Paloma and the Horse Traders Read Online Free Page A

lightened her mind,
taken up with worry for her husband. “Remember how we promised
ourselves in May that we would do this very thing?” she asked
Eckapeta, as they walked to the horse barn, swinging Soledad
between them. “ Mira , here is August.” She laughed. “Pray I
do not imagine one hundred tasks I should be doing today, as soon
as we are out of sight of the rancho .”
    “ Would you wish yourself single,
starving, and under the thumb of your uncle in Santa
Fe?”
    “ You know I would not!”
    Paloma stood still while Eckapeta lifted her
small son into the cradleboard already on her back, the one that
Eckapeta had brought back from Palo Duro last winter.
    As the Indian woman steadied her, Paloma put
foot to stirrup and swung herself and her son onto the back of her
quiet mare. The saddle was Comanche, too, and comfortable. She had
thought about dressing in her Comanche deerskin, with its
convenient, thigh-high slits for riding, but reasoned that there
were no men along, so no one would stare if she raised her skirt
high.
    No man around except Emilio, who merely rolled
his eyes, then handed up Soledad to sit snugly in front of
Eckapeta. Telling them to keep an eye on the sun’s passage, he
walked back through the open gates, the little yellow dog in his
arms. After Andrés’ sad death caused by smallpox inoculation two
years ago, the dog had turned his loyalty to the new mayor
domo .
    Paloma looked back at the Double Cross. It had
taken several years for her to grasp that what was Marco’s was
hers, too. She waved to the guard, who patrolled the ledge along
the high wall, then turned her attention to the fields, where late
corn still grew. The barley had been cut, along with what little
wheat Marco had planted—just enough for their own use.
    The sheep and their growing lambs grazed under
the watchful care of two shepherds and their black and white dogs.
The mature sheep had been shorn in May, their wool clips packed
into bales and stored, ready for the Santa Fe market in the fall.
Another season was turning, leading to winter, when bitter cold,
wind, and snow would scour the harsh landscape.
    No fears, though, because Paloma knew she would
be warm and safe inside the walls of the Double Cross, kept there
in comfort by the dearest man in her entire universe. She would
knit and sew, and tend their children, and rest, so another baby
could grow. In love already with this child she could not see, she
patted her belly.
    Eckapeta’s chuckle told Paloma that her dear
friend had seen the gesture. “Am I silly?” Paloma asked, suddenly
shy.
    “ No. You will pat and caress and
talk to the one inside, and he or she will come out already well
loved, as Claudio did.”
    As the women exchanged a glance, Paloma felt an
unexpected wrench, wishing her mother and father and her brothers,
long dead now, could know of her great fortune, or at the very
least, know that she was alive and well. Does this longing ever
go away? she asked herself as they headed toward the fork in
the road.
    The perfect spot was as perfect as ever, and
only half a league from the hacienda, a gentle slope to the river
but little used because it was all Marco’s land. After a few
minutes, the horses were grazing nearby, and Soledad was heading to
the river, towing along Eckapeta.
    Claudio clapped his hands when Paloma took him
from the cradleboard. Sitting on her lap, he nuzzled her breast,
letting her know he wanted to nurse. With a small sigh, she handed
him an earthenware cup and poured in a few finger’s worth of goat’s
milk.
    He gave her a look that combined equal measures
of dismay and then acceptance, because he was thirsty, and in
truth, he already knew that drinking from a cup was easier. He took
the cup and drank deeply, all the while assuaging her heart as he
leaned against her, secure in his world, even if Mama had decided,
for some reason, that his nursing days were over.
    When he finished, she took his hand and led him
to the river,