Joaquin woke up convinced that he was falling.

He groped blindly and grabbed air. For a second he braced for the impact. Then he realized that he was in bed, the mattress still and sturdy under him. Opening his eye, he blinked sleep away. Slowly, enlightenment dawned on him, and he grinned. Manolo had crowded him to the very edge of the bed, so that his arm and leg dangled off the side. Well, that explained the dream.

Manolo was a heavy weight against his back, his face pressed into Joaquin's shoulder. Sun came in through the window, warm on Joaquin's skin. He just laid there for a minute, content. Then his stomach pinched at him, demanding food.

He nudged at Manolo with his elbow. "Manny," he said, and nudged him again when Manolo made a protesting noise against his shoulder and didn't move. "Manny, get up."

"No," Manolo muttered, still not lifting his head. He patted at Joaquin's hip, a clumsy, half-awake touch. "Maria said we could sleep in." He laughed when Joaquin's stomach rumbled a complaint. "But breakfast would be good." Still, he moved away slowly, resting his cheek against Joaquin's shoulder for another second or two as though he needed to gather his strength and wake himself up a little more before he could sit upright.

When Joaquin rolled over, he stared at Manolo's hair. Instead of its usual perfection, his hair curled just so, it resembled a bird's nest. Tangled curls flew in every direction. Laughter welled in Joaquin's throat; he tried to swallow it down, but it was no use. His amusement escaped him in an explosive rush. He laughed so hard that the bed shook and tears came into his eye.

"What?" Manolo asked, laughing as well, though quieter, smiling but a little confused. He glanced over his shoulder, as though he thought Joaquin was laughing at something just past him.

Joaquin shook his head. He tried to say something, but laughter had stolen his breath. He slowly got himself under control. He reached out and touched Manolo's hair, the strands scratchy against his fingers, and watched understanding bloom on Manolo's face.

Manolo frowned. "Does it look that bad?" He turned a little into Joaquin's hand, staring towards the full-length mirror in the corner of the room. He made a face, and Joaquin had to bite back another laugh. "Oh."

"You look ridiculous, my friend," Joaquin assured him cheerfully. He tried to smooth away some of the tangles, stopped when his fingers yanked on a knot and Manolo winced. "Sorry. Hang on. I've got a comb you can use."

"Joaquin," Manolo said.

Joaquin paused, halfway across the room.

When he turned, Manolo had a strange look on his face, one Joaquin didn't recognize. Then the look shifted to a familiar grin, warm and teasing. Manolo smoothed a hand over his tangled curls, gave a little toss of his head. He said, mock-solemn, "We'd better hurry. I suspect that Maria married me for my perfect hair, you know. What would she do if she saw me now?"

An amused voice came from the doorway. "Tell you that I'd love you even if you went bald, of course."

Joaquin jumped a little. He hadn't heard the door open. He smiled at Maria as she leaned in the doorway, barefoot and wearing a black dress. Her hair had been combed and plaited into a single braid. She looked comfortable in Joaquin's house, like she belonged. Looking at her, Joaquin's chest ached, but he kept smiling. "Morning, Maria."

Manolo, meanwhile, looked horrified. "No Sanchez man has ever gone bald!" He touched his hair again and stared towards the mirror as though to reassure himself.

Joaquin and Maria exchanged a look, Maria's eyes bright with amusement, Joaquin suppressing a smirk. "I'm sure you'll keep up that tradition, Manny," he said. Reaching the dresser, he added, "Here," and tossed the comb in Manolo's direction.

"Thanks," Manolo said, catching it easily. He went to work on his hair with a look of absolute concentration.

Joaquin leaned against the dresser and watched, amused by the way Manolo furrowed his brow and a little mesmerized by the quick, certain movements of Manolo's hands and how fast he coaxed the shine back into his hair.

Manolo caught his lower lip between his teeth and half-scowled as he fought with a particularly stubborn knot. He paused, his expression softening, when Maria dropped a kiss upon his forehead and dangled a ribbon in front of him. Soon the tangled mess had been conquered and Manolo's hair was in a loose ponytail. He gave himself one last look in the mirror, and then bounded to his feet. "And what did you make for breakfast, my love?"

