Cowboy Enchantment

chapter Six


The battered, hacienda-style house, its adobe walls bleached the color of parchment by the sun, was partially hidden behind a windbreak of tamarisks. Hank had been working to refurbish the old house when time permitted, and he was there now to make a list of needed supplies.

“Is this place the source of the Rancho Encantado ghost?” Erica asked as they drew the horses to a stop at the end of the wooden veranda in front.

“If so, I wish he’d take more of an interest in the hacienda’s upkeep. I could use another pair of hands around here.” His tone was ruefully amused.

“Want me to wait while you go inside?”

“No, I’ll show you around. It’s interesting to see how the people lived, ghost or no ghost.”

As Hank helped her dismount, he told her that the Iversons, Dan and Betsy, were a young couple when they had homesteaded here around 1910.

“They wanted to farm but couldn’t make a go of it. Cattle and sheep had been brought in by miners in the 1860s, and they’d break through the farmers’ fences and destroy their crops. After several years of drought, the farmers mostly went to work in the mines. Finally there were full-fledged range wars, farmers fighting the ranchers, ranchers hating the farmers. The ranchers won, and soon the Iversons moved away.”

“That’s too bad.”

Hank looped the horses’ reins over the old hitching post. “You could say that. On the other hand, Dan went to work at a tungsten mine and in his spare time managed to uncover a rich silver vein in a nearby mountain. He became a wealthy man, one of the pillars of Carson City. He sometimes said that the best thing that ever happened to him was not succeeding as a farmer.”

Erica, while listening to Hank speak, noticed that the front door to the adobe house hung open. “Don’t you lock the door?” she wanted to know.

He chuckled. “This isn’t the city, Erica. No one bothers this place.”

Inside, a wide arched fireplace, its odor reminiscent of long-ago fires, occupied one wall of the large front room. The walls wore a coat of fresh white paint, and empty paint cans sat in one corner.

Hank pushed his hat back and cocked his hands on his hips as he surveyed the paint job, the narrow metal cot in one corner covered with a colorful serape, the handhewn wood of the table beside the door.

“Who uses this house?”

“I used to come here when I wanted to be alone. That’s how I became interested in refurbishing it for Justine.”

“It’s primitive now, but it could be beautiful.”

He smiled in agreement. “It has potential.”

While Hank hauled empty paint cans out to the garbage heap out back, Erica wandered into the kitchen, which contained an old wood-burning stove, a sandstone sink and a massive oak table. While she was studying the cobwebs in the overhead beams, Hank reappeared in the doorway. “Come with me. I want to show you what’s in one of the back rooms.”

She followed Hank down a hall to a series of rooms that had probably been used as bedrooms when the house was inhabited.

“Justine piled old furnishings here when she let some construction workers live here last summer while they built an addition on the Big House,” he told her. “Look, there’s an antique pine bedstead, and there are three or four humpbacked trunks. There’s crockery, too, in that beatup crate.”

The crate had been pried open, the cover tossed nearby. When she looked she saw that the dishes inside were of various patterns—blue willow, one with a border of daisies, some with a heavy green glaze. Erica wondered about the people who had once lived here. These dishes would have been part of their daily lives.

While she tried without success to pry open the lid of one of the old trunks, Hank disappeared into the next room. She heard him opening and closing a window as he whistled to himself. The light and shadow that the late-afternoon light streaming through the window cast on the jumble of furnishings would make an interesting still life, she thought, so she readied her camera and photographed the scene from several different angles.

When Hank returned, he was making notations on a pad of paper. “The windows in this place are in bad shape,” he said.

Erica slid her camera back in its case. “How often do you come here?”

“On weekends usually.” He tucked the notepad into his pocket.

Erica was mindful of the weekend coming up. Somehow the image of a cowboy repairing a run-down building on his time off did not seem appropriate; shouldn’t he be frequenting the local watering holes and chatting up cowgirls?

“It relaxes me to work with my hands,” he said, apparently feeling some need for explanation.

A wind sprang up outside in a whirl of dust and tumbleweed, pushing back the door of the front room to gain admittance, funneling off toward the kitchen in a merry whoosh and becoming no more than a caress on Erica’s skin by the time it reached the back bedroom where she and Hank stood. She felt the caress in the same breath that Hank mentioned working with his hands, and the wind whispered as it spiraled past the little whorls in her ear, You could find him something more personal to do with his hands. She saw those hands as they would be if he reached out and curved them around her breasts, and for a moment it seemed as if she could feel their heat and their strength. Her nipples firmed beneath her new yellow flannel shirt at the thought, and the wind, having accomplished its mission, settled down at her feet with a contented sigh.

