"In," she whispered.

He nodded. "You'll be the most beautiful first lady ever. Designers will stand in line to have you wear their creations. You'll be able to chair committees, lobby politicians at parties, and get the nation interested in your favorite charities."

She smiled. "I'm looking forward to that-the committees, fashion shows, charities. One of the first things we should do is cut the Senator's standing contributions so that we can make our own name on the charity circuit."

"I put Pete to work on it already."

"Perhaps a more high-powered accountant," she began. Then she saw Melissa out in the hallway. "I'm sure Pete will get the job done," Anne said loudly, telling Josh that they weren't alone anymore.

"He always has," Josh said, turning toward the doorway. "What is it, Melissa?"

"You asked me to tell you when Miss Winifred and her personal historian were together. They're working in the Sisters' Suite right now."

Chapter 17

QUINTRELL RANCH

TUESDAY MORNING

CARLY FLIPPED QUICKLY THROUGH PHOTOGRAPHS, PLACING THEM IN A KIND OF rough generational order based on clothes, faces, or what she'd managed to get out of Winifred. The older woman had very definite feelings about what was important and what should be ignored. Carly had pointed out repeatedly that a family history that left out the men wasn't a "history" at all. Winifred had finally said she'd think about it, and while she did, Carly could work on the Castillo women.

So Carly set her teeth and looked at photos of women. It was better than thinking about the frightening call, the screams, the husky whisper threatening her.

Get out of Taos or you'll be the one screaming.

Carly told herself that the sweaty, clammy feeling she had was because of the hothouse temperature of the room. She'd dressed for it by cutting off a pair of jeans and knotting the tails of a blue work shirt below her breasts. Her feet were bare. Her boots, scarf, mittens, and winter coat were stacked to one side of the door. The heat of the sickroom was suffocating.

That's why she was sweating. The temperature, not the awful screams and ugly words.

"I understand that the Senator held yearly barbecues at the ranch," Carly said.

Winifred answered without stopping the repetitious exercises that, along with liberal amounts of herbal salve, were supposed to awaken or maintain nerve pathways in Sylvia's body. Or at least to keep the body as healthy as possible. "Yes." Bendand two and three and four and bold. "He loved playing el patron.'"

The good news for Carly was that after the first fifteen minutes, her nose had stopped protesting the smell of the homemade salve Winifred rubbed into her sister's unresponsive body. The bad news was that Carly had to get used to it all over again every time she left the room.

She studied the picture she was holding. It showed a much younger Andrew Jackson Quintrell III, soon to be known as the Senator, standing near a young woman whose body was as lush as her smile. The sexual speculation in his expression was unmistakable, yet he was still dressed in his wedding suit and his beautiful bride was laughing on his arm.

"Do you recognize this girl?" Carly stretched to show the photo but didn't stand. She'd been up and down with pictures so often this morning she felt like a yo-yo.

Winifred glanced over without breaking the exercise routine. "Guadalupe Mendoza y Escalante. One of Sylvia's bridesmaids."

"Did she know the Senator?"

Winifred made a rough sound. "She was female. He liked women. A lot of them."

"Then Guadalupe was his lover?"

Winifred flexed her hands, dipped some more reeking cream from a clay pot, and began the massaging motions that improved circulation to Sylvia's limbs.

"According to Sylvia, yes," Winifred said. "But she didn't know it when that picture was taken. It took her years to catch on to the philandering son of a bitch."

"Were there any children?"

"With Guadalupe?"

"Yes."

Winifred rubbed slowly, then briskly patted her hands over Sylvia's withered leg. "Not that I know of."

"Would you know?"

Winifred shrugged. "It was different seventy years ago. Unmarried girls who got pregnant took some herbs from a curandero or had the bastard and gave it up for adoption. Mostly the girls just had the bastards. Either way, it wasn't much talked about outside the family. People took care of their own."

Carly didn't say anything. She suspected that she herself was the unwanted result of a brief affair, something to be gotten rid of as soon as possible. Silently she flipped through more photos. It seemed that every time there was a picture of the Senator, he was eyeing one woman or another.

Mostly the girls just had the bastards.

"No wonder Dan said that in a village there are cousins under every bush," Carly said quietly into her microphone.

If Winifred heard, she didn't say anything.

"Did the Senator ever acknowledge any of his children outside of marriage?" Carly asked in a normal tone.

"His bastards?"

Carly winced. As far as she was concerned, the Senator was the real bastard. He had a choice. Any children born to his lovers didn't. "Yes."

"Never. He knew what was good for him." Winifred massaged in more cream.

"You mean he didn't want to ruin his reputation because of his political ambition?"

"No." Winifred's hands moved vigorously. "He kept it quiet because my mother and grandfather would have had his philandering balls, and I don't mean maybe."

"Are you saying they didn't approve of Sylvia's choice in husbands?"

Winifred straightened, stretched her back, and flexed her hands. "The family knew what she was getting into. She didn't. She was in love with him."

"Then why did your parents allow the marriage?" Carly asked, gesturing with one hand toward an old photo album of the wedding.

"Same reason a branch of the Castillos married off one of their daughters to the first Andrew Jackson Quintrell in 1865. Land, pure and simple. The Castillos held a big piece of the original Onate land grant. They saw their cousins and friends having land seized because they didn't understand the Anglo system, where you pay property taxes or lose the land, where you're taxed individually on lands held in common. In any case, the Castillos didn't have money to pay taxes to their new government in Washington, D.C."

"So the Castillos arranged to marry an Anglo into the family, as a way to cope with the new rules?" Carly asked.

Winifred nodded and bent down to Sylvia again. "The Castillos had land, cattle, water, horses, and the certainty they'd lose all of it to the Anglos. A. J. Quintrell had the connections to keep the Castillo land intact and a willingness to defend that land at gunpoint. He married Isobel Castillo and spent the rest of his life consolidating the Castillo grant."

"Was it a happy marriage?" Carly asked.

The old woman shrugged. "No one ever said anything about it one way or the other. Back then, you married for the family, not for yourself. Isobel gave the first Quintrell an heir and two girls. The girls were married off to Sandovals in Mexico. A. J. Junior grew up to be an even better manager than his daddy."

"So the Castillos got what they wanted."

"One side did. The other side got swindled out of their rightful heritage. My side."

"What do you mean, your side?" Carly frowned, wondering what she'd missed. Quickly she checked the charge on her recorder. Once Winifred started talking, names and memories and family anecdotes came tumbling out too quickly to sort through, much less understand.

"Isobel had a sister, Juana. She married a third cousin, another Castillo. They had one surviving child, Maria."