing several pages of notes and a handful of old newspapers the
ship's captain had given him. Diego had immediately set to perusing the information
to see what he could use in his next edition.
He wondered for a moment who could be disturbing him, but then remembered
he was expecting a parcel from Spain. It must have aboard the newly docked
ship, he surmised. Nearly a year ago, he had ordered a sword forged of Toledo
steel for Felipe. Luckily, it had arrived before the lad's eighteenth birthday
the following month. Diego knew the date was not Felipe's true birthday, but
the day he had found the frightened young boy alone on the battlefield. But
it was the day they had decided to celebrate the boy's passing years.
Rising from his desk, he strode over and opened the door. Señora
Murillo stood on the other side of the threshold. Diego took a step back,
as if warding off the enchantment the woman seemed to place on him whenever
she was near.
"Aren't you going to let me in, Diego?" she asked in a teasing tone.
He shook himself and moved out of the way. "Yes, of course," he replied,
holding the door wide. "Sorry."
The widow walked into the room, looking about as Diego close the door. Realizing
she must be searching for somewhere to sit down, he jumped over to a chair
piled high with books, and grabbed the stack into his arms.
"Please, have a seat," he offered, tipping his head toward the now empty
chair. Not waiting to see if she complied, Diego glanced about for a spot
to unload the tomes he was clutching. Spying a clear space on the floor near
his desk, he set the books down then turned to gaze at the señora once
more. He knew he should say something but he had no idea what. His trousers
began to grow tight and he plopped himself down behind his desk before he
embarrassed himself.
"Diego," she started. "I haven't told you the full story of why I'm here
in Los Angeles."
"So you're not just passing through?" Diego choked out. "And decided to
seek me out?"
"Oh, I definitely came here to seek you out," Violetta answered earnestly.
"I desperately need your help."
"I will certainly do all that I can," he assured her, "if it is in my power
to do so."
"I do so hope it is," the young widow said as she reached into her reticule
and pulled out an envelope. She paused before continuing "I need you to get
this letter to Zorro."