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1930
Nido de Aguilas
Sierra Madre Mountains
Chihuahua, Mexico
Wade Walker strolled from his family’s compound of haciendas, past the adobe wall that separated their land from the rest of the mountain, and down the narrow dirt road that wound into the village below.
He was an old man now, a great-grandfather, pushing eighty-one. And for a man who’d started life as the son of a whore and a penniless drunk, he’d have to say he’d been pretty lucky.
“Abuelo, espera, espera!”
A piping voice and the sound of running feet behind him made him stop and turn. His fifth grandchild, Mateo, came dashing up to meet him with a laughing face and a bag in his hand.
“Grandmama says not to forget to bring back cheese and bread.”
Wade nodded and took the bag gently. “Gracias, Mateo. Dile a tu abuela que lo recordaré.”
He’d finally had to learn Spanish, and he’d mastered it well enough to make himself understood, anyway. Mateo nodded and dashed back up the hill.
Wade watched him go, then turned to resume his stroll. Yes, he was a lucky man.
There had been a time when he thought he’d lost the only woman he’d ever loved. But he and Sofia had been married for fifty years now and had five children, eight grandchildren, and one brand-new great-grandchild.
He’d been born into poverty, but now he was the founder of a Mexican mountain town, the wealthiest man in it, and something of a patriarch. He shook his head and smiled.
He’d made a pretty decent living for them, when they first arrived. But both he and Sofia had been thunderstruck when a telegram arrived from a lawyer in Cheyenne. It had informed Sofia that she’d inherited Royce’s fortune at his death.
It had been pure poetic justice that the man who’d made her life with him a living hell, had been forced in death to pay for the rest of it.
Wade made a face as he remembered. He hadn’t wanted Sofia to take the money at first, but she’d insisted. She said Royce owed her for every bruise and broken bone, and when she put it that way, he had to come around.
Now their family compound covered half a mountain, and a small army of vaqueros tended their herds of Corriente cattle.
Life was strange.
Wade took his time down the steep road. He was strong for a man of eighty, but he was eighty. He might be wearing a linen suit and Panama hat, he might have an ebony cane, but gravity didn’t care for any of that, and he arrived in the village in one piece, and at his own pace.
Nido de Aguilas was a sleepy cluster of adobe buildings on the side of a lush mountain. It perched there like the eagle’s nest it was named for, and he and Sofia had built it from nothing, from the jungle.
Wade strolled down the main street, and as usual, he was hailed by everyone he met. They called him abuelo. It irritated him, even though they meant it well, because he didn’t like to be reminded that he was an old goat now. But he couldn’t deny his reflection in the mirror, so he just nodded and let them.
He drifted into the town café and took his usual seat on the patio. The waiter brought him a cup of coffee and his newspaper, a luxury shipped in monthly from New Mexico, and he unfolded it to read the news.
The headlines screamed of Depression, of desperation and hunger. But their little town was so isolated from the world that they heard of its troubles only dimly. They raised their own food, they built their own homes, and though they never lacked money, they needed very little.
Yes, he was a grateful man.
As he read, an elderly man came walking into the café and lowered himself into a chair at a nearby table. Wade glanced at him, then glanced again. He frowned and lowered his newspaper.
The face was older, more lined with time and hard living. But it was surely…
Wade dropped the newspaper and leaned toward him. “Diego?” he gasped. “Is that you?”
A wintry smile flitted over the other man’s face. “Si,” he replied softly. “It has been many years, has it not?”
Wade patted the chair opposite him. “Come and tell me what you’ve been doing. And what brings you here. We’re too high in the mountains for it to be an accident.”
Diego stood and walked over to join him. He lowered himself into the chair and propped his withered hands on a cane. “I was traveling through Chihuahua, and I thought I’d come and see if the rumors were true.”
“Rumors?”
Diego tilted his head and smiled. “I heard stories of a mysterious Anglo who bought a mountain and built a town on top of it. It was said,” he added with a wry twinkle, “that he had a hundred children and peopled the town that way.”
