Renegade Love (Rancheros)

  Renegade Love

  by

  Donna Fletcher

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Renegade Love

  All rights reserved.

  Copyright 2013 by Donna Fletcher

  Cover art

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  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Titles

  About the Author

  Prologue

  1818 – California

  “Madre Dios! You’ve come home.” Alejandro Cesare stared at his son as though he was an apparition, a ghost returning from the dead.

  “Am I welcomed home, Father?” Esteban asked.

  Alejandro continued to stare, watching the way his son gripped the reins, ready to command the stallion he straddled if the answer should provoke. His deep voice was that of a stranger. There was no resemblance of the young, carefree boy that had been forcibly removed from his family sixteen years ago.

  “You hesitate, Father.”

  He spoke without sentiment and Alejandro nearly shivered from the chill of his icy demeanor. “You are more than welcomed home, my son, of that there is no doubt. The shock of your sudden return but catches my tongue and my senses. I have searched so long and hard for you and now... here you are.”

  “No longer the fourteen year old boy who was torn away from you.”

  That was obvious. Esteban was far from the skinny, young boy whose limbs had been too long and lanky for his thin frame. And who had born no trace of a manly chest, though he had strutted around in front of the young ladies as though he had.

  No, that young embolden boy was gone as were the lanky limbs replaced now by sheer muscle. He could strut now if he wanted to, his black shirt spread tight across a lean chest defined with muscles. While his appearance certainly impressed and stirred apprehension, it was his features that startled Alejandro the most.

  Esteban had sent the young senoritas hearts fluttering at an early age and Alejandro had only imagined what maturity would bring. However, Esteban had grown more handsome than Alejandro could have ever imagined, though he was not prepared for the cold hardness that accented his son’s stark, breath-catching features.

  His child, though child no more, who had laughed and smiled so often appeared completely devoid of emotion. What had happened to him? What had stolen his humanity?

  “It has been too long, my son,” Alejandro said aching to reach out and hug him tightly, so grateful was he that his son had finally come home. “I thank God you are home.”

  Esteban’s dark brows drew together in a scowl. “Let us see if you feel that way after you hear the details of my life these last sixteen years.”

  Sharp anger stung his words and Alejandro could not blame him. He, himself, had dealt with the never-ending guilt for not having protected his son the way he should have—and worse—for not having been able to find him all these years, though not for lack of trying.

  Alejandro stood tall, his shoulders drawn back, a lingering ache persisting in his right one. Age was creeping up on him. He’d be sixty in less than three years. He had prayed he would see his son before death took him and God had answered his never-ending prayers. He wanted to know all his son had suffered. But mostly he wanted to help heal him and see him laugh and smile again.

  “I want to hear everything,” Alejandro insisted.

  “Then I will tell you, Father,” Esteban said. “And you can tell me then if you truly welcome me home.”

  Chapter One

  Rosalita Mendez pulled with all her might to retrieve the water bucket from the community well. Her arms ached as did her back. She felt the stretch of each muscle with every yank of the rope, the sweltering heat making the laborious chore that more difficult.

  “Blisters again,” she sighed as the hemp line slid roughly along her hands.

  “Rosa, you complain when your job is so easy?” Marinda Chavez teased with a hearty laugh.

  A sad smile graced the delicate features of Rosa’s face. And even with wisps of her silky brown hair falling along her brow and a trace of perspiration touching her slender neck, her natural beauty still shined through.

  Marinda shook her head and spoke half in jest and half truthfully. “I hate you for being so beautiful.”

  Rosa opened her mouth to protest.

  “Don’t bother to deny it. Every woman in St. Lucita comments on your lovely face. And every man cannot keep their eyes off you. Your skin is clear and perfect like the angelic carved statues in the church and your body...” Marinda shook her head again. “What I wouldn’t give to be petite and slender like you.”

  “You are far from fat and besides Paco loves you just the way you are,” Rosa said after hefting the heavy water-filled bucket to sit on the edge of the well.

  With the mention of her new husband, Marinda beamed. “He tells me that I am a beautiful goddess who he will worship forever.”

  This time a happy smile appeared on Rosa’s face. She was truly pleased that her friend had found love. Paco Chavez had followed Marinda around like a love-starved puppy for months, claiming that he would wait for her forever. Forever hadn’t been long away. Paco’s irresistible charm had swept the robust Marinda off her feet, and they had wed two months ago.

  Marinda looked around the well at the other women. She waited until some of the older women walked away, their water jugs full, and the few younger women who lingered were deep in conversation before she whispered to Rosa, “I’m glad Paco wed me when he did. The search still goes on.”

  Rosa involuntarily shuddered. “Don Cesare has still not found a wife for his son?”

