Part Three

Chapter One

Rosarita didn't mind when they left they left their house in Monterey for the rancho that was miles out of it, which they did every summer. It had outdoor advantages, so even though Rosarita had grown accustomed to seeing the things that happened in the gossip that swirled around she considered the trade well worth it.

Out here, she was lucky if she got any news from Monterey. She knew that Verdugo's venture had started bearing fruit, but just when the messenger from Los Angeles was due to arrive—surely it would be Diego!—it was time to leave for their summer home, as they did on the first day of June every year.

Out of Monterey, she was far away from the friends she'd grown accustomed to meeting. No more seeing Constancia on her trips through California, no visiting Leonar and those siblings of hers. No more coffee with Milana, or riding with Anna Maria. And mamacita's tamales did not measure up to the Modesto's.

She groaned as she sat up, on the start of a new day six weeks later. It was too early, but her seven year old sister had pounced on the bed just five minutes earlier, telling her it was time to get up.

Her hair, bound in a tight braid, was quickly undone and Rosarita sat in front of her mirror, brushing it out, when Amelia entered. "Amelia, do you know why Mama has sent for me so early?"

Amelia chuckled, as she brushed out the dress Rosarita was to wear that day. "Your sister did not tell you? Your father is bringing a guest home from Monterey. He took Vincente with him, and Vincente came riding back to say your papa was bringing a guest. Now, hurry up!"

Rosarita wanted to crawl back into the bed, having long ago outgrown the urge to go straight outside in the morning. Once her routine had expanded to include hair styling and corset tightening, she had soon lost interest in mornings and always felt the urge to stay in bed until late morning. Or later.

Especially after yesterday. She'd spent the whole day chasing Dulce, named after her tia in Los Angeles, and preventing her from joining a gang of ruffians the seven year old persisted in calling friends.

Rosarita noticed what exact gown Amelia was holding. "Who is coming that Mama wishes me to wear that?"

It was one of her better gowns, not good enough for church, but not something you'd wear on a weekday. A delicate rose pattern swirled over it, and it required her corset to be laced another inch. As pretty as it made her look, sometimes it wasn't worth it.

Amelia clucked her tongue. "I was told not to tell you."

The hairbrush slipped from Rosarita's hand, clattering to the floor loudly. "Who?"

Amelia grinned. "Let me dress you, and perhaps, you will find out. Let's try something nicer for your hair, eh?"

Rosarita went downstairs, dressed the gray gown, arms bare. Amelia had denied her use of the shawl, something very unusual, and Rosarita went down to the patio in a bit of a huff, annoyed that no one would say who was coming.

Her family was already seated on the patio, all but her father, and she rushed to her mother's side. "How nice you look," her mother commented. "Stand straight, and turn so I can see your hem."

Rosarita turned quickly, causing Vincente to roll his eyes and Dulce to dart up from her seat and run over. "Mama, may I have Rosarita's dress when I am her age?"

"Of course, dear," Mama returned, calmly sewing. Ana-Carmen Cortez was rarely seen without sewing in her hands. Though she had married a don, they'd never been a wealthy family and Ana-Carmen had accepted her added duties calmly. Once a woman never seen in the kitchen, she now ruled over the domain with ease, and even now that they had added more servants, she still made breakfast every day.

Having been an old maid when she married, Ana-Carmen's family only boasted six children. Rosarita, at eighteen, was the second youngest, Dulce having been a surprise. In the time between the two girls, however, Ana-Carmen had buried three sons. Sometimes that showed in her face, when she let Dulce onto her lap, though she was much too old for such things.

Rosarita's hands went to her hips. "Why do you promise her such things? And who is coming that I am wearing an afternoon dress?"

Vincente choked on his coffee, and Rosarita's eyes flew to him. "You know, you must have seen him!" Picking up her skirts, she ran over to him.

"Now, Rosarita, we wish it to be a surprise. Don't worry, it will make you very happy." Her mother continued sewing, and Rosarita whirled around.

"Eat something before they get here," Mama urged. "It will not do for his first sight of you is during breakfast."

Aha! He must be a suitor! Realizing something, Rosarita plopped down with a groan. "It isn't Don Javier's son, is it? I don't like him."

Her mother just laughed, and handed Rosarita her plate. "Just eat these, and wait patiently. Your Papa still had business in Monterey, and so it will be midmorning before they arrive."