Wade chuckled with him and shook his head. “Not true, but not far off. Sofia and I have many children and grandchildren.”
“Ah! So you did end up together.”
“Yes. We wouldn’t have been happy with anybody else.”
Diego smiled. “I envy you,” he sighed. “I never found that myself. I chased money, and I caught it. But I never found a woman I loved like you love your Sofia. Penance for my sins, perhaps.”
Wade laughed. “No man would ever be married, then. But I’m glad to hear you did well.”
He paused and stared at the other man curiously.
“I’ve always wondered about something, and now that you’re here, I want to settle it. You could’ve killed me in Albuquerque, all those years ago. Why didn’t you?”
Diego shrugged and looked away. “I wonder myself,” he admitted. “I fear I may have a conscience. Who knows.”
Wade nodded. “I think you do. I hope it gives you peace.” He picked up the newspaper and folded it. “I have to go get groceries. I’m an old man now who does errands for his wife. But if you’re staying in town tonight, walk up the hill and have dinner with us tonight. Sofia will be glad to see you again.”
He rose and sauntered out to do his shopping, but old memories followed him like his shadow. And when he walked back up the hill to their own house, he paused to gaze at Sofia as she watered her flowers in their front yard.
Neither of them were like the young lovers who’d arrived there so many years ago. But he still saw his raven-haired beauty when he looked at Sofia, and he saw the young cowboy he used to be in her eyes.
He thought of what Diego had said and shook his head. Diego was right, they had been lucky. He’d always known that, but that afternoon, he was reminded.
Sofia looked up at him and smiled as he walked the path to their door. “Where have you been? I’ve been waiting for you.”
He reached out to take her hand, and they walked back into the house together.
OFFER: A BRAND NEW SERIES AND 2 FREEBIES FOR YOU!
Grab my new series, "Grit and Glory on the Frontier", and get 2 FREE novels as a gift! Have a look here!
Hello there, I really hope you liked my new western adventure story and the extended epilogue! I would be happy to read your thoughts below.
What a great love story you wrote. Full of adventure,heart ache and second chances. At 84 I never got mine but love eating about others. You never fail to entertain. Look forward to your next one I read.
Thank you so much! I don’t think we really get such love stories in real life, that’s why we love reading about them. Glad you enjoy the book, and thank you very much for your kind support!
It is good for me, a man who will be 81 years old in early December 2025, to read of Wade and Sofia in their latter lives having survived seemingly insurmountable odds against their ever having made it to the top of the mountain together. Yet they did make it together and spawned 14 offspring as their gift to the world for the success of their incredible adventure.
Thanks for the memories, Derek. They are much appreciated. And they help make my memories of surviving life threatening events even more poinient.
—Bob Simpson—
Formerly known in my 20’s as US Air Force Captain Bob Simpson, B-52 Bomber Electronic Warfare Officer.
Hi Bob. Sometimes I look into my past and wonder, how did I do this? Did I really make it through all those problems and difficulties? Because when something bad happens, we don’t think. We act, and we push through. I think we are all stronger than we give ourselves credit for.
Glad you enjoyed this adventure and hope you will enjoy many more adventures and good years to come.
Thank you – Never thought I would enjoy reading this type of genre – your first book I read was exciting, full of all the elements that go to make a good book. Now I find the second book I’ve read outshined the first…would loved to have had a Wade in my life. Looking forward to the next book.
That is an extremely kind thing to say, and I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart for it. I’m glad the story spoke to you regardless of genre.
An extremely exciting story from start to finish I’m trying to read all of the stories written by you, Derek. I’m 85 years old but I still am inspired by your stories. I’ve always wanted to be a writer, but my life has been so crowded with other things (just an excuse) I guess. Keep up the good work and I’m looking forward to the next exciting story from you.
Thank you, Leonard! That’s really kind of you and I appreciate it more than I can express. It is my honor that you are reading my entire bibliography. Thank you!