  Marinda shook her head and kept her voice low. “Who would want to marry Esteban Cesare, handsome though he may be?” Marinda crossed herself for protection before continuing. “It is said he had done unspeakable things during his sixteen years with Pacquito’s band of renegades.”

  Rosa could not help but feel a twinge of sympathy for Esteban Cesare. “It was not his fault that he was captured by renegades when he was fourteen years old.”

  “No, it wasn’t,” Marinda agreed. “But why did he stay with them these many years. Why didn’t he return as soon as escape was possible?”

  Rosa kept her thoughts to herself. She understood what it was like to be in a position where although escape s
eemed possible... it wasn’t.

  “I have heard that no decent family will accept Don Cesare’s generous marriage offer for his son. All the wealthy haciendas have closely guarded their daughters since his return and that now Don Cesare looks to the peasant people for a suitable wife.”

  Rosa raised her brow in question. “Don Alejandro would allow a peasant woman to marry his son?”

  “The gossips say he is desperate for his son to return to a normal life, marry, have children, and help run the wealthy Cesare lands. I suppose he hopes it will help bury his son’s sinful past and he would once again be accepted into their world.”

  “His son needs to heal... to forgive before he can forget.”

  “Forgive who?” Marinda asked always curious by Rosa’s strange responses.

  “Himself, of course,” Rosa answered as though it was common knowledge and everyone understood.

  Marinda’s voice dropped so low that Rosa had to lean closer to hear her. “Forgive himself for what... for all the vile things he has done?”

  “No,” —Rosa shook her head— “forgive himself for the strength it took him to survive. Few people would have such courage.”

  Audible, shocked gasps drew both their attentions and they looked up to see what had caused the startled cries.

  Don Alejandro and his son Esteban were riding in an open carriage through the center of St. Lucita at a slow pace. The shiny black and silver trimmed conveyance glittered in the morning sun. Don Alejandro waved and called out to friends, his smile broad, pleasant and sincere.

  Esteban sat straight and stiff as though prepared to battle any ill wind that blew his way. His demeanor was arrogant and unapproachable. But his handsome features caught the women’s breathes and sent their hearts beating rapidly.

  From the size of him compared to his father sitting beside him, he had to be several inches over six feet. And from the fit of his garments his body was well-honed. His black-as-night hair shined and was pulled back and tied with a leather string at the nape of his neck.

  The carriage neared Marinda and Rosa.

  “Don’t look into his eyes,” Marinda warned before lowering her head.

  But Rosa could not take her eyes off the handsome man that had had tongues wagging since his return and besides he looked straight ahead, as if he wasn’t the least interested in those around him.

  Don Alejandro waved to her, which she had expected since on several occasions business had brought him to the home of the family she resided with. Rosa smiled and waved recalling the older man’s warmth and friendliness.

  Esteban’s head turned then with a sharp snap and caught her eyes in such an intense grip that Rosa was held spellbound. It was as though his eyes penetrated her and she could feel the heat and fury contained within him as he stayed his glance, his head turning slowly to hold it there as the carriage continued on. It wasn’t until the conveyance disappeared around the end building that she was free of him.

  The breath, she hadn’t realized she had been holding, came out in a short gasp. Her knees turned so weak that Marinda grabbed her arm and helped her to lean against the well wall.

  “I warned you not to look at him,” Marinda scolded. “Now that you have cast your eyes upon evil, you will pay.”

