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properties.”
    “So he’s still in jail.” Noah looked at Isobel. “We may want to have you go on up to Santa Fe.”
    “Santa Fe?” Juan frowned. “But why?”
    “Belle has relatives up there.” Noah glanced at Isobel. “Juan, would you send her people a telegram? I may need to send her up there right away if things get worse.”
    “Of course.” Juan stood. “I was planning to pay McSween a visit anyway. We’ll rouse Mr. Paxton to open the telegraph office. Will you come?”
    “Glad to.” Noah rose and patted Isobel’s shoulder. “You stay and visit with Señora Patrón, honey. I’ll be right back.”
    “I’ll go with you, honey, ” Isobel sputtered as she leapt to her feet and nearly upset her chair. Hot anger radiated from the place where Noah had patted her as if she were no more than a dog. “If you send a telegram on my behalf, I must know what it says.”
    Juan chuckled. “Your new wife has a strong will. You must mend your stubborn ways, Noah—or break her spirit as you break the wild horses.”
    Noah was silent a moment before speaking again. “Stay here, Belle. I’ll take care of this.”
    Isobel clenched her jaw as the two men walked to thedoor. The señor a and her children eyed their guest as she stepped to an open window.
    “You did the right thing, Buchanan.” Juan Patrón’s words carried across the night. “A woman should stay at home. If your new wife isn’t happy with that now, she will be soon. You’ll see.”
    Battling fury at Noah, Isobel shifted her attention to the bustling Patrón family. The table was spotless now, its rough pine top scrubbed clean and its mismatched chairs pushed beneath. A clamor of giggles and pleas arose from the kitchen, where Beatriz, surrounded by reaching arms and grasping hands, was doling out portions of yellow custard.
    “Flan?” she asked Isobel, holding out the dish.
    Isobel shook her head. “Where is Alexander McSween’s house?”
    “¡No, señora—por favor!” The woman’s eyes were wide with pleading. “You must stay here! There is much trouble in Lincoln. ¡Violencia!”
    As the children swarmed their mother again, Isobel turned away. A cramped home, rough-hewn furniture, hungry children, corn to grind, clothes to mend. This was the life of a woman in Lincoln.
    Thanking God that she would be leaving Noah Buchanan soon, Isobel sank into a chair. Even now he was sending a telegram to Guillermo Pascal, alerting her betrothed in case she needed a quick escape from Lincoln.
    But if Guillermo came here, he would take Noah’s place as her protector, as the one to help solve her father’s murder. Noah would be free of her. And she of him.
    Isobel closed her eyes, imagining the life she had always dreamed of having. A vast hacienda. Countlesscattle. A home filled with beautiful furniture. Gracious parties attended by dignitaries.
    Her eyes snapped open. There would be no visits by members of the Santa Fe Ring if she had any say. And she would have no hacienda to manage if Guillermo had his say. Noah had been right on that account. The Pascal family would swallow up her land. She would be mistress of a prison more than a house. There would be small mouths to feed, meals to plan, stitching to fill her days. How different would that life be from the difficult lot of Señora Patrón?
    A gentle tugging at her skirt caught Isobel’s attention. A bright-eyed little girl with shiny black braids smiled up at her. “ La casa McSween is very close. It is just past Tunstall’s store.”
    Isobel shook the girl’s hand. “Gracias, mi hijita.”
    The child scampered away to join her brother in a chasing game. Their mother leaned against the kitchen door, watching her children. As her son ran by, she swept him into her arms and kissed him.
    Amid the laughter and fun, Isobel took her pistol from her saddlebag, drew her shawl around her shoulders and slipped outside. But a glance back at the flat-roofed house revealed a subtle transformation in