Darkness was just beginning to settle over Santa Maria de la Campana but already a lively celebration spilled out into the dusty plaza. Everywhere was music and dancing and the sweet smoky smell of barbecue permeating the whole village. Tables ringed the plaza and lanterns added a rich glow. From Father Salazar’s boom box issued a tasty sampler of Tejano music, courtesy of his nephew, the club DJ from El Paso.
Ditch Withers sat in his usual place of honor at the center of the long wooden table flanked by Father Salazar on one side and Kip on the other. The spot next to Kip, clearly reserved for Anna, was conspicuously vacant.
“Must be a royal pain in the patoot having to pull up stakes and move,” Ditch shouted over the music.
“Comes with the territory,” Kip answered. “Gotta go where the