Standing, with a swirl of skirt and petticoat, Mama Cortez swept into the kitchen, Dulce following impatiently.

Rosarita concentrated on sitting up straight—her corset never allowed for slouching when it was laced this tight—and finishing her cup of coffee and the orange Mama had peeled for her.

Once finished, she left the table and followed her mother's path upstairs. "Mama, where should I be when Papa gets here?"

Her mother tilted her head, handing the book to Dulce, who she was teaching to read.

"Why not go into the sala? You will make a pretty picture there."

Rosarita giggled. "I'm not that kind of senorita, mamacita, and you know that very well. No one would ever believe that I just happened to put this dress on, and happened to walk into the sala and sit on the windowsill. No," she said, and shook her head.

"Why do they have to be fooled? Believe me, our guest should expect this kind of treatment."

"So he is a suitor?" Rosarita asked.

Her mother laughed, and took the book back from Dulce. "Well, we hope him to be. And I do think you will be pleased to see him."

Rosarita leaned to kiss her mother's cheek, leaving the room in a hurry, and going to the stairs at the back of the house, outside stairs that led into the garden. She held up her skirts to descend them, quickening her pace as she went. If her mother was feeling this giddy about it, he must be important.

A rose would make a nice picture, and it wouldn't be a false one. She'd always liked the outdoors, and flowers, and...

Diego!

Through the window to the sala, and through the other window to the patio, Rosarita could make out her father leading none other than Diego de la Vega through their gate. She forgot about the rose in her excitement, and flew to the door.

She could hear Diego speaking with her father, and turned from the door to run back to the rose bush. Her father's pruning shears lay beside it, as usual, and she quickly cut off a pink rose, returning to the door with a fluttering heart. Through the window, she could tell that Diego had been led into the sala, and her father had gone to fetch Mama.

So she turned the knob, and walked in.

She didn't know how she presented to Diego: her cheeks were flushed, and her hair was away from her face and piled high in such a way to emphasize her face. As old as she'd been in Los Angeles, she felt still older now, when Diego's eyes rose from a book he'd plucked from a bookshelf, and met hers.

She was beautiful in that moment. She knew she was.

Diego replaced the book, and walked to her, taking her hands and bringing the right to his lips, holding her left tightly. "I missed you, Rosarita. Even more than last time."

She noticed the look in his eyes, and a gasp of disappointment rose in her.

He'd grown up, too. There was the look of a broken heart in his eyes, and they didn't dance as usual. He looked tired, and though there was tenderness in the kiss pressed to her hand, there was no sparkle.

But he'd noticed how she'd looked. He'd noticed like he'd never noticed before, and he appreciated the dress and the bare arms. Rosarita had never felt more like a woman in that moment.

She was going to win Diego this time. Nothing and no one would stand in her way, not Zorro and not her own inhibitions.

And not the woman who'd stolen Diego's heart the time he'd been in Monterey.

The bond between herself and Diego went beyond palpitations and desire. It transcended such things, and she knew, in the core of her, that what Diego had felt for the woman who broke his heart wasn't truly love.

Love was this feeling, the true desire for Diego to have what was best for him. No matter what had happened in Monterey, Diego was here now, holding her hand as though it were a lifeline. She had never stopped loving Diego.

And she'd bet her life that he'd never stopped loving her.

"What have you been doing in Monterey all this time?" She asked, some time later. Her parents had returned just after her realization, and this was the first time she'd gotten him alone after that.

They'd gone out to the garden. Her mother sat in the sala, next to the window. Though she was sewing, Rosarita knew her eyes would be on them.

"I did realize it would be you bringing the money, but I'd have expected you to be long gone by now!" Rosarita continued.

Diego turned to her, surprised. "Do you mean to say you've heard nothing of my time in Monterey?"

She shook her head, bemused. "Should I have?"

"I'm astounded. I thought the rumors were flying! There was trouble," he said, noting her confusion. "There was a huge plot by Verdugo's servant to steal the money. There was quite a bit of, shall we say, intrigue."

Rosarita bit her lip to keep from chuckling. Diego was trying very hard to be oblique. She'd not spoil it for him.

"Did you really not intend to visit me?" She asked, hands going up to brush a petal off Diego's shoulder. He watched the action, then shook his head.

