The Obedient Servant [Going for the Gold 6] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) (16 page)

Milo was stunned.
My love?
By calling him “my love,” did that mean she also loved him? This was an unforeseen turn of events. Although it was something Milo never wished to dwell upon, he’d known that he loved Tallulah for a while now, since she had called him on his machinations with Reynaldo. How could he not love a woman who was thoroughly aware of his manipulative games yet boldly went along with them anyway?

“
Moja milosc,
” he
said quietly in Polish.
My love.
She would never make out what he’d said in Polish. More people spoke Russian in California than Polish.

She smiled back, exhaustedly.

Tallulah was good at this game. She
was
an obedient servant, just as Reynaldo had written in Milo’s manifesto. One day soon, it would be fun to act as
her
servant, too.

Later the next afternoon, Reynaldo finally got a chance to see Vallejo’s grapevines for himself.

He noticed that Tallulah seemed to be flagging, due in no small part to having been kept awake until the wee hours sucking on his penis. Reynaldo felt guilt that he’d allowed Milo to treat her like a beast of burden, spanking her into submission. But then, hadn’t they all benefited? And once again, Milo had put his own satisfaction last. They’d each gone back to their own separate beds—Tallulah in her little house, Reynaldo in the barracks, and Milo in one of Vallejo’s guest bedrooms, without ever having been satisfied.

Milo was such an odd, magnetic creature. He dominated and handled Tallulah with the same fearsome power that he wielded when he convinced Reynaldo to do, well, almost anything for him. Yet Milo used his power to please others. He had ensured that Reynaldo got off. He’d even licked Tallulah’s pussy until she contorted in all manner of acrobatic positions. Reynaldo assumed that was a female orgasm, although he wouldn’t know much about that and was too embarrassed to ask. In a strange way, getting others off seemed to be Milo’s twisted
pendejo
pleasure. Maybe it was his way of keeping others under his thumb.

Yet Reynaldo was in love with the
pendejo
. At least, this was his conception of love. He could not stop thinking about the man. He was enamored of everything about Milosz Stefanski. He wanted to know what Milo preferred to eat for breakfast, which vegetables he abhorred, whether he preferred the Mexican stock saddle over the California saddle. Anything and everything. Reynaldo wanted to know all about Milosz Stefanski.

But he wanted the woman as well, so around two in the afternoon, Reynaldo walked out on yet another endless confab in the barracks about how the new republic should be run. Many settlers were coming to the fort for protection, in fear since the flag had been run up. Tallulah had been going like sixty since dawn, overseeing Vallejo’s kitchen courtyard, organizing the Californio farmers to bring more corn and butcher more beeves. Already Reynaldo feared their coffers would be empty caring for so many people, although some of them from outlying ranchos did bring garlic, peppers, and onions.

“Take a walk?” Reynaldo offered his arm to Tallulah.

For several moments she looked as though she had no idea what he was talking about. Locks of hair fell in her eyes, her hair hurriedly wrapped into a bun and stuck through with pointed sticks. The front of her apron was bloodied and full of handprints, and she held a rusty machete. All around her people bustled, tossing wood into flaring ovens. So many hands were making tortillas there was a blur of flour and fingers. It was easily ninety degrees in the valley, but in the courtyard with the ovens, it must have been a hundred.

Reynaldo had to ease the machete from Tallulah’s grip and take her gently by the wrist. For awhile she meandered next to him, as though stunned she was taken away from her work.

“It’s a shame,” said Reynaldo, “that just because you are a woman, you are expected to oversee all the cooking. Why can a man not do that? I’m a very good chef. Gillespie brought word they miss me at the California Battalion because I’m their favorite cook.”

“Are you?” Tallulah took his arm as she got her bearings. They stepped over the crumbling adobe fort wall where cattle were free to come and go. Wooden fences around the three-hundred-square-foot vineyard had also fallen, been trampled or used for cooking fuel, and cattle now wandered among the vines, lowing. “But men should be free to do men’s work. They shouldn’t be saddled with women’s work.”