"Wait, Maria cooked?" Joaquin said before he could think better of it. Maria's expression didn't change, but he winced, remembering how he'd stuck his foot in his mouth at the general's dinner. Thinking of the irritated glint in Maria's eyes, he rubbed at the back of his neck and smiled apologetically. "Not that I don't think you'd be a great cook! I just, uh, thought that you..." He trailed off, unsure how to avoid offending her.

A quick smile touched Maria's lips, like she knew exactly what he was thinking. At least she looked amused and not annoyed. That was something. "I can cook," she said. She shrugged. "The sisters taught me the basics. Remember, I went to Spain to become a lady." Although the sarcastic edge to the last sentence didn't seem directed at him, Joaquin winced anyway.

"I made breakfast yesterday. We decided to take turns," Manolo explained with a cheerful grin. "I'd cook sometimes for the Rodriguez brothers, when we were hiding from Papa and learning a new song." If Maria had told him how badly Joaquin had blundered at that dinner, he didn't say anything about it. Instead he turned to Maria and asked, "So what delicious breakfast are we having today?"

Maria smiled. She said, dryly, "Well, after looking through Joaquin's pantry, I have prepared for you bread and...more bread."

"Oh," Joaquin said. He thought of his near-empty pantry, and flushed. He rubbed at the back of his neck. "Right. Sorry, I've been eating mostly at your father's house, so I haven't- I could go to the market-"

"It's fine, Joaquin," Maria said, laughing and shaking her head at him. "I've missed San Angel bread. Besides, the market will be closed all morning, remember?"

"Oh, right." Joaquin darted a glance at Manolo. Reassured that Manolo didn't seem bothered by the reminder of the funeral, he said, "Bread it is, then. I'll meet you guys in the kitchen in a minute." Once they'd both gone, he inspected his mustache in the mirror.

Reassured that it looked as magnificent as ever, he ventured into the kitchen, where Manolo leaned against the counter, eating a slice of bread. Maria was perched on the counter-top, idly swinging her legs and breaking off pieces of bread from the loaf. She tossed the bread to Chuy, the pig seated expectantly at her feet.

At the sight of the plain bread in Maria's hands, Joaquin frowned. Some host he was, providing such a pitiful breakfast. "Guys, I'm sorry about the food. I'll go to the market later. Can I make you a meal after- uh, well, can I cook you guys something this afternoon to make up for breakfast?"

Maria raised her eyebrows. "I didn't know you cooked."

He grinned and gave a little bow. "Soldier, cook, possessor of a truly magnificent mustache- I am a man ofmany accomplishments, señora." Encouraged by her amused look, he added, "Besides, when you do a lot of traveling, you have to learn to cook. Unless you really like canned food."

"I see," Maria said as she handed him a piece of bread. She looked at him thoughtfully. "You must have to pack a lot of food for your trips."

Joaquin shrugged. "Sure, to keep up this amount of muscle, I have to eat a lot." He flexed an arm automatically as Maria smiled. Then his stomach pinched at him, reminding him that he was talking a lot about eating but not actually doing it. He popped the bread into his mouth.

Manolo tilted his head to the side, thinking. "That's true. Whenever he's going away, he buys out half of Señora Cuevas's store." He paused and added slowly, "I suppose someone should let her know to expect you in a day or two..."

"Yeah, probably," Joaquin said, remembering how many supplies he'd brought for his last trip. Then he realized what Manolo had said. He looked between Manolo, who was watching him with the strange look from the bedroom, and Maria, whose expression was half-challenging. He rubbed at the back of his neck and tried to smile. "Oh. I guess Maria told you that I'm going after the surviving bandits. I was going to tell you. Just, uh, later..."

The corner of Manolo's mouth creased into something that wasn't a smile or a frown. He glanced at Maria and then said slowly, "That's...not how she phrased it, but yes, she told me you were leaving."

"Alone. To fight bandits without help," Maria added. Her voice was the dangerously even tone of before.

He remembered how she had pushed him against the tree, her expression dark with exasperated worry. He fidgeted, feeling like he had in school whenever he'd given the wrong answer and the sister had given him a disappointed look. This was worse though, because this was Maria and Manolo he was disappointing.

He cleared his throat. "Yeah, well... Just because Chakal's dead doesn't mean my work's done. I-"

"I, I, I, my, my, my," Maria said, throwing the words back at him. "Listen to him, Manolo. You'd think he defeated Chakal on his own, the way he talks."

Joaquin gaped. "No, that's not what I meant!"