“Better close these windows,” Hank said, moving to do so while Erica agitatedly hurried into the living room to do absolutely nothing but shiver in what she thought was anticipation. But anticipation for what? Even though she was sure he had almost kissed her yesterday after her riding lesson, he had shown no sign of being physically attracted to her today. She was imagining things. She was making things up. She was so accustomed to having her brain brim full of things to do, was always rushing from one place to another, that when there was extra time to be filled, she filled it by daydreaming about things that weren’t happening. Could never happen. In a million years.

Now Hank was sauntering out of the bedroom, and he was stark naked.

Omigosh.

And then her eyes refocused, and she saw that he was fully clothed. He wasn’t anywhere near naked. This was another figment of her imagination, and she’d better put a stop to it. But how? She had been imagining her perfect cowboy all of her adult life, and now that she’d found him, who could blame her for giving her imagination full rein?

She turned away, but he reached out and stopped her by casually resting a hand on her shoulder. When she thought about what she’d just imagined that hand could do, she felt a blush creep up the sides of her neck, the warmth of it staining her cheeks.

He did not seem to notice. “Let’s go out back for a minute.”

He didn’t say why, and she didn’t question. It was enough to know that he was enjoying her company enough to want to spend extra time with her.

In the back of the house was a tumbledown wooden shed. “This was where the Iversons kept their farm animals,” he said. To one side a trickle of water dribbled from a pipe into a basin made of a hollowed-out rock. A tin cup on a chain dangled from the pipe. “You can taste the water if you like,” he said.

She held the cup under the water until she had collected enough to drink. The water was surprisingly cool. “Tastes a little salty,” she said after a sip.

“It is,” Hank agreed. “But okay to drink.”

While Hank stacked flowerpots in the old shed, she took a few pictures of the light and shadow playing across its weatherbeaten boards. By the time the sun tinged the snowy mountain peaks pink in the distance, they were ready to leave.

She remained quiet on the way back to the ranch. The square dance was tonight, and Hank hadn’t mentioned it. As they rode into the stable yard, she was mulling over whether she should ask him if she’d see him there, but before she decided, Cord McCall strode out of the feed room.

“Hank, where you been?”

“We’ve just come from the Iverson place. It’s time to fix those windows.” Hank swung down from Whip’s back, but before he could reach Erica to help her dismount, Cord had reached for Melba’s bridle.

Erica dismounted on her own. Cord gave her a curt nod and led Melba into her stall. Not knowing what else to do, Erica tagged along.

“Hank, I’ll help you rub the horses down, and then you and me need to sit down and figure out our purchasing requirements for the stable,” Cord said.

“I’ll need to make sure Justine isn’t tired of looking after Kaylie,” Hank said. “I was planning to go over to the Big House.”

Cord looked disgruntled. “I’ve only got a few minutes until I have to be on the road,” he said. “I was hoping we could settle things before I go.”

“I’ll check with Justine about Kaylie,” Erica said. “If you like.”

Hank seemed to notice her for the first time since they’d ridden in. “Would you? I’d be grateful. Tell Justine I’ll be there as soon as we finish up here.”

Erica set off for the Big House, not minding the errand. Since she had her camera with her, she’d use this opportunity to snap some shots of Murphy. If Kaylie was available, she’d take some photos of her, as well.

But she wouldn’t ask Justine if Hank was going to the dance. Her pride wouldn’t let her.

AN HOUR OR SO after he arrived back at the ranch, Justine was fixing Hank with a no-nonsense glare. “What do you mean you don’t want to go to the dance tonight?”

Hank shifted his weight to his other foot. “I want to take Kaylie off your hands.”

“Don’t be silly, Hank. We have a whole lot of women who are going to need partners tonight, pardner.”

Hank unwrapped a fresh cookie from its cellophane wrap and handed it to his daughter, whose eyes lit up as she grabbed it. “The last job I had, they didn’t expect me to work all day and dance all night,” he said glumly. Still, he’d bet Erica was going to be at the square dance.

“The last job you had didn’t provide free baby-sitting,” Justine said tartly. “Anyway, was it really work to take a leisurely trail ride with Erica today?”

“Not exactly,” he admitted. “Hey, did she put you up to this?”

“To what?”

“To insisting I go to the dance.”

“No. She delivered the message that you’d be here soon and took Murphy for a run so she could take some pictures of him. We did not discuss you. You like her, don’t you?” Justine’s sideways glance was mischievous.