“What is men’s work?” Reynaldo mused. “Here in California, men’s work is gambling and horse racing. Women do everything. Maybe you’ve been living here too long.”

Fire came into Tallulah’s eyes now. “Women had strictly defined roles in our wagon train, as well. It has never occurred to me to do anything other than so-called women’s work. What else would I do?”

“Don’t take me wrong,” Reynaldo protested. “Your innkeeping work is admirable, especially when your only assistant is that oiled rummy, Origin. I just hate to see a woman work her fingers to the bones.”

Tallulah released his arm and smiled sheepishly at a grapevine. A warm spring that bubbled nearby, presumably year-round, watered the rows of vines. “I know Origin is nearly useless. But he’s the closest thing I’ve got to a family since leaving Missouri.”

Reynaldo’s attention was piqued. “Missouri? The state of Senator Benton?”

“Why, yes.”

“He’s Frémont’s father-in-law. Together they’re hatching warmongering plans for California. That’s why I sided against Milo to begin with. I suspected Benton of being behind all this talk of secession. The messages Gillespie brought through the straits of Panama last month were all torn up and destroyed. I suspect they recreated new ‘messages’ to suit their own nefarious aims.” But Reynaldo knew Tallulah was tired of political talk, so he quickly lifted a bunch of grapes. “See this fruit? This variety is from Spain. I’m very familiar with it, having planted my own vineyard back home in Massachusetts. But back there, I have another variety from Madeira, which is near Portugal. I can tell it would thrive here.”

Tallulah cocked her head. “Why are you interested in growing grapes here if you’re from Massachusetts? Don’t you wish to return there when your army service is done?”

“Unlike most of those battalion men, I’m not a volunteer. I’m an army cartographer with the Corps of Topographical Engineers, and Frémont was supposed to be mapping the west. That’s what most of us are here for—adventure, exploration, the thrill of being the first to map the west. Instead, we get armed combat with Mexico City.”

“Well, isn’t that adventure? Why do you want to know about this little vineyard if you’re just going to be off fighting Mexicans? If not up here, there will be fighting down near San Diego.”

“I want to know about this little vineyard because…” Reynaldo exhaled heavily. He had to squeeze his eyes shut briefly to muster the courage to speak. He certainly wasn’t accustomed to speaking frankly about his goals and desires, much less speaking about them to a woman. “Because I am considering not traveling with the army anymore. And I know a little about grapes and winemaking.”

“Yes, I’ve served—and tasted—many a wine glass from this grove.”

Reynaldo looked about with the professional cartographer’s eye. “It seems to me this fertile plain might bear any plant and fruit with success.”

Tallulah took a step closer. “So you’re saying…you may stay in Sonoma?” It seemed she even looked flirtatiously at him, and it occurred to Reynaldo, this could give him an advantage over Milo. Milo would have to eventually return upriver to Virgin Groves. He had enough acreage up there—what would he want with Sonoma?

Heartily, he agreed. “Yes, indeed. It’s crossed my mind in the few seconds of reflection we’ve been allowed these past several days. I can give my New Bedford house to my brother. He just had another child and is already living there. Have you no other family?” Reynaldo cringed, realizing he’d just obliquely referred to the bastard husband Tallulah had fled from.

She seemed unconcerned, taking a grape between her fingers and rolling it seductively about her lower lip before popping it into her mouth. “No one who matters. There’s a brother I quarreled with before I left Missouri. He took all of our father’s land and didn’t even give me an acre.”

That would explain her reliance upon the oiled Origin.
“It’s very sad when siblings quarrel. Do you happen to have any of this wine at the Blue Wing? I’m sure Vallejo or Leese has some in their homes, although I’m hesitant to set foot in Leese’s. I feel like a conquering intruder, some sort of creepy crook.”

Tallulah waved a hand. “Oh, I’m sure Jacob would be overjoyed to have us enjoy the wine. They know that you were just doing your duty, arresting them. Getting them out of our way, making a grand statement that you’re here to stay and all of that victorious blather. Besides, they’re safer over there at Sutter’s Fort, in case Castro really does come to molest us. You know where Jacob’s house is, right?”