Manolo looked solemn, nodding. "You're right, my love. It's obvious. He's going to tell everyone about Chakal's defeat and forget about us." He sighed and said mournfully, "It will be Joaquin and his magnificent mustache who saved the day, we'll be left out of the battle completely-"

"I'm not going to do that! I-" At the crinkling of Manolo's eyes, Joaquin realized Manolo and Maria were teasing him. He let out a deep, relieved sigh. It took a second for his heart to stop pounding. He shook his head and frowned. "Guys, don't do that. I thought you really believed I'm that self-centered."

"No," Maria said. She smiled at him, but it was a strange smile, a little rueful. "No, we know you aren't."

"But you are being ridiculous," Manolo added. His bright smile took the sting out of the words. "We just got the three amigos back together and you want to break us up again." Before Joaquin could explain his reasons again, Manolo stepped away from the counter and clasped Joaquin's elbow, squeezing it gently. "We're coming with you."

Joaquin started to laugh. It died on his lips as Manolo and Maria looked at him, both still smiling, but neither of them laughing. He stared. "You're not serious."

Maria turned the loaf of bread over in her hands, just examining it for a moment. Then she looked up, a familiar determined glint in her eye. Joaquin knew that look. It meant she was going to get her way and to hell with the consequences. "I've seen so much of Europe, but nothing of Mexico. I didn't come back to San Angel to sit here and- and-" Her lips thinned. "Be a meek, dutiful housewife," she said at last.

"Which is good, because that would get boring very quickly," Manolo said, smiling at her. Then he looked between her and Joaquin and squeezed Joaquin's arm again. "My two adventurers," he said, his voice soft and fond. Then he sighed loudly, assuming an overly mournful look that Joaquin now knew better than to take seriously. "You both have so many stories to tell! I've never been outside San Angel."

Joaquin blinked at him. "Uh, Manny-"

Manolo waggled a finger at the half-voiced protest. "Ah, ah, ah, the Land of the Remembered and the Land of the Forgotten don't count. I want to see Mexico." Then he grinned and stepped back, leaning against the counter again. "Besides, how can I perfect the Ballad of San Angel if you're not there to help me?"

"Joaquin," Maria said softly. When he looked at her, the determined glint was still in her eyes, but her expression had softened. "Don't you want us with you?"

"I-" Joaquin hesitated. He thought of all those cold desert nights, the lonely silences that would be broken by Manolo's music or Maria's stories, thought of looking across the fire and seeing Maria and Manolo smiling at him instead of shadows, and wanted it so badly that it terrified him. Still, he swallowed down the 'yes' caught in his throat, and shook his head. "You guys can't really want to spend your honeymoon chasing down Chakal's gang."

Maria laughed. "Why not? Sounds exciting to me."

Manolo leaned forward and said in a loud, confiding whisper, "Joaquin, I don't know if you've noticed, but Maria is a bit of an adventuress." He grinned when Maria rolled her eyes and kicked lightly at his hip with her bare foot. Then his expression turned serious. "Besides, it wouldn't be much of a honeymoon if we spent it worrying about you the entire time."

The sincerity touched Joaquin. All of his half-formed arguments fell out of his head. He looked between Manolo and Maria, seeing the earnestness in their faces. He should say no. He knew that he should say no. What would he do, if they survived defeating Chakal and then got hurt or worse against some random bandit? He should say no. They'd forgive him eventually.

What he said instead, hoarsely, was, "I- okay. If you guys are sure, okay."

Maria leaped off the counter, smiling so brightly it dazzled him. She wrapped an arm around Joaquin and Manolo's necks, dragged them both down until Joaquin's jaw bumped against her cheek. When she spoke, the pleased, slightly teasing words reverberated through him. "Good! I'm glad you're finally being sensible."

Her happiness was infectious. For a second he felt as light as he had when they'd danced together at the wedding. He couldn't regret saying yes, not when Manolo and Maria both beamed at him. He had to close his eye, which prickled like he was about to cry, which would have been ridiculous.

Manolo's hand settled upon his hip, grounding him. A quiet, slightly watery laugh escaped Joaquin as Manolo added cheerfully, "Besides, we were going to follow you anyway if you said no."

"Of course you were," Joaquin said, or tried to. He had to clear his throat once or twice before he could get the words out. He was smiling so fondly at them both that his face hurt. He could easily picture Maria and Manolo riding stubbornly after him and Plata, doggedly following them until he gave in. Fondness caught at his chest again.

