The stranger turned his head.
Lucía moved in her sleep.
Tomás made a soft sound beside her.
The man’s expression changed.
For only a second.
Pain.
So brief Rosa wondered if she had imagined it.
“Are they yours?”
“Yes.”
“Twins?”
“Yes.”
He smiled slightly.
“They seem to have negotiated the sleeping arrangement.”
Rosa looked back.
Lucía had pushed even closer against her brother.
“She always wins.”
The stranger’s smile became more visible.
Then his eyes went toward the house.
Not the land.
Not the spring.
The house.
Small adobe walls.
One narrow chimney.
A porch Julián had built unevenly three years earlier.
Then the stranger looked back at Rosa.
“And their father?”
Rosa’s hand stopped on the shirt.
His expression changed immediately.
“I’m sorry.”
She said nothing.
“I shouldn’t have asked.”
Rosa lowered her eyes.
The wet cloth suddenly felt heavier.
“He died five months ago.”
The man removed his hat again, though he had barely put it back on.
Rosa had heard many responses to that sentence.
God needed him more.
The Lord gives and takes.
You must be strong for your babies.
At least you had several good years.
You’re young enough to marry again.
Every phrase had felt like someone placing a tidy cloth over a hole and pretending the floor beneath remained solid.
The stranger did none of that.
He only said, “I’m sorry.”
Nothing else.
Rosa looked up.
His eyes held no curiosity.
No hunger for details.
No expectation that she would reward his sympathy with confession.
That unsettled her more than questions might have.
He placed his hat against his chest.
“My name is Gabriel Moreno.”
Rosa knew the name.
Most people in San Isidro did.
Estrella Ranch.
Sixteen thousand acres beyond the eastern ridge.
Cattle.
Horses.
Sheep farther south.
Three major wells.
A stone ranch house built before the territorial line had been properly surveyed.
Gabriel Moreno was not the richest man in New Mexico.
But within fifty miles, there were few men whose signature carried more weight.
Rosa had also heard the other stories.
His wife had died in childbirth two years earlier.
The baby too.
He had stopped attending dances.
Stopped appearing at church social dinners except on Christmas.
Worked alongside his hands despite owning enough land to spend every afternoon drinking whiskey if he wished.
Paid wages before buying anything for himself.
Some people called him strange.
Others called him honorable.
Rosa trusted neither reputation completely.
“Rosa Valdés.”
Gabriel inclined his head.
“Thank you for the water, Mrs. Valdés.”
“Rosa is fine.”
A brief pause.
“As you prefer.”
He mounted.
Rosa almost relaxed.
Then he looked toward the roof.
Her shoulders stiffened.