  Rosa trembled from Marinda’s dire prediction or from Esteban’s potent look, she couldn’t be certain. She knew one thing though. She would not look upon his dark sinful eyes ever again.

  ~~~

  “The young woman interests you?” Don Alejandro asked shortly after the carriage pulled away from the St. Lucita Mission. As usual Esteban had refused to enter the church and Padre Marten had not encouraged him to do so. Until Esteban confessed his sins, the scared ground of the church was no place for him.

  Receiving no immediate answer Alejandro asked again, “The young woman... she interests you?”

  Esteban did not look at his father when he spoke. “I have no intentions of marrying... ever.”

  “It is your obligation as my son to marry and produce an heir,” Alejandro reminded patiently for what he felt must have been at least the hundredth time.

  Esteban turned his head slowly as his brow knit together in a frown and he spoke in a tone that always managed to send a chill through Alejandro. “I will not marry.”

  Alejandro stirred uncomfortably in his seat. “We will discuss—”

  “We have discussed enough!” Esteban snapped. This ridiculous idea his father had must be put to rest immediately. Marriage was not now or ever part of his life. “I have not taken another man’s orders for several years. You will do well to remember the things I have told you, Father, and cease this senseless search for a wife for me.”

  Alejandro gave a gentle shrug as though it was no burden. “Your mother and I only wish your happiness.”

  The one corner of Esteban’s mouth rose but a fraction. Alejandro had learned quickly that this slight, almost undetectable expression was what passed as a smile for his son. And laughter? He had heard none from his son since his return and it made him wonder if Esteban was even capable of ever laughing again.

  “I am happy, Father,” Esteban said not all convincingly.

  Alejandro could hold back no longer. “Happy? You barely speak to anyone. You never smile or laugh. You distance yourself from your mother whenever she approaches you. This is what you call happy?”

  Esteban had remained stoic throughout his father’s brief scolding. Even now no emotion clouded his face. “I have changed. If you and Mother find my change too difficult to accept, perhaps I should leave.”

  Alejandro’s hand flew to his chest, his heart skipping several beats and his breath catching. He could not lose his son a second time. He would be devastated not to mention his dear wife Valerianna’s reaction. It was unthinkable. He shook his head slowly, his expression sad. “Your mother and I love you and would be heartbroken if you were to leave us. We want only what is best for you.”

  “What is best,” Esteban emphasized, “is to leave me be.”

  Don Alejandro simply nodded in response and watched with little interest as the carriage turned onto Cesare property. His generous wealth laid spread around him. Vineyards of fresh grapes, orchards abundant with fruit, livestock enough to feed the entire valley, yet it all seemed unimportant at the moment. The only thing that concerned him was his son.

  “Rosalita Mendez is a sweet nina and talented.”

  Esteban stiffened considerably, and it brought a pleased smile to Alejandro’s lips. He had finally touched an emotional chord in his son, or perhaps Rosalita had.

  “She was so very delighted and grateful when I presented her with drawing charcoals and papers that she insisted on drawing a portrait of me. Your mother contended that Rosalita had captured my true nature, especially around the eyes.”

  Alejandro stopped, disappointed that he wasn’t holding his son’s attention. He recalled what best stirred a man’s interest in a woman. And smiled as he said, “Many of the young men fancy Rosalita.”

  That did it.

  Esteban turned with a snap to glare at his father. His voice remained controlled but his tone was hard. “And does she enjoy their favors?”

  Alejandro refused to allow his son’s caustic remark to disturb him. “She is a good girl and keeps them at a respectable distance.”

  “She wears a gentle smile,” Esteban said although Alejandro felt certain it was more a spoken thought not meant to be shared.

  “She is gentle and kind, truly a good woman,” Alejandro assured and tempted fate further with his next words. “Would you like to meet her?’

  Esteban remained silent as the carriage pulled into the circular entrance of the courtyard of the Cesare hacienda and stopped beside the fountain spurting water to the heaven.

  He stepped down out of the carriage and with deliberate slowness turned back around to catch his father’s hopeful look with his potent one. “She fears me. I can see it in her eyes, and she has good reason to,” —Esteban rai
sed his hand to stop his father from interrupting— “good reason, Father.”

  Esteban loosened the black slim tie at his throat and opened his shirt down to his waist, as if shedding the image of Don Cesare’s respectable son and returning to who he had been forced to become... a wild, merciless renegade. And his words proved it. “The moment I laid eyes on her I wanted her. My blood fired with uncontrollable lust, my groin throbbed and I thought of nothing more than stripping her naked and taking her like a wild stallion would take a mare.”

  Alejandro paled considerably.

  “I see that you needed reminding of what I have become. Keep the gentle nina away from me or she will suffer badly.” Esteban turned and walked away grumbling.

  Alejandro barely caught the last of his son’s words—she deserves better— and that gave him a ray of hope.

  He would contact Roberto Curro, Rosalita’s guardian, immediately. He was certain that the man would be most cooperative. It was well known that Roberto was more interested in coin than people. That was the only reason Roberto and his wife Lola had taken the twelve year old girl in seven years ago. Rosalita’s parents had passed away when fever had struck the town. There were whispered rumors that a padre from a nearby mission had paid Roberto to take the child in and care for her.

  Alejandro would offer a substantial amount for Rosalita. One that Roberto surely would not refuse, although he might demand more. But Alejandro was willing to pay a king’s ransom to buy his son a wife, especially one his son had found some interest in. He shuddered recalling his son’s sinful words from moments before. Esteban was not the barbarian he painted himself to be. Somewhere inside him was the respectful and caring son that he had raised and perhaps Rosalita could help set him free.

  He shook his head absentmindedly as he finally climbed down out of the carriage. Esteban would not hurt Rosalita. Never would he surrender to such wicked thoughts. Never.

  “Rosalita will make Esteban a good wife,” Alejandro murmured, as if saying it aloud would make it so. “She will help heal him.”

  Alejandro walked toward the door, his step a little lighter, but he stopped suddenly just before entering the house and crossed himself. “Please, Madre Dios, let it be so.”