At their feet, Chuy let out a protesting grumble.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Chuy! Are you still hungry?" Maria asked.

As she knelt and gave Chuy an apologetic scratch behind his ears, Manolo stepped into the empty space Maria had left. He settled against Joaquin and draped an arm across his shoulders, grinning up at him.

Joaquin could feel the warmth of Manolo's skin even through their underclothes. Their legs pressed against each other; Joaquin could feel the flex of his thigh as Manolo resettled his weight. Heat prickled under the collar of his undershirt. Maybe he should have changed before breakfast, he thought vaguely.

Manolo tugged at Joaquin until they both leaned against the counter. "You can't get rid of us that easily, my friend," he said. He was still smiling, but it was lopsided, like he was serious and trying not to show it.

"I don't-" Joaquin stopped. Not for the first time, he wished he was better with words. Oh, he was fine with the speeches he'd given to towns over the years. Those speeches had been nice and short and had said the same thing every time: You're welcome, you're safe, yes I am pretty great, now let's have a party. He cleared his throat, uncomfortably aware that Maria was looking at him too, her hands stilled in the middle of breaking off a piece of bread for Chuy. He resisted the urge to rub at the back of his neck or smooth a hand over his mustache.

"It's not that I don't want you guys around," he said slowly. "It's just- I already lost you both once, I don't want-"

Manolo's arm tightened around him. His smile had softened. "Like I said. You can't get rid of us that easily," he said. He raised his free hand, waved it at the air in front of them, as though conjuring something. "We're writing our own stories, remember? And they're going to be long. Long and amazing and exciting."

"Yeah," Joaquin said, his throat tight again as he tried to imagine it. "Yeah."

It was another three days before they could actually leave San Angel.

It had been simpler when he'd just needed supplies for himself and Plata, but Joaquin didn't mind, not when it meant that Maria and Manolo were going to be with him. It still seemed too good to be true. But they really were coming along, even if that meant that it took a bit more work to get out of town.

First, of course, there were the funerals. Then there was convincing Maria's father to let them go. Then there was rebuilding the gate as Maria taught the general the apparently intricate task of taking care of Chuy while they were gone. Then there was the hunt for two horses that could keep up with Plata. Then there was gathering enough supplies from Señora Cuevas to last them on their journey until they reached the village Joaquin wanted to visit. It was a likely target for the surviving bandits. It wasn't connected to the railroad, making it an easy target, and it had been raided before. At the very least, the villagers might have heard rumors about where the bandits had fled to and would gladly pass along the information.

But at last, everything was ready. Maria and Manolo were having one last meal with the general, and then they'd be off.

Joaquin looked over his packs one final time. Satisfied that he hadn't forgotten anything, he picked up his sombrero. It was only then, after all the hustle and bustle of the past few days, that he remembered Maria's bonnet, still tucked away safely in his hat. He took it out, and absently put his sombrero on. Then he turned the bonnet over in his hands and stared at it. What should he do with it now? He'd kept it safe all these years from the dirt and the sun, pulling it out on those lonely nights chasing bandits when San Angel had seemed very far away. He hadn't exaggerated when he'd told Maria it had kept him going all these years. It had tied him to San Angel in a way nothing else had, when he had been tired and even his memories had felt faded and worn-out.

"Joaquin?"

Joaquin flinched, nearly crumpling the bonnet in surprise. He turned towards Manolo, touched by guilt and the feeling that he'd been caught doing something he shouldn't. Fighting against the urge to hide the bonnet behind his back, he smiled awkwardly. "Oh, hey. Everything ready?"

"Yes," Manolo said, and then stopped, blinking. An incredulous smile crossed his face. He raised his hand as though to touch the hat, and then stopped himself. "Is that Maria's bonnet?"

"Um, yeah." An uncomfortable laugh scraped its way out of Joaquin's throat. At least Manolo didn't look disturbed by the realization that Joaquin still had Maria's bonnet; in fact, his incredulous smile had shifted to something fond and half-wistful, like he was remembering their farewell at the train station. Still, nerves gnawed at Joaquin's stomach. He turned the bonnet over again in his hands, slowly, and shrugged. "I'm not sure what to do with it."

