Her husband, Captain Ignacio Ruiz, had been killed in an ambush by the Rurales six years earlier. Since then, the lady had managed the ranch with a firm hand and a steely gaze.-thuyhien
Her husband, Captain Ignacio Ruiz, had been killed in an ambush by the Rurales six years earlier. Since then, the lady had managed the ranch with a firm hand and a steely gaze.
On the scorching plains of Sonora, where the sun burns the skin and the night freezes the bones, stood the ranch of Lost Hope. It was 1887, and the wind carried dust, stray bullets, and rumors of bandits.
Don Anselmo, the old boss, had died of fever three moons ago, leaving the estate in the hands of his only daughter, Doña Catalina de la Vega.
She was 35 years old, with hair as silver as the moon over the desert and a beauty that silenced coyotes. Catalina wore mourning clothes, but not out of habit.
Her husband, Captain Ignacio Ruiz, had been killed in an ambush by the Rurales six years earlier. Since then, the lady had managed the ranch with a firm hand and a steely gaze.
The laborers respected her, the outlaws feared her, but deep in her heart, an ancient loneliness whispered to her every night. One stormy afternoon, when the sky split in lightning and the earth trembled, an unknown rider appeared on the horizon.
He was riding a black horse with a wide-brimmed hat and a rifle slung across the saddle.
He stopped in front of the ranch gate, soaked, dust clinging to his three-day beard. “Who lives there?” the foreman shouted from the tower. “A man seeking shelter,” the stranger replied hoarsely.
And work, yes, there is. Catalina came out onto the porch wrapped in a black shawl. She watched the tall rider, broad-shouldered, with scars that told stories of bullets and knives.
His eyes were gray, like the smoke from a dying campfire. “Name,” she asked. Mateo. Mateo Vargas. I come from Chihuahua. I have recommendations and I’m hungry. The lady scrutinized him.
There was something about his posture, the way he held the reins, that reminded her of the men who never came back.
But the ranch needed strong hands. The Crow’s bandits were lurking nearby, and the ranch hands were deserting out of fear. “Give him a cot in the barracks,” he ordered the foreman. “We’ll see tomorrow if it’ll do.”
Mateo tipped his hat. His eyes lingered for a second too long on the black lace neckline peeking out from under the shawl. Catalina noticed. She said nothing.
The following days were a test. Mateo tamed wild colts with a calmness that seemed like magic. He shot better than any of the ranch hands. And when the bandits tried to steal the cattle, he alone, with a revolver in each hand, made them flee, leaving three dead in the dust. The fame of the lone cowboy grew.
The farmhands admired him. The village girls sighed, but Catalina watched him silently from her bedroom window. She saw him sit alone by the fire, sharpening his knife, gazing at the stars like someone searching for a lost path. One night, the storm returned with a fury.
The wind howled like a lost soul. Catalina couldn’t sleep. She went down to the kitchen to heat some milk. There was Mateo, shirtless, washing himself in a tub. The flash of lightning illuminated his torso.
Old scars, sun-weathered muscles. “Aren’t you sleeping, boss?” he asked without turning around. “No, the thunder awakens memories.” Mateo dried himself with an old shirt.
He came closer. He smelled of damp earth and tobacco. “Memories are like stray bullets,” he said. “Sometimes they graze you, sometimes they kill you.” Catalina looked him in the eyes. For the first time, she saw something more than a cowboy.
He saw a man carrying his own personal hell. “What are you running from, Mateo Vargas?” He smiled bitterly. “From myself, I suppose, already a woman who left me with a bullet in my heart, but not the kind that kills.”
The woman felt a lump in her throat and took a step back. “I’m not that woman.” “No, you’re worse,” he replied. “Because I could be.” The silence was filled with flashes of lightning.
Catalina turned around and went upstairs, but she didn’t close her bedroom door. The next morning, the foreman found three farmhands with their throats cut in the corral.
The crow had left its mark, a black feather stuck in the door. Fear gripped the ranch. The men talked about leaving. Catalina gathered everyone in the yard.
“Whoever leaves, let them leave in shame,” he said. “But whoever stays will receive double pay and my gratitude.” Mateo stepped forward. “I’m staying, but not for the pay.”
That night, Catherine summoned him to her office. He entered, hat in hand. She stood by the fireplace in a white dress, a stark contrast to her usual mourning attire. “I need you to lead the men,” she said. “You’re the only one who isn’t trembling.” Matthew nodded. “In return, what do you ask?” She moved closer.
Her fingers brushed against his arm. “Don’t leave me alone.” The cowboy swallowed. His hands, rough as old leather, gently took hers.
“I’ve never known how to love without breaking things,” he confessed. “And I’ve never known how to love without fear,” Catalina replied. They looked at each other. The fire crackled. Outside the storm had subsided, but inside them another was beginning.
The following days were spent preparing. Mateo trained the laborers like soldiers. They built traps and dug trenches. Catalina, for the first time in years, smiled as she watched him teach a boy to shoot.
One afternoon, while checking the provisions in the barn, their hands met as they picked up the same sack of corn.
Neither of them moved away. “Catalina,” he murmured. “No,” she said, but her voice trembled. Mateo took her by the waist. She didn’t resist. Their lips met with the urgency of those who have waited too long.
The kiss was fire, it was storm, it was desert and rain. They fell on the straw among sacks of wheat and the smell of earth.
Mateo’s hands roamed her body reverently. She gasped as he kissed her neck, her shoulders, the edge of her neckline, but when his fingers sought the buttons of her dress, Catalina stopped him. “Wait.” He pulled away, confused. “What’s wrong?” She sat up, hugging her knees. Tears glistened in her eyes.
I can’t. Not like this. No. Without knowing. Knowing what? That you won’t leave me with a child and a broken heart. My husband swore eternal love to me and died. You could do the same, or worse, live and leave. Mateo looked at her tenderly. He took her face in his hands. Catalina, look at me. I’ve killed men, I’ve stolen cattle, I’ve lied to survive, but I’ve never lied about how I feel.
If I take you, it will be forever or never. She trembled. Don’t take me completely. Not yet. Not until we’re sure. He nodded. He kissed her forehead. As you wish, my queen.
They lay down on the straw, embraced, nothing more. They slept like that until dawn. The night of the attack arrived with a new dawn. The crow brought 30 men. The ranch became a battlefield.
Gunshots, screams, blood. Mateo fought like a demon. Catalina, from the window, fired a Winchester rifle, taking down bandits with deadly accuracy.
At the climax, Mateo confronted the crow in the center of the yard. The bandit was a giant with a black mustache and crazy eyes. “The ranch is mine!” Mateo shouted.