Secrets by Brenda Joyce

forbidding in its immensity and starkness, yet it was spectacular, too.
    Slade pointed north, in the opposite direction, across the other side of the narrow ridge. “The big valley’s there. Where we have our groves and the vineyard. On the hill above is the house. You can’t see it from here.”
    The mountains were tamer on that side, resembling the hills he had described to her earlier. Oaks and pine softened the landscape. The ocean stretched out against that horizon, too, dusky-blue boldly juxtaposed against summer gold.
    Regina breathed deeply. The air had a cleaner, sweeter smell, and it was distinctly cooler than it had been in Templeton. Slade lifted the reins. The road wound gently down through the hills now. Not many minutes passed before they entered the valley. And just before they actually arrived at the hacienda, Regina knew they were approaching the sea. She could taste the salty tang on the slight breeze that lifted the tendrils of hair on the back of her neck.
    The ranch house was at the end of the valley where the ground slowly rose to meet the sky. Numerous barns, paddocks, and wood-sided buildings, all weathered gray, gave the rancho the appearance of a small, secluded village. Privately, Regina could imagine just how wonderful Miramar would look freshly whitewashed, but she would never say so.
    They passed acres of orange groves. Slade had not been very communicative since they had kissed, but now he could not refrain from telling her about his home.
    â€œMy grandfather, Alejandro Delanza, chose to build his home here rather than at the other end of the valley.”
    â€œI don’t blame him,” Regina murmured. The Spanish-style hacienda was silhouetted boldly against the pastel-blue sky, framed on one side by pine-clad hills, and gave the distinct appearance of reigning above all the land, people, and other living creatures below it.
    Slade gave her a long look. “There were no towns down-valley back then, just the mission at San Miguel.”
    â€œEven so, your grandfather had an eye for grandeur.”
    The road wound toward the house, which was where it ended. As they approached the outlying barns, passing blooded colts frollicking in one pasture, Slade said, “Once we had a hundred men in our employ, and Miramar supported not just them but their wives and children, too. In those days we were a traditional hacienda, meaning that we were self-sufficient. Everything we needed was raised, grown, or made right here.”
    â€œThat’s very romantic.”
    Slade gave her another thoughtful look. “But not productive, and by the time California reached statehood, not competitive. Now we have a dozen vaqueros in our employ, one tanner, one butcher, and Cookie. Not including some help up at the house,” he added.
    It was a far cry from the old days, Regina thought. It was somehow sad. Slade might have guessed her thoughts. “I wouldn’t turn back the clock even if I could,” he said.
    He drove past the outbuildings and barns, taking them directly to the house. A man who bore no real resemblance to Slade, but who somehow reminded her of him, came through the courtyard toward them.
    â€œWelcome to Miramar,” the smiling young man said. “I’m Edward.”
    Regina smiled back at him. His open, direct friendliness was very welcome after the complicated, tangled state of her relationship with Slade. He helped her down from the carriage. “Now I know why James was in love with you,” he said.
    Regina was aware that his flattery was rather smooth, but he was such a handsome man, his charm innate, that she did not mind. Here, surely, was the classic ladies’ man. His flirtatiousness did not unnerve her, not at all, and she had the feeling that she was well-versed in this kind of exchange. “That is too kind of you,” she said.
    â€œI guess you must hear flattery all the time. Does it ever get boring being told how