"I was so busy. Since you don't live directly in Monterey, I'll confess it completely slipped my mind."

"I'll forgive that this time. You must have had a lot on your mind."

Diego was walking slowly, hesitantly, so she darted in front of him and walked backwards so she could face him. "How did you like Monterey, Diego? I love it, when I am there."

"I'd expect you to like this rancho more," Diego said, spreading his hand to take in the view.

"I have grown up somewhat," Rosarita teased. "I no longer run through the hills."

"Are you sure? You did quite a bit of running the last time you were in Los Angeles, as I recall."

She shook her head, loving the easiness of the conversation, and hating the lack of depth. She'd have to try harder.

"What did you think of the people? I have quite a few friends, as you may expect. But I must confess I don't know who'd you would get to know. Please, give me some names, Diego!"

He laughed, a hollow sound compared to what it used to be. She almost winced before catching herself.

"Oh, just the usual. We knew most of them from when they visited Los Angeles."

Rosarita counted on her fingers. "So you saw Constancia and Leonar?"

"And the Verdugos, and the del Carmens. And you missed one visitor from Los Angeles, Rosarita."

"Who did I miss?" She asked, her curiosity piqued.

"Well, guess!" He returned. "I'm not going to help you."

She almost whacked his arm, then remembered her mother was watching and demurely lowered her hand. "I don't know, Diego. There were the..."

Her eyes widened. "Not Ricardo!"

Diego burst out laughing at the reaction. "Of course, Ricardo!" He boomed. "Who did you expect, a wolf?"

"He might as well be one!" She protested.

"You don't know how right you are," Diego replied, still laughing.

"But, what on earth was Ricardo doing in Monterey?"

"You know, I'm still trying to figure that out," Diego said.

She shook her head, nose crinkled. "Well, what happened? Did either of you succeed in killing each other?"

"No, but not for lack of trying. It even got to the point where I tried to lose him in the woods, but, alas, that didn't work out."

"What was the point of contention this time? Rope tricks, your father's wine or a horse?"

"A woman," Diego answered soberly. "Remember, we've grown up."

Rosarita's breath caught at his low voice. "What happened? With your other fights, the victor took the spoils so I'm assuming that Ricardo got the girl."

"Neither of us won her heart," Diego answered. "No, it happened quite differently than most affairs of the heart."

"Who was she? Leonar, Milana?"

"I don't want to spoil this with such things," Diego said. "I mean it."

"Did she break your heart?" She asked, only half teasing.

"No, I...I broke it myself."

In the afternoon, Vincente was persuaded to ride with them, as there was no other viable chaperone since Amelia could not ride.

Rosarita put on an older riding habit, aware of the trail she wished to take Diego on, and had Amelia arrange her hair into a high spiral of curls. They only just fit under her hat.

She skipped downstairs, and pressed her cheek against Dulce's when she spied the child sitting on the couch, trying to read. "Do you like Diego, Dulce?" She asked, pressing a kiss to her sister's forehead.

"Maybe," Dulce answered. "What is this word?"

"And," Rosarita said.

"Oh. And this one?"

"Be, Dulce. Why only maybe?"

Dulce slowly lowered the overlarge book. "Well, at dinner he was nice but he took the last churro stick."

"Oh...Would you like to come with us? You could ride the pony."

Dulce didn't even have to think it over. "Si! Do I have to change?"

"Yes, you would, but you don't have to hurry. We can wait for you."

She watched Dulce run up the stairs, smiling. It was odd to realize how old the girl was, and how this was the first time Diego was meeting her.

She turned, and saw that Diego had come in through the gate, in his riding outfit. "I'm all ready to go," he answered. "And it looks like you are, too."

"No, I invited Dulce to come with us."

Diego looked up, to where Dulce was just disappearing at the top of the stairs. "Ah," he said, and walked to the steps to sit down on the bottom one.

She looked at him, with his wavy black hair and long legs spread out. There was the usual languid grace, and now there was something else. She walked over to him, carefully stepped over his legs and joined him on the step.

"I was just realizing that this is the first time you have met Dulce. Isn't it strange that you entirely missed something that is so integral to my life?"

"Yes, it is," Diego said, leaning back on the steps. "But you missed happenings in mine, also."

"Oh, but that's not what I mean. I missed events, si. But this is a whole new person," Rosarita insisted. "It's astounding that lives get so far away from each other."