“I didn’t say that,” Hank said, but he couldn’t stop a grin from spreading across his face. He quickly quelled it.

“I saw that smile,” Justine said. She poked him in the ribs. “You’re ready to rejoin the dating scene at last, I’d say.”

“Did I mention anything about dating?” he said, dancing out of her reach.

“No, but that doesn’t mean much.”

“So what if I do indulge in a minor flirtation?”

Justine sobered up at that. “Don’t go breaking hearts, Hank. It’s not good for business. It’s not good for anyone. If you and Erica want to enjoy yourselves in any and every way, it isn’t any business of mine, but…”

He nailed her with a meaningful look. “You’ve got that right. It isn’t any of your business. So let’s not talk about it, okay?”

“Erica’s a nice person. I’ve been hearing about her from Charmaine for years, and Char’s worried about her. She says she’s too uptight and she needs this vacation. She doesn’t need a broken heart.”

“I’m not planning on breaking any hearts.”

“Go easy on Erica. That’s all I’m asking.”

“I get the message. You don’t mind keeping Kaylie here all night?”

Justine swept Kaylie up into her arms, gummy cookie and all. Kaylie giggled and Justine grinned. “Do I mind? I’d love it!”

Justine had been good to him and to his family. Hell, she was good to everyone.

“All right, I guess I’ll go get my dancing shoes on.”

“You’d better show up in full cowboy regalia.”

“You’ve almost convinced me that I’m a real cowboy,” he said, handing Kaylie her bottle of juice.

“You are, you are,” said Justine. “By the way, there’s a stack of mail for you on the hall table.”

“I’ll grab it on my way out.”

The mail was all junk except for a white envelope bearing the logo of Rowbotham-Quigley. He picked it up and turned it over, hesitating for a few seconds before he stuffed it deep in his back pocket.

Wouldn’t you know that just when he was beginning to feel like a real cowboy, his firm would remind him that he wasn’t? Well, he was a cowboy for the moment, anyway. He might as well enjoy it to the hilt.

AS SHE DRESSED for the dance, Erica realized that the necklace that Charmaine had given her, the gold disk engraved with her initials, was missing. She looked around her suite, hoping to find it on the floor, but it wasn’t there. She tried to think of when she’d worn it, and to the best of her recollection, she’d felt it swinging at her throat as she repositioned the still life of discarded items in the hacienda earlier. Perhaps she’d lost it there, in which case she would go back and look for it as soon as the opportunity presented itself.

The blue light on the phone blinked, signifying a call. It was Natalie, phoning to see if she was ready to leave for the dance. “Want to walk over with us?” she asked.

“Sure, meet you in the courtyard.” Erica flung a sweater around her shoulders and stepped outside.

The cactus garden in the middle of the courtyard was brightly illuminated tonight by the full moon, and since Natalie and Shannon had not emerged yet, she sat down to wait on the bench facing it. The cacti were beautiful in a strange, unearthly way, bathed as they were in moonlight. You could almost imagine that they were people, giant arms outstretched above their…Was that a man standing among the cacti? A portly man with his arms extended in an attitude of benediction?

Surely not. Erica blinked, sure that her contact lenses were distorting her vision. But no. It really was a man among the cacti, a man wearing a robe like a monk’s. He wore a benevolent smile and opened his mouth as if to speak. She stared, unable to look away, and waited to see what he was going to say.

“Erica? Are you sure that sweater will keep you warm enough?”

She leaped to her feet and whirled around, but it was only Natalie approaching from the direction of her room. Shannon was close behind her.

“Goodness, Erica, you look as if you’ve seen a ghost! Is anything wrong?”

Erica looked back at the empty cactus garden and then at Natalie and Shannon. She was too astonished to speak. She was sure there’d been a man standing in the middle of the cactus garden. But who would take up occupancy of a cactus garden in any circumstance? It was bound to be uncomfortable. Unless he really was a ghost. Uneasily, she thought of Padre Luis.

“Don’t mind me,” Erica managed to say. “I was lost in thought, I guess.”

“Well, you can stop thinking. The nightlife here isn’t exactly Planet Hollywood, but we’re going to have a great time.”

Still shaken, and with one last backward look, Erica left with them, unwilling to believe that the ghostly image among the cacti had been anything but one of her flights of fancy. She resolutely put the episode out of her mind and made herself focus on the evening ahead.

