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From her counter, Victoria threw a glance in Señora Valdès's direction at the secluded table she and her daughter still occupied. Propped up in the corner formed by the two walls she was leaning back against, with her head thrown back, she seemed to be dozing, with her sleeping daughter in her lap and her arms still embracing her.

Then she spotted the curtain separating her kitchen from the main room be pulled to the side, and Don Alejandro quietly stepped in the room. From the neutral look on his face she couldn't tell whether the talk with Diego had finally gone well or not. He obviously knew he would be watched and stared at as soon as he'd set foot past this curtain, so he most likely schooled his features before leaving the kitchen.

Not looking at anyone around, he made his way directly to his daughter and her mother. He probably noticed the manifest decrease in the tavern's background sound of conversations that occurred when he appeared, but he didn't give any indication of it.

Don Diego followed a few seconds behind him, and Victoria searched his face for an indication of how troubled he was. But his features were unreadable. He didn't give a look to anyone else either, not even to her, and joined the rest of his... er... family...?... in the corner of the room.

They now both had their backs to her, she couldn't see the look on their faces when they discovered both mother and child asleep, but thanks to the now rather low background noise she could catch what they said.

"They're exhausted," Don Alejandro commented, "we shouldn't have made them wait so long after this trying day..."

Don Diego nodded.

"I didn't realise we stayed that long in the kitchen," he said. "I hope we didn't bother Victoria."

But as much as his father liked the innkeeper, Victoria Escalante seemed to be far down the list of Don Alejandro's current top concerns, and considering the day he just had, she could understand that.

He leaned over his two 'girls', trying to gently take his daughter from her mother's arms without awaking the child. When he finally had Leonor in his arms he handed her over to his son, telling him in a murmur:

"Here, take her while I rouse Araceli from her slumber: she's quite a heavy sleeper."

A piece of information Diego would have gladly done without from his father, not because of the detail itself but because of its implications as to what the nature of the relationship between them had been.

At first Diego held the girl only at arm's length, as though she was some dangerous thing that might bite or explode any minute. Finally noticing the strange stares he was receiving – notably from Victoria – for his peculiar and awkward way to hold a sleeping child, he finally settled her against his chest, supporting her with one arm under her legs while the other one was stiffly encircling her upper body. He simply stood there, between two tables, straight as a ramrod, and looking at a loss as to what to do. His whole stance seemed to be very stiff. He obviously felt very awkward toward his newly found half-sister.

Well, in a way Victoria could understand him: she didn't know how she would feel if she suddenly discovered one of her parents had had a child she had never known about. And she knew even less how she'd react if this sibling suddenly turned up in her tavern!

After Don Alejandro shook her shoulder for the fourth time – gently at first, then more firmly – Señora Valdès finally started. She opened her eyes, and it clearly took her one or two seconds to realise and remember where she was and what just happened.

Don Alejandro was still leaning toward her and told her a few words, to which she nodded. Then he presented her his arm and helped her up.

While the two men still had their backs to the rest of the tavern, Señora Valdès was facing her and part of her customers. She took a look around, and barely suppressed a sigh at seeing all those pairs of eyes fixed on them. And although the two de la Vega men didn't turn around, Victoria was sure they could feel the looks burn a hole in their backs.

"Victoria!" Don Alejandro called her.

She made her way to them.

"How much do we owe you, please?" he asked, reaching inside his pocket.

But Señora Valdès had a move to stop him.

"Leave that to me, Alejandro," she said. "After all, that was mainly my snack..."

"Still, Araceli, I insist, I should be the one–"

"Alejandro, stop that!" she cut in with a weary sigh in her voice, "I really don't want to argue with you right now. That's not the time..." She rubbed her temples with the thumb and middle finger of her right hand, closing her eyes for an instant. "Alejandro, I'm exhausted, I had a very long and hard day, I'm dusty and dirty, I'm weary, I'm all this at the same time, I want to go back to the quiet of home, so I don't have the time to flatter your male ego and misplaced pride."

Diego didn't comment on her tirade, but as Doña Araceli paid her what she owed, he silently threw a meaningful look in Victoria's direction: that was not every day that someone shut his father up.

He rectified the child's position in his arms, nesting her better against him, appearing to be a bit more comfortable with her. Or less uncomfortable, at least...

They bid Victoria their goodbyes and prepared to leave, rather eager to be out of the public eye and to take refuge in the quiet and privacy of home. She saw them to the porch of her tavern and, as they were about to leave, she heard Don Diego tell his father in a low voice:

"She's still sound asleep. I'll keep her with me on the ride home."

"Oh Diego," Don Alejandro replied, "that's kind of you but..."

He hesitated.

"What?" his son asked.

"Well, I wouldn't want to hurt your feelings Diego, but... you're not exactly a very skilled horseman... and... and even the old mare threw you..."

"Father, I assure you I can manage–"

"Diego, let's not take any risk... You'll need both your hands to hold the reins, and in case–"

"Father...! Weren't you the one telling me I should try to make better acquaintance with Leonor?"