Diego looked up at her. "Astounding," he whispered back. Feeling odd, she stood and brushed off her skirt. Dulce was galloping down the stairs, dressed in her riding habit.

"Well, we're ready to go then!" Rosarita said, and gave her hand to her sister.

Diego followed behind them, and Rosarita could feel his eyes resting on her.

She took them by the ocean, and once there they could not resist dismounting and running into the spray. Vincente stayed on his horse, stubbornly ignoring their antics, while Rosarita splashed Diego and Diego splashed her back. Dulce ran among them, and Diego lifted her up when a particularly big wave came up.

Rosarita shrieked from the impact of the water breaking into her. "Mama doesn't usually let us go to the ocean on our rides," she told Diego, tightening her hat. "Not unless we have two dependable escorts."

"That's good of her," he replied. "And good for me. We can go here everyday!"

Rosarita nodded, took Dulce's hand and ran in from the water. She collapsed on the beach with her sister, and they watched Diego's antics, as he continued to mess about in the water.

"Do you like Diego now?" Rosarita asked, panting as she turned to face Dulce.

Dulce nodded, but then shook her head.

"What do you mean?" Rosarita asked, sitting up in indignation.

"It's still maybe!" Dulce explained, and Rosarita lay back down.

"Oh."

On the ride back, Dulce fell asleep while riding, and since Vincente had ridden ahead, deeming a seven year old girl chaperone enough, Diego dismounted and picked Dulce up. He considered placing her in front of Rosarita, or himself, but Dulce was sleeping so hard, he decided to carry her, and Rosarita dismounted to lead the two horses, and Dulce's black pony.

"You know, she calls this pony Funesto Huracán," Rosarita said.

Diego chuckled, surprised. "What an awful name," he reflected.

"I know. We all expected something like Bombón, since she named her doll Golosina."

"She has interesting christening habits," Diego said, and Rosarita nodded.

"She wanted to know if she could name the rose bushes. Papa said yes, and she named the pink one Desamor and the red one Rompecorazones."

Diego's eyes widened. "How do those work?"

"Apparently that is what will happen to you if you receive one, because men are never faithful. After that line, Papa said she couldn't name them after all, and demanded to know where she'd heard that."

Rosarita stopped, to better collect the reins in her hand. Diego saw the action. "Let me," he said.

"No, I'm managing. Just keep Dulce sleeping. If we wake her now, she will be as angry as a bear." Diego paused, torn, as Rosarita sorted out the reins and continued walking.

Diego matched her pace. "Anyway, Dulce had learned it from her amigo, as she calls him, a rag tag boy with a group of pícaro friends who are always hanging around her. We are trying to break her from the habit of playing with them, but since Mama decided to teach her herself, instead of getting a governess of some sort, then she escapes sometimes because of Mama's preoccupations with her other duties."

"She sounds like me," Diego said cheerfully.

"Si," Rosarita said wistfully. "She is just like you. Always running and shouting, and desperately begging Papa to let her learn to fence."

Diego shot her a sideways glance. "Do you still regret I didn't stay that way?"

Rosarita considered her words carefully. "I think it was a worthy trade," she said finally.

Diego looked cautious. "Trade? Eh, what for what?"

"Your childhood for your adulthood," she said. "It was worth it."

"I don't think you were of that opinion in Los Angeles," Diego said warily.

"I am now," she announced. "And here we are, home."

Late afternoon found Rosarita in the nursery, helping Dulce get undressed, since Amelia was busy elsewhere. Upon returning to the house, Diego had seen that Bernardo, his funny little manservant, had arrived from Monterey, with the luggage and a message from Don Alejandro.

Rosarita had sent the horses off, taken Dulce and left Diego to his privacy. Now she expected him to be in the guest room, probably bathing for dinner.

She finished brushing out Dulce's hair, and laid her into her bed, expecting her to sleep until dinner was served, and slipped from the room.

Her habit was caked with sand, she soon discovered, and her boots had sand everywhere, something she amazingly hadn't noticed while walking home.

Her hair had become frizzy from the spray, and she was thankful that she'd worn a hat that covered it.

Amelia entered, as Rosarita just finished taking off the wet clothes, and bustled to help.

Soon, the day at the beach was no more, and Rosarita was dressed for dinner in a light green dress with a tight waist, high neckline and short sleeves. Her hair was high on her head, and her skirts whispered, just like Mama's did, as she walked down the stairs into the sala.

