pulled the blanket door-covering aside, and he saw to his surprise Tess had not complied with Delgado’s command—instead of wearing her glorious, red hair down, it was drawn up in an elegant chignon held in place by decorative combs. Was it meant to be a subtle bit of defiance?
Good for you, he cheered inwardly, but then he saw how the hairstyle, coupled with the simple drawstring neckline of the camisa, left an enticing amount of her neck and shoulders bare for a man’s gaze. And perhaps she hadn’t noticed the subtle hints of Alma’s perfume that clung to the fabric. Sandoval smothered a groan. He was going to have his work cut out for him to protect Tess Hennessy without appearing to do so.
“The photographs are ready,” she said, pointing to where they lay, pinned to a drying board on the earthen floor. “Should I bring them?”
Sandoval shook his head. “No, let’s wait until after the meal,” he suggested. When we might need a diversion to distract Delgado from your very lovely self, he thought.
“I can always go get them for you,” he said.
“And leave me alone with him? Don’t you dare.”
He saw that beneath her bravado, she was nervous. “Very well,” he agreed. “We can send Delores for them.”
Delgado opened his door—a real door—before they even had a chance to knock. “Good evening, Miss Hennessy,” he said smoothly, beckoning them inside. “And to you, too, Sandoval, of course. But you put your hair up, señorita!”
“I’m sorry, but my hair is just so thick and heavy, and it’s so very hot. I hope you don’t mind,” she said.
“Mind? Of course not!” Delgado exclaimed, and Sandoval saw that he, too, was unable to take his eyes from her graceful neck and shoulders. “I want above all things that you should be comfortable here, Señorita Tess. And it happens that I have just the thing for you,” he added, crossing the room to a mahogany desk and opening a drawer. When he turned around, he held out an object to her—an ivory-handled fan.
“A gift for you, Señorita Tess,” Delgado murmured, watching in patent delight as she opened it and admired the hand-painted floral design revealed when she unfurled it. The breeze she created with the fan fluttered the fiery-red, curling tendrils about her forehead.
“Oh, but I could not accept such a lovely thing. I’ll just use it while I am here tonight.”
“Nonsense, I want you to have it,” the outlaw leader insisted. “Now come, dinner awaits you. I hope it will be to your liking.”
Delgado gestured toward one end of a long, rectangular table lit by long beeswax tapers flickering in a pair of silver candelabra. Three place settings of elaborately painted china, heavy silverware, and cut-glass goblets stood at the ready. A nearby sideboard was heaped with an array of savory-smelling dishes.
Delgado held a chair for Tess on his right and indicated that Sandoval was to take the seat on his left, so that Sandoval was sitting opposite her. Delores came forward and filled the cut-glass crystal goblets with claret from a crystal decanter.
“I…Would it be possible for me to have water instead, please, Mr. Delgado?” Tess asked, looking uneasily at the blood-red liquid. “I…I don’t drink spirits, you see.”
Delgado blinked. “You are…how do you say it? A teetotaler? I see,” he said when she nodded shyly. “Delores! Agua para la señorita, por favor,” he said, and the old woman came forward with another glass and a pitcher. “That is most commendable, señorita.” He turned to Sandoval. “I think we should toast our lovely guest, do you not? ¡Salud!” he said, lifting his glass, and Sandoval did likewise. “To our guest, Tess Hennessy, a long and happy life!”
Sandoval watched as a faint flush of color rose up Tess’s cheeks. “Thank you,” she said, leaving her eyes downcast. Sandoval suspected she had never been toasted before in her life, and marveled at the blindness of Anglo men.
“Delores has surpassed herself tonight,” Delgado announced, indicating the dishes on the sideboard. “We have chicken with mole sauce, which I warn you is rather spicy, carne asada, ensalada guacamole, as well as the usual black beans and rice.”
“All of this is for the three of us?” Tess asked, her eyes wide.
“Sí, to celebrate your arrival. Of course, my table does not look like this every night, you understand,” Delgado told her, obviously reveling in being the bountiful host. “On nights when we have come home late from a raid, I am lucky to get a bowl of warm soup, eh, Delores?”
The stolid-faced old woman nodded.
“Please, allow me to place a sampling of the dishes on your plate,” Delgado said to Tess, “and when you have decided what you like, you must have more, eh? But save room for dessert at the end,” he warned.
“Only a little, please,” Tess pleaded. “At home we do not have such a big meal at night.”
“Ah, but at home you do not sleep through lunch, do you?” Delgado asked with a chuckle. “Don’t worry. I like a woman with a hearty appetite.”
Sandoval saw Tess dart a look at Delgado that plainly said, “I don’t care what kind of woman you like,” but Delgado was concentrating on serving her and didn’t see it. Once he had placed the plate in front of her, she hesitated, and Sandoval thought she was waiting for Delgado and himself to make their selections, too. But when they had both done so, she still did not lift her fork. Surely she wasn’t refusing to eat? But then he saw her duck her head and close her eyes for a moment, and realized she was silently saying grace.
How long had it been since he had thanked God for what he put in his mouth? Pilar had always been the one to bless the family dinners.
He saw that Delgado had also noticed what she was doing. Then Tess raised her head, and both men picked up their knives and forks and pretended they had not been watching her.
“Tell me about yourself, señorita,” Delgado invited, after a moment or two. “I know little about you except that you are a lady photographer. Tell me of your family.”
Tess shrugged, unconscious that the gesture called attention to her lovely shoulders. “There’s not much to tell,” she said, and went on to tell Delgado what Sandoval already knew of her family.
“Have you ever been away from home like this?” Delgado asked.
As Sandoval listened, Diego Delgado effortlessly drew her out. She told them about being sent away to a fancy finishing school, which purported to be all that was needed for a young lady of good family to be ready to make a brilliant marriage.
Who knew that a notorious outlaw like Diego Delgado could be such a good host, Sandoval mused. He could see Tess relaxing in the midst of Delgado’s concentration on her answers and was glad for that, at least.
“But how did you develop an interest in photography?” Delgado inquired. “It is an unusual pastime for a lady, no?”
Spearing a piece of the spicy chicken and dipping it in the chocolate-based sauce, Tess told them about her uncle James, who had been a Brady photographer and had taught her all she knew, and about her goal of going to New York to work for Brady.
Sandoval pretended