"But anyway right now she's asleep, Diego!" Don Alejandro pointed out.

"Precisely..." his son mumbled. "It's easier that way... for a start."

At least he was willing to try, Victoria thought. He should be given credit for that. Still, Don Alejandro's decision not to entrust his daughter to Don Diego's limited riding skills was probably very wise. Even though poor Don Diego looked a bit downhearted from it when he accepted to hand back the child to their father when they reach the hitching post.

But once they were outdoor, a ray of the low evening sunshine hit Leonor's face and she stirred in Diego's arms. And stirred again.

Realising that she was rousing and would be awake any second now, poor Don Diego looked sheerly panicked, as though a jaguar or a coyote was waking up in his arms. Opening her eyes to an unfamiliar face, the girl started, and for a split second Victoria feared that she was going to cry. But turning her head to the side she saw her mother and a look of recognition lit up in her eyes. She calmed down but wriggled in the stranger's arms to hold her own arms out to Señora Valdès.

"You're safe, mi Tesoro," the woman gently told her daughter, "everything's all right, we're going home now."

"We're going back to San Diego?" the child asked.

"No, Cariño, not yet," she answered. "We're going back to Papá's hacienda for now."

Leonor became agitated again and Diego had to tighten his grip around her a bit to prevent her from falling.

"No, no," the girl protested, "there are mean señores in Papá's house! Papá, come back with us in San Diego, you will be safe there!"

"Shh, shh, calm down, my darling," her mother said. "The mean men are gone. They're not there anymore. Don't you remember? They rode to the desert."

"That's true, mi gatita," Don Alejandro confirmed, "they're gone. It's safe there now, don't worry. It's safe for everyone. And we'll settle you in a different guestroom, alright?"

She seemed to hesitate. Diego prudently chose to put her down. A soon as her feet touched the ground, she rushed to her mother and threw her arms around her waist.

At the same time a patrol led by the alcalde arrived. Spotting the child with Araceli, de Soto stopped his horse at their level and said:

"I see you've been reunited with your daughter, Señora... I'm relieved this misadventure has a happy outcome."

He chose not to say anything about Don Alejandro, preserving what might still be a secret to the Los Angelinos. Little did he know about the very public family reunion that occurred in the middle of the plaza half an hour earlier. Victoria was surprised at how considerate the alcalde suddenly seemed to be. She would have thought de Soto would have been far too happy to spread the word in order to tarnish Don Alejandro's reputation. Perhaps the presence of the child had him mellow his manners...?

He made his mount head to the garrison and his soldiers followed. When Sergeant Mendoza passed in front of the de la Vegas, he told them, smiling:

"I already knew the little one was all right".

"What do you mean?" Don Diego asked him.

By way of answer, he pointed his thumb behind his shoulder with a wink. Diego, his father, Araceli and even Leonor looked this way: behind the sergeant, between two other soldiers, a man dressed in beige trousers and jacket was tied up to his own horse, lying on his stomach over the saddle, his hands and feet loosely bound together under the animal's belly with the horse's bridles. On the backside of his trousers was carved a Z that was enough to tell any Los Angelinos what happened to him.

And to anyone who heard of the child's abduction, it was obvious that this man was one of the kidnappers.

Recognising one of the 'mean señores', Leonor turned to her mother, tightened her clasp around her waist and hid her face in her middle, quivering like a leaf. Araceli instinctively wrapped her arms around her daughter.

As soon as Don Alejandro saw the man and understood who he was, he clenched his shaking hands into balls and took a step toward the prisoner to give him a piece of his mind, probably through some use of his fists.

Diego, who was standing right behind him, saw his move and reacted discreetly but quickly: with both hands he firmly clasped his father's arms tight against his sides and held him back, preventing him from walking any further to the tied-up bandit.

"Diego..." Don Alejandro growled, "let me–"

But his son tightened his grip even more, shaking his head in silent disagreement. Realising his father couldn't see it, he simply murmured:

"Father... please..."

But this plea fell on deaf ears. When Don Alejandro tried to free himself from his son's surprisingly strong grip, Diego told him in a low voice and through clenched teeth:

"Not in front of Leonor..."

It immediately had the intended effect as his father gave up on his vengeful furious reaction. Yet he was still very angry, and from behind his back Diego could see his father's shoulders shake slightly.

Ironic, he thought. All day long – and further back than that, for years! – he had searched any means to rein in his father's hot and flaring temper, and now the mere three syllables of his daughter's name were enough to stop him short... Really, what more did she have that he, Diego, didn't?

Suddenly the alcalde turned back and led his horse to the prisoner. He dismounted, took out a knife and cut his ties. Then he grabbed the man's head by the hair to raise it up.

"Señora, Don Alejandro, Don Diego," he called, "has any of you ever seen this man?"

With these words, he pulled down the man's scarf under his chin, uncovering his face for all to see it.

Araceli's eyes widened, she gaped and took in a sharp breath.

"Señora...?" de Soto repeated, "do you know this man?"

All eyes turned to her as she slowly and silently nodded, a look of sheer disbelief on her face.