"Ask Maria," Manolo said simply, and then reached out. This time his fingers brushed one of the dangling ribbons. "It's so small," he marveled. "I can't believe Maria was ever that small, can you?" Then he laughed, slapping lightly at Joaquin's shoulder. "It's hard to imagine any of us were ever that small. Especially you!" He touched Joaquin's shoulder again, gently, and then repeated, "Maria will know what to do with it." He turned. "Maria!"

"Yes?" Maria tested the ropes tying her packs to her mare's back one more time, and turned. She spotted the bonnet. The same startled but touched look from before returned to her face. "Oh! My bonnet. Did you know he'd kept it, Manolo?"

"No," Manolo said. The corners of his eyes crinkled. He reached out again, but this time it was to touch the head of his guitar, strapped to his back. Running his fingers over the beloved gift, he kept smiling, like it didn't bother him at all how they'd fought over Maria, that he was somehow pleased that Joaquin had carried around a sentimental keepsake for years. He waved a hand towards Joaquin and added, "Joaquin's not sure what to do with it."

Maria's questioning gaze rose from the bonnet to Joaquin's face.

Warmth crept up his throat. He forced the prickling, embarrassed heat away and shrugged again. He said, trying for another smile, "Seems a little silly to bring it along."

Maria's expression warmed. "Well, of course! You've got me and Manolo now. We're much better than a bonnet." She took the hat from his unresisting hands as he tried to figure out what to say. Then she paused, seeing something in his face, maybe, and patted his cheek. She smiled up at him. "I'll put it inside."

As she disappeared into the house, Joaquin finally noticed the gathering crowd. There was Sister Ana with the orphans, and Señora Campos and her daughter, and the general and his brigade, the last group all looking a little red-eyed. Clearing his throat, he nudged at Manolo and nodded towards General Posada. "How much do you think the general's going to cry when we leave?"

"He cried all the way through breakfast," Manolo said, making a face. "It was pretty uncomfortable."

"Can you blame him?"

"No," Manolo agreed. His smile widened, a sudden flash of brilliance, his gaze softening.

Joaquin knew without looking that Maria was back even before she wrapped an arm around his and Manolo's necks and tugged them down to her level. Her teeth flashed in the early morning light as she smiled. Her cheeks were flushed with excitement, and she looked, as always, so beautiful that Joaquin's chest hurt. She tipped her face up towards them. A quiet laugh escaped her, and she shook them both lightly. "Well, are you ready?"

"Yes," Manolo and Joaquin said as one, though their answer was half-lost as the general let out a wobbly, "Maria! At least hug me g-goodbye!"

As Maria sighed, affection sparkling in her eyes, and went to embrace her father one last time, Joaquin cleared his throat. He tried to look at Manolo from the corner of his eye, and then realized his mistake. He turned his head a little and cleared his throat again. He felt like he should say something, though he didn't know what. He settled for clapping Manolo on the shoulder and saying, "Hard to believe we're really doing this. Still not sure how much of a honeymoon this is for you guys-"

He stopped when Manolo laughed. Amusement tinged his voice. "What kind of honeymoon doesn't involve adventure and chasing down bandits?" Then the sincerity of that morning when he and Maria had announced their intention to come with Joaquin returned to his face. He patted Joaquin's hand, which Joaquin belatedly realized was still on Manolo's shoulder. His fingers, roughened by handling swords and his guitar, were warm. "I'm glad you said yes."

Affection caught at Joaquin again, warm and low in his stomach. Before he could answer, Maria was back, springing smoothly into her saddle without assistance. Somehow she mounted the horse as though she'd had years of practice, avoiding catching her skirt on anything. He hadn't remembering riding lessons in her letters to her father. Not for the first time, Joaquin wondered about everything that the convent had taught her. She stared down at the two of them, smiling but with a hint of impatience in the purse of her lips. "Come on, guys. We're wasting sunlight."

Joaquin bowed, grinning. "Yes, señora," he said, and then grinned wider as Manolo bowed as well and added, looking up at her from beneath his curls, "As you wish, my love."

Maria laughed at them both, shaking her head. Her mare pranced and snorted, infected by Maria's excitement.

Joaquin leaped lightly into his saddle. Plata flicked a questioning ear at him, eyeing the two other horses curiously. Joaquin patted his neck. Unable to keep from grinning so widely that his entire face ached, he whispered, "Yeah, I know. This time we've got company. Amazing, right?" Then he urged Plata into a trot, automatically waving to the crowd.

