Birthing Ella Bandita by Montgomery Mahaffey Read Free Book Online

especially liked the soup, but I didn’t recognize the meat. What was it?”
    “Well, yesterday afternoon I got a pair of wild hares freshly killed. The soup was already done, but I thought they’d go well. So I diced the meat small to fry up quick and threw it in.”
    “That explains it,” he said. “I haven’t had rabbit for a long time. How did you get it?”
    The Patron was surprised when she didn’t answer right away. Her fleshy features puckered at the question, which was never a good sign. He leaned back in his chair and waited.
    “From your daughter, Patron.”
    He set his coffee down. The Cook flushed and her speech was rushed.
    “Truth be told, Patron, I think your praise of my dinners has more to do with her hunting than my cooking. Near every day she comes to the kitchen with something.”
    “Does she? And how long has she been doing this?”
    “Since last spring. She brought in a string of fish out of nowhere one day.”
    The Cook hesitated before going on, her tone dropping to a whisper.
    “I must say, Patron, it’s been a long time since she’s done anything like that. Not since__”
    “I remember quite well when she used to bring wild meat to the kitchen.”
    The Cook winced and turned away, serving breakfast without a word, while his mind was assailed with a day the Patron wished he could forget. The day he hired a vagabond to break the most feral colt he ever had in his stables.
    ****
    The Patron had found him in the garden he had planted for his beloved before they wed. He’d created an Eden of her favorite flowers to welcome his bride home, surrounding the house with lilies in every size and color. Narrow paths wove through the blooms; some were the color of wine, while others were golden and streaked with black, and still others blushed deep magenta. Pure white callas made regal sentinels that lined the path along the way to the pillars of the portico before the front door. The garden of lilies became more splendid with every passing year after his wife died. The stalks grew taller and the bulbs thickened until the blooms were the largest he’d ever seen, perfuming the air with sweet musk as they opened.
    The Vagabond came in early spring, just past his daughter’s thirteenth birthday. A light rain fell that morning, the sun shining through clouds and drizzle, making ribbons of light and water over the house and garden when he saw a young man among the lilies. Dressed in patchwork clothes, the heavy rucksack of the wanderer at his feet, his mouth was agape as he stared around the garden.
    “I beg your pardon,” the Patron said, “but are you lost?”
    “Not this time,” the stranger answered, turning in circles and shaking his head at the profusion of blooms growing taller than he. “But everybody’s a bit lost, don’t you think?”
    His voice had the smooth texture of aged cognac, but he was a vagabond for certain. His command of language was that of a citizen, but his accent drawled of faraway places.
    “Can’t say I’ve given the matter much thought,” the Patron retorted.
    The Vagabond faced him then and smiled. His teeth were brilliant against his tanned skin, golden brown eyes sparkling as he removed his worn hat. Instead of bowing to introduce himself, he leaned his head back to allow droplets of rain on his face. He closed his lids, the flares of his nose puckering from the long swallow of air.
    “Smells like heaven here,” he sighed. “I’ve been just about everywhere, but I’ve never come across anything like this.”
    “Is that what you’re doing here? Coming across something new?”
    “No,” the Vagabond said, pulling his head up and peering at the Patron. “I’ve come to work and they tell me you have a more generous heart than most.”
    “Did they? I guess that depends on what you can do.”
    “I can do lots of things, but I like to work with horses whenever I can. I have a nice way with them.”
    “Oh really?” the Patron said, cocking one