When they arrived at the recreation hall, they found that it had been adorned with fluttering multicolored strips of crepe paper. A bar along the side was decorated with Rancho Encantado memorabilia, and an old-time jukebox lit up one corner. Colored bulbs aimed at a revolving mirrored ball above the dance floor sent bright flashes of light arcing around the room.

Shannon seemed to have the scoop on all the cowboys in attendance and was more than willing to dish. “See the tall guy with the scar on his chin? That’s Cord McCall, the ranch manager.”

“I’ve met him. He seems grumpy.”

Shannon lowered her voice. “The scuttlebutt is that Justine is frantic to replace him. Cord saved the working operation of this ranch from going down the tubes, but he might quit at any time. He’s unhappy with his job.”

“I know the feeling,” Erica replied, realizing guiltily that she hadn’t worried once about the Gillooley deal since she’d been here.

“Also, Cord McCall keeps taking off for Nevada, and everybody thinks he’s hanging out at Miss Kitti-Kat’s Teahouse, which isn’t really a teahouse, if you know what I mean.” Shannon laughed.

“Who is the guy standing next to Cord?”

“He’s called Stumpy, we can only guess why.”

Shannon went on naming names until Erica was ready to ask her to cease and desist, but she didn’t mention the one that Erica was most eager to hear. Finally Shannon said wryly, “As for Hunk, he’s off being hunky somewhere else, I guess. I don’t see him here.”

Despite telling herself all along that Hank probably wouldn’t show up, Erica was swept with disappointment. Well, what had she expected? Hank had been away from Kaylie all day. As much as she longed to see him, to dance with him tonight, it pleased Erica that her cowboy was a conscientious father. It was something else to admire about him.

People began to form up squares, and one cowboy, Vernon, asked Erica to join a square where Tony, the van driver, and Sue, the personal shopper, were the lead couple. Vernon was good-humored and knew his allemande lefts from his do-si-dos. To his credit, he didn’t step on her toes once, even though she wasn’t giving the dance her full attention, glancing frequently at the door.

She had been there an hour or more before finally Hank walked in. She melted immediately at the sight of his lean body lounging against a pillar as he surveyed the scene. When he caught her eye, his face broke out in a smile. It was all she needed, that smile, to feel an emotional electricity jump across the wide space that separated them, sizzling her sensitive nerve endings and making her want to—Well! He linked his thumbs in his belt loops, spared her a brief nod and headed toward the bar.

Chuck, her partner, chose that moment to make a clever remark, but Erica couldn’t have repeated it even if someone had offered her a million dollars. She merely smiled and craned her neck for a better view of Hank.

The band decided to take a break, and Chuck returned her to the table where Shannon and Natalie were sitting with Sal, who was amusing onlookers by ripping beer bottle tops off with his teeth. Hank had disappeared from the bar. Had he left? Erica hadn’t been watching the door, but there were several exits, the nearest one leading out onto the long porch ranging along the back of the building.

I hope he hasn’t left, she told herself. If he has, I wish he’d come back.

No sooner had her thoughts shaped themselves into a wish than Hank materialized at her elbow, almost as if she’d conjured him up.

“May I get you something to drink?”

She shook her head. Shannon and Natalie sat with their mouths hanging open, seemingly astonished that the man they called Hunk had, apparently of his own free will, chosen to talk to Erica.

He pulled a chair alongside Erica and straddled it, resting his arms along the back. “Having a good time?”

She was of half a mind to say that she was having a much better time now that he was there, but the other half of her mind came up with “Yes, I am. I thought you’d be home with Kaylie tonight.”

He shrugged and took another swig of beer. “I couldn’t pry her loose from her devoted aunt. She’s keeping her for the night.”

“They seem to like each other.”

“That’s true.” The band filed back onto the bandstand and picked up their instruments. “Would you like to dance?” he asked.

Would she like to dance? Did a horse have four legs? Were the mountains high, was water wet? She nodded and he took her hand.

The mirrored ball overhead sent rainbow refractions of light across the walls, floor and ceiling, and the large rec hall was transformed into a dream world of light and color. She turned to face Hank and rested her hand on his shoulder, embarrassed that her right palm was sweaty and hoping he wouldn’t notice. As the band struck up a waltz, Hank guided her onto the floor, and her feet began to move in predictable patterns. She hadn’t waltzed in…oh, it seemed like a million years. When she went to parties in New York, there were often bands, but she usually spent the time with her fingers clamped around the stem of one wet cocktail glass after another, listening earnestly to fat bald men who either pumped her for information or pontificated on some topic for her enlightenment.