Everyone was waiting there; her father and brothers, and Diego all jumped to their feet at her entrance. She shoved down the urge to laugh, took Diego's arm when her father took her mother's, and they walked in to the dining room.

"My father will be arriving tomorrow," Diego said, some time later as they enjoyed the meal. "He had some business that detained him, but he quite likes the idea of visiting here before we return home."

"That is good news," Domingo said. "I look forward to seeing him again. It's been, what, eleven whole years?"

"Si," Diego said.

"And what changes you bring with you," Domingo continued. "You went to Spain, saw the world, grew up while you did so, and return just as you always were."

"Not quite," Diego said. "Everyone would change in such a different environment."

"The change is quite good," Vincente said. "I like your mustache. How do you cut it, to get it like that?"

"Vincente!" Ana-Carmen scolded. "Not at the table."

Diego winked at Vincente. "Maybe later."

Her brothers all seemed bored by the conversation, which turned solely to the time Diego spent in Spain, as Ana-Carmen asked after relatives, friends and celebridads she had no connection to.

"And what about the Countess Ainara in Madrid?" Ana-Carmen asked eagerly. "Does she still live so opulently?"

Then she wished to know of the fashions, and at that point, when Vincente started to repeatedly roll his eyes, his mother whacked him with her napkin and dismissed them, leaving Rosarita with her parents and Diego.

"You know, Rosarita was so vague about her visit to Los Angeles. Is there something she wasn't telling us?" Domingo asked, when Ana-Carmen's line of questioning faltered.

"We've had troublesome times," Diego said. "You surely heard about those when Don Nacho came here."

"Monastario!" Domingo said. "That was his name, si?"

"Si. But he is gone, forever, I hope, and now we can focus on nicer things."

"Like love?" Domingo asked, and Diego's hand tightened on his fork.

"And friendship," he countered, cool eyes meeting Domingo's.

Rosarita could see how disappointed her father was, but of course he said nothing. The end of the meal came swiftly after that, and her father disappeared into his study and her mother went upstairs to see Dulce.

Rosarita led Diego to the garden. "Here, would you like a Desamor or a Rompecorazones?"

"Neither, by those names," Diego said. "Actually, I'd prefer a white one anyhow. I see they didn't gain a name under Dulce's brief reign."

"No, they didn't," Rosarita said, carefully clipping a bloom off. "Do you wish to carry it, or pin it to your suit?"

"I'll carry it," he said, so she carefully scraped the thorns off instead of trimming the stem.

"You know, it's rather chilly out here. Would you mind waiting for me to get my shawl?"

He bounced the rose from hand to hand. "Go ahead. Maybe you could send Vincente out and we can talk about mustaches."

She dismissed the words with a giggle, hoisted her skirts up and hurried up the back stairs. Once in her room, she walked to the wardrobe and plucked the red and white shawl from it, and it was there she froze.

Staring at the pattern, she remembered the other moonlit night, cast it away and instead took a creamy colored one.

Going back down, she placed a hand on Diego's arm. "You know, I'm actually feeling rather tired. Do you mind if we end this here?"

"What kind of gentleman would I be if I did mind?" He asked, kissed her hand and she could feel his eyes as he watched her leave again.

Once upstairs, Rosarita sat in her room alone, staring out the window at the night.

A/N: This story first takes a lighthearted tone. Diego is away from Los Angeles and all troubles with the Eagle and his blasted feathers. In Monterey, he was freer all along because they didn't know him so well. Diego is acting very carefree and sweet to Rosarita, and, in turn, Rosarita is both more childish—because this is her home turf, and she can afford to be—and more mature, because any way you look at it (the show or 'Smitten') her visit to Los Angeles changed her perspective on Diego.

This story will also be longer than its predecessors.

I've realized something while rereading this before publishing. Pretty much nothing in this story would be something that could actually make it into an episode, and Zorro won't show up for a while yet. But, I'm okay with that. Just thought I'd put that out there.

I'll note here that I actually don't find it very plausible myself for Diego, and Alejandro, to stop by the Cortez's rancho on their way back from Monterey, but you can never tell what will become of those 'chance meetings' in the plaza.

I also really like the idea of Diego going to Rosarita after the Amnesty debacle. He'd need that.