They struck for the plaza, skirting behind Casa Grande, the livery, and the butcher’s so as to avoid inquisitive eyes or any harassment about the revolution. However, one lounging Californio must have recognized Reynaldo, for he shouted out, “
¡L
arga vida a
C
alifornia!
”

“Long live California,” Reynaldo agreed
without enthusiasm, for the Californio just wanted some pesos. Reynaldo took Tallulah’s forearm, tucking it close to his waist. “We did what we had to do, right, Tillie? There were such fears of foreign annexation, especially France or England.”

“Of course!” Tallulah replied with feeling. “And Russia! They have that fort on the coast that Sutter does business with. Can you imagine everyone in California wearing furry hats and driving sleds?”

Her ire gave Reynaldo courage. “Tillie, can you tell me…”

He must have paused so long, Tallulah had to prompt, “Yes?”

“Milo. Captain Stephens. It’s very…pleasant toying with the two of you. But you must know, even though he’s the president of this new republic, he must return to his farm sometime.
Milo’s been president for two days. It’s only a matter of time before Frémont comes up here to lord all the glory over us who actually did the work. He’ll give the boot to the ragged desperadoes, the mountain men who farmed alongside Milo, the bear hunters. He’ll keep only the useful soldiers such as myself.
”

Tallulah sighed deeply. “I know. I know my affair with Milo is only a fleeting thing. It’s tearing me apart, because I do believe I love him. When he speaks Polish I near about melt into a puddle of butter.”

“You accept that it’s fleeting?”

“It’s my only choice. I fear, Reynaldo, that I’m more than slightly crazy about him. You must admit, there must be something
to
his feelings for me. I’m the first woman he’s trucked with since his beloved wife died.”

“But there is something loco about him,” Reynaldo prompted. “Why has he only trucked with men? He must have been so deeply injured by his wife’s death that he cannot allow another woman close to him.”

Tallulah sighed again. “Yes, there’s that problem, too. I’m afraid he’s so tortured and distressed he may never allow himself close to a woman again. A man, now, that’s a different story.”

Reynaldo had to release her forearm to open Leese’s door. “Ho, what are you suggesting?”

Her eyes twinkled as she passed him and went through the doorway. “He obviously has a very powerful craving for you that he can’t contain or control. I don’t see him setting you aside to follow a proper pathway. I think his wife’s death has permanently twisted him.”

Reynaldo followed her to what he assumed to be the pantry. In these adobes, where all the cooking was done out of doors, this room was where preparation took place, platters were organized, glasses were filled. “You’re saying you’d give up a chance to marry him because you think he’s too hot for
me?
”

Grabbing a china cup from a shelf, Tallulah squatted next to a cask underneath a counter. She poured a tiny bit, sipped it, and must have approved, for she poured more. “Yes, that’s what I’m saying. I’m saying he’d sooner give
me
up than you. Unfortunately, like you just said. He probably won’t have an option anyway. He’s got to return to his farm eventually. Hand me another cup.”

Reynaldo passed her another cup, accepting the full one from her. “Oh, pshaw. I’m a
man
, Tallulah. What’s he going to do with another man lying about his rancho?”

Tallulah gave him a devilish look. “Plenty, knowing him. And you could start your vineyard on his property upriver.”

He helped her up, although she didn’t need his assistance. It was the mannerly Spaniard in him. “His rancho is at a much higher elevation. Grapes would flourish much better down here. Once this country is opened up to colonization, whole towns will be popping up here, demanding wine.”

Out Leese’s pantry window a few Diggers lounged, spitting out sunflower seeds. Their faces bore the stamp of wretchedness, and their clothing was in a state of nature. They must have been there awhile, judging from the enormous pile of seed shells at their feet.

Those Indians are the only remaining monument to the determination and diligence of the church and the superiority of the state.
These children of bondage were so dwindling in numbers Reynaldo didn’t imagine they’d persevere long. They were so broken they couldn’t even return to their organic state in the wild.