Cries of, "Maria! Manolo! Joaquin! Good luck!" followed them past the rebuilt gate and across to the mainland, the general's voice the loudest of all.

Joaquin kept them at a steady pace. Horses could go for ages without needing a rest if you didn't push them too hard, even horses that weren't quite as great as Plata. The journey was mostly quiet at first, the silence broken only by the wind in Joaquin's ears, the sound of the horses's hooves striking the dirt, and the occasional muttering from Manolo as he tried to arrange himself so he could ride and play his guitar at the same time. Somehow he managed not to tip himself into the dirt, though there were a few close calls.

After an hour or so, Manolo ended up seated side-saddle like Maria, crooking his leg over the horn and balancing there precariously. When Joaquin glanced at him, he looked pleased with himself. "Would you like to hear a little of the Ballad of San Angel?" Manolo asked. "What I have so far, I mean. This one is a work in progress."

"Of course!" Joaquin said. He smoothed a hand over his mustache and resisted the urge to pose dramatically. "You've been working on the parts about me, right?" The wind carried Maria's laughter to his ears and he added hastily, "Ah, and Maria, of course."

Manolo grinned. "No, I changed my mind. The ballad is now all about me." Before Joaquin could do more than chuckle, Manolo began to play. Instead of Joaquin or Maria, though, he sang about the townspeople standing up against Chakal and his bandits. The affection for the people of San Angel softened his voice and poured out of the guitar.

Joaquin's amusement faded to something else, something he couldn't put a name to. It wasn't homesickness, exactly, but something close to it. He was torn between relief and regret when Manolo stopped.

Maria nudged her mare closer to Manolo, reaching out and stroking his hair. It was a wonder that he didn't fall out of his saddle leaning into her touch, Joaquin thought as he watched them, still feeling that nameless emotion gripping him. "My amazing guitarrista," she said tenderly. Then she looked up, over Manolo's shoulder, her gaze meeting Joaquin's. He flushed, feeling like he'd been intruding, but her smile only widened. "Isn't he wonderful, Joaquin?"

"Uh," Joaquin said. The question jerked him from the strange spell he'd fallen under, listening to Manolo's music. It was an easy question to answer, at least. If he'd been closer to them, he would've clapped Manolo's shoulder. He settled for grinning and saying, "Of course. Best guitarrista in Mexico!" He dragged his eye away from them, remembering their mission. "Hey, we're making good time. Just let me know when you guys are hungry. We can probably ride for another hour or two before the horses need a break." He patted Plata's neck, and Plata snorted at him, eyeing the other two horses as though to say, Don't lump me in with these two.

"Joaquin," Maria said, drawing his attention back to her. "Tomorrow, before breakfast, I thought we could practice together."

Joaquin blinked at her. It shouldn't have been a surprise; she'd expressed an interest in practicing again the day before, but her training of the general had taken longer than expected. He could even see the two practice swords strapped to her packs now that he looked for them. Still, the suggestion somehow caught him off-guard. He remembered her graceful movements the day after the funeral as she'd lunged and leaped around him. Unbidden, he remembered Manolo too, his footwork light and effortless as he sidestepped the bull's charge during the bullfight. They both fought like they were dancing, listening to some inner music. His face warmed again.

When she raised an eyebrow, he realized he hadn't answered her. He nodded, a little jerkily. "Sure. We don't want to be rusty when we finally track down the bandits."

"Of course," Maria said, nodding and looking mock-solemn.

Everything was quiet for a moment. Then he grinned at her. "So," he said, drawing out the word. "Fencing, martial arts, cooking... What else did you learn in Europe?"

A familiar mischief lit up Maria's face. She looked at him sidelong, her lips drawing back into a challenging smile. "A lot. Care for a demonstration?"

"Oh yeah," Joaquin said, excitement warm in his stomach.

Maria grinned and urged her mare into a gallop, somehow still seated side-saddle. For a second he just watched her, admiring her balance. Then Plata pranced a little, fixing Joaquin with an eager, questioning look in his dark eyes. Joaquin laughed again and slapped his neck. "Come on, let's show her how we ride in Mexico." At a press of his knees, Plata was off, fairly flying over the dirt.

The wind roared in Joaquin's ears, but beneath the sound he heard, faintly, Manolo's laughing protest, "Hey, wait up! I'm not used to riding this way! Maria! Joaquin! This is totally cheating, you know!"