She’d always been sure that her perfect cowboy would know his way around a dance floor, and she was not disappointed. His eyes glinting with pleasure, Hank pulled her closer and she closed her eyes in pure delight. This whole scenario seemed like the answer to many prayers offered up in desperation over the years.

Kaylie would be at Justine’s all night long. Hank would not have to put her to bed, get up with her when she cried, change diapers or fill bottles.

What better time to embark on a fling? The only thing left for her to do was to convince Hank that she was the one he wanted.

HANK RESTED his cheek against a cloud of honey-blond hair that happened to be attached to the woman he had so recently begun to admire in spite of himself.

Erica Strong, he said to himself. Erica Strong. He even liked the sound of her name. He liked her forthrightness, her serious and wholehearted way of listening to what he had to say, the funny little line between her eyes when she was thinking something over. She was so different from Lizette and the other women he knew in New York. They were all, without exception, trendy and flippant and into themselves. They talked about their analysts, their jobs, their girlfriends. They made it clear that they didn’t need a man, although they certainly seemed to want one.

Erica never mentioned her neuroses, her work or friends. Unlike the women he knew back in the city, she seemed unfailingly sweet and sympathetic. He could imagine rescuing her from the path of a steaming locomotive. She seemed like someone who would welcome his help and protection. Still, he thought he should perhaps try to find out if she was like all those other women.

“What kind of work do you do?” he asked her.

She jumped slightly as if startled. “I work for McNee, Levy and Ashe. Investment bankers.”

He knew the company. Erica, he figured, might be an administrative assistant or something along those lines. He was prepared to inquire further about her job when the music stopped and the band immediately broke into a rollicking polka. His question forgotten, it took only a few seconds for him to change gears, and then they were circling the floor along with the other couples.

There was little opportunity for talking when the dancing was so energetic, and at the end of the dance, the band segued right into another polka. When that one was over, Erica offered up a scintillating smile. His arms involuntarily tightened around her, and he had the wistful thought that he didn’t want to let her go. He couldn’t recall when he had ever enjoyed one of these dances so much.

“I’ll take you up on that offer to buy me a drink,” Erica said, and he laughed. Then, his arm around her waist, he found a table for two in the shadows. He gestured to Paloma, who was working as one of the waitresses tonight. He wasn’t surprised to see her here. She was working as much as she could so that she and her fiancé could get married as soon as possible.

Paloma’s pencil was poised over her order pad. “Yes, Hank?”

“I’ll have another beer, Paloma. What would you like, Erica?”

In her daydreams, Erica always ordered a margarita, so she ordered one now. Paloma smiled at them and disappeared toward the bar.

“That’s Kaylie’s baby-sitter,” Hank told her.

“She works two jobs?”

“Paloma is saving her money so that she and Miguel, her boyfriend since high school, can get married.”

“She must be very industrious,” Erica said, but she didn’t really want to talk about Paloma. She traced a damp circle, left by someone else’s glass, on the shiny tabletop. She wished she could work the conversational direction around to Hank again. There were many more things she wanted to know about him—how he had come to work for Rancho Encantado, where he intended to go if he left. She surmised that he planned to leave eventually; she could hardly imagine that he would want to go on working for Justine forever.

“You look very lovely tonight,” he said.

“Oh,” she said, at a loss. “Sue, my wardrobe consultant, talked me into buying this outfit at the gift shop.”

“Erica,” he said gently, “don’t you know how to take a compliment?”

“I…well, I don’t hear too many of them,” she admitted, and then she cursed herself silently for telling him that. She didn’t want him to think that other men didn’t find her desirable. In fact, they did. She had dates, when she found the time. Underlying these thoughts was the knowledge that she was more a convenience to the men she dated than a companion. They called her when they needed something, like a respectable partner for a dinner party or a fill-in when someone else couldn’t make it or even when they wanted sex. They didn’t call her because they wanted her, Erica, for her very own self.

Unbidden tears sprang to her eyes, and she tried to blink them away before Hank saw them. Too late; her head was angled downward, and one fell smack-dab into the middle of the damp ring on the tabletop.

He noticed. “Erica, is something wrong?”

She shook her head and squeezed her eyes closed, thinking that when she opened them, Hank would be gone like all the other daydreams, like all the past cowboys who were figments of her imagination.

But when her eyes opened, he was still there, and he was looking concerned and caring and perplexed.

At that moment Paloma walked up with the beer and the margarita and set the drinks down in front of them.

Hank felt a little tremor of anxiety at the sight of that single tear. He had thought that she was the kind of woman he had always wanted to meet. Now here was this tear, and it might indicate—in fact, probably did indicate—that she had come to the ranch like so many other women to get over a love affair gone wrong.

He didn’t need the problems a woman like that could bring to his life. He didn’t need problems, period. He would have gotten up and excused himself in as mannerly a way as possible except that he had really developed an affinity to Erica Strong. He liked her. His liking went beyond that to include something more akin to lust, but beginner lust, not a full-blown case of it. Perhaps it wasn’t too late to nip this relationship in the bud.

Only how to nip it when he wanted to see it in full bloom? Plus, he didn’t want to be the cause of another tear falling on the tabletop. Once started, those tears were hard to stop. He knew all about that.

Whatever the problem, there seemed to be no more tears, only a wistfulness he found most appealing. “Will you dance with me again?” he asked gently, and she nodded.

The band was playing something slow, and a few of the couples on the floor were barely moving at all. This was the time of the evening when people paired up, slipping off two by two toward the guest quarters. What about him? He had never paired off with a guest at one of these dances, though not because there hadn’t been the opportunity. He’d always told himself he wasn’t interested.

“Hank?” Erica was standing beside him now, her shoulders pale in the dim light, and she held out her hand. When he took her hand in his, he felt the softness of her palm, imagined the warmth of her breasts beneath his cupped hands. A quiver of excitement raced up his spine and down again to a much more relevant part of his anatomy, and to save himself the embarrassment of anyone’s noticing, he turned to Erica and took her in his arms.

She gave a long-drawn-out sigh of anticipation. Or was it satisfaction? Her curves—and she did have curves—melded to the hard planes of his body, and he slid both arms around her waist. It was as if he had always known how she would feel in his arms, as if she were made to fit. She pressed her face against his shoulder, settling in there, and he buried his face in her fragrant hair. It smelled of honeysuckle, his favorite scent since he was a child, and he imagined what it would be like to wake up to that scent.

When the music ended, they didn’t want to break apart. Hank wanted to go on holding her until the room and the noise and the confusion of other people faded away, until it was only the two of them.

“Let’s get some air,” he said unevenly, leading her out a nearby door to the secluded side porch overlooking the palm grove. The breeze rustled the palm fronds and ruffled her hair. A full moon spilled its light over the scene. Erica gazed up at him, her eyelids half-closed, and he realized with a start that this was the fulfillment of a daydream he’d had more times than he could count.

He was always on the porch outside the recreation hall with a gal who wore a white, low-necked peasant blouse and a short, full red skirt. The skirt was the same skirt Erica wore tonight. Exactly as in the daydream, her breasts were lush and partially exposed; they shone pale in the moonlight.

Standing on the step below her, he glanced up at her, smoldering with desire. “Erica, let’s slip away together. Let’s find a place where we can be alone.”

Again, exactly as in the daydream, Erica slid a look back through the open door, where couples were gliding beneath the crepe-paper streamers. “We’ll be missed.”

It was his dream come true, down to the smallest detail. He felt a rightness and inevitability about this as he had about nothing else in his life. As he had so many times in his fantasies, Hank ran a bold hand up the inside of her leg. “We can be back before anyone notices. Let’s—”

The door behind them opened suddenly and slammed closed. A clatter of footsteps made them both whirl around. A harsh female voice exclaimed, “Well, it took me long enough to find you! Are you glad to see me?”

Hank blinked in disbelief at the woman with the geometrical haircut and high cheekbones. At the same time, his daydream popped like a burst bubble. Erica gaped at the apparition before them.

Unfortunately the apparition was no dream. It was real.

“Hello, Lizette,” Hank said with tired resignation. “How in the world do you happen to be at Rancho Encantado?”

Padre Luis Speaks…

AH, ERICA. Now I see you, my child. When you cried, you became real. Despite the different hair, different eyes, different figure, different clothes, you let Hank see the person you really are.

Children, you are on the right track. I know you cannot hear me. I still don’t have my voice. But at this moment, it is not so important.

What is important is love. Love! I am only a humble priest, but this is what I know. I hope and pray that you will know it, too.

I wish I could leave my office. It is difficult to be so confined. But do you know, I am getting quite accustomed to the cactus plants. At certain times of the year, they grow beautiful flowers. Who would think that among the sharp thorns, a lovely flower could bloom?

The cactus is like our lives. Thorny, but occasionally blossoming into moments of great beauty. How delightful that I have learned this lesson! Truly, truly God blesses us all.