by Pennza, Amy
Catalina reached over and gave him a light punch on the shoulder. “Stop it. Ashley is crazy about you.”
He smiled. “That’s love, I guess. Two people deciding to share their individual craziness with each other.”
“So romantic,” she said, rolling her eyes. “If the police thing doesn’t work out, you should get a job writing greeting cards.”
His chuckle set Deuce’s tail wagging again. They fell silent, easy and comfortable in each other’s company. It had always been that way between her and Smith. Maybe that’s why she never told him the truth about her relationship with Juan. There was nothing easy or comfortable there.
Except in the bedroom.
She sucked in a breath. She’d left San Antonio to get away from Juan. Yet here he was, dominating her thoughts as surely as if he’d followed her to Prattsville. Out of nowhere, a lump rose in her throat.
Deuce whined, then got to his feet and came to her side. He pushed his head under her hand, his amber eyes somber.
“He knows when you’re sad,” Smith said.
She looked up. “I’m not sad.”
Smith said nothing, but his expression let her know what he thought of her lie. He walked to the edge of the stairs and sat on the top step. Then he patted the spot next to him.
She sighed, walked over, and sat beside him. After a minute, she leaned her head on his uniformed shoulder. A minute after that, Deuce flopped onto the ground at their backs. His tail thumped once, then he wriggled his furry body more snugly against them.
Catalina lifted her head and looked at him over her shoulder. He rested his big head on his paws, his eyes closed. “Some police dog you are.”
“He’s not a police dog,” Smith said lightly.
Surprised bolted through her. “What?” Deuce went on patrol with Smith every day. He sat in the front seat of the cop car, for crying out loud.
Smith’s gaze held a smile. “He’s a therapy dog. For my PTSD.”
She didn’t know what to say. She knew Smith had come home from war…different. And she always suspected he’d seen things no one should ever have to see. But suspecting it was one thing. Hearing him say it was another.
Deuce slit one amber eye open, as if confirming Smith’s words.
A therapy dog.
She swallowed. “Does it work?” She stroked a hand down Deuce’s fur.
“Yes,” Smith said readily. “But it’s not a magic bullet.” He stared down the steps, his gaze distant. “Nothing can ever really cure PTSD. I had this therapist”—the corner of his mouth kicked up—“a damn good one. She said trauma is like a volcano. Or like lava, I guess. When you see it burning everything away, it’s hard to imagine anything ever growing back again.”
Catalina stopped petting Deuce. He lifted his head, met her gaze, then put it down again.
“But it does,” Smith said. He turned his head, catching her eye. “It won’t ever be like it was before, but something new will grow. Surviving is just a matter of getting used to the new stuff.”
The lump in her throat expanded. Somehow, she managed to talk without her voice cracking. “How long did it take? For the new stuff to come.”
“A while.” He rested his elbows on his knees, his hands loose between them. “I admit I was a real bastard for a long time. I pushed everyone away.”
Memories swept her. She hadn’t been around much when he returned home from the war, but she remembered him being distant. Colder.
“I probably would have kept doing it,” he said. “But then Ashley came along.”
“And she saved you?”
Smith reached back and rubbed behind one of Deuce’s ears. “No. She just loved me.”
Deuce leaned into Smith’s hand, and his tail hit the floor like a bullwhip.
Smith looked up. “But you know, as much as her loving me helped, that’s not what finally brought me to the place I am now.”
“What was it?”
Smith’s hazel eyes—so like Juan’s—softened. “I let myself love her back.”
Catalina’s lips parted, but no sound emerged.
Smith continued, his voice low and measured. “Trauma makes you doubt everything. If you let it, it’ll convince you that you’re ruined. That if you get too close to other people, you’ll ruin them, too.” He huffed a soft, self-deprecating laugh. “It’s a good thing Ashley is too stubborn to let me dictate what’s best for her. I thought I was protecting her, but I was really just hurting us both.”
Footsteps echoed across the porch, making the old boards squeak. Deuce lifted his head and let out a halfhearted woof. A second later, the door swung open, and Juan stepped inside.
Catalina’s stomach dropped to her feet. He was impeccable in a dark suit and tie, his hair swept back from his tan forehead. Cufflinks shone at his wrists. He must have come from the office.
Smith stood. “Hey, stranger. What brings you to this neck of the woods?”
Juan walked to the foot of the stairs and rested a hand on the newel post. He addressed Smith, but his gaze never left Catalina. “Business. There’s some, um, paperwork I need signed.” He spoke like he was distracted, as if he’d just remembered why he drove forty-five minutes from the city.
Still looking at Catalina, he said, “I stopped at the house. Ashley said you were over here.” He swallowed, then added absently, “She was wearing a ruff and a huge dress.”
Smith laughed, then reached down a hand and helped Catalina up. “Her theater director is from Toronto, which probably explains why he chose to put on a Shakespeare play in Texas in July.”
Catalina smoothed down her shirt. Then her jeans. Halfway through smoothing her hair, she caught herself and put her hands on the railing, curling her fingers around the wood.
“Have you heard from Rafe?” Smith asked as he descended the stairs. Deuce scrambled up and clattered behind him, his tail hitting the spindles on the way down.
“Yeah.” Juan seemed to realize he was staring. He focused on Smith and cleared his throat. “Just this morning, in fact. He’s taking Emily to Bogotá tomorrow.”
“Bogotá?” Smith paused on a step for a second, then kept going. “What’s in Colombia?”
Catalina took a deep breath and made her way down the stairs. Her heart pounded harder with each step, and she kept a hand on the railing so she wouldn’t stumble. She stopped on the last tread. Even so, both men still towered over her.
Juan rubbed a hand over his mouth. Up close, his face showed signs of fatigue. There were dark circles under his eyes, and the lines on his forehead were deeper. “That’s exactly what I asked Rafe. He wouldn’t say, but he sounded”—Juan glanced at Catalina—“worried. As worried as Rafe can sound, anyway.”
Smith rested a hand on his holster, his brow furrowed. “You think he’s worried about political unrest?”
“I doubt it. He’s never concerned himself with the government. It’s more likely he’s dealing with a rival. Maybe more than one.” Juan darted another look at Catalina. “I think word of his disinheritance spread. He could be facing a challenge. Casa Grande is secure, but it’s isolated. If another capo wanted to hit him, that’s the place to do it.”
Catalina’s throat went dry. For a second, she forgot about the shock of seeing Juan again. “We have to get Emily out of there.”
“We’re working on it.” He hesitated, then said, “I finished the last of the financial transfers today. There’s just one more document I need you to sign.”
Her heart stuttered. For the past two weeks, she’d existed in a sort of holding pattern. As long as Juan was working on reversing her inheritance, there was a possibility of seeing him again. She couldn’t venture too far away from San Antonio. After all, he might need her signature. Or an account number.
Funny how reassuring a holding pattern could be.
Deuce walked to the door, then looked at Smith over his shoulder and whined.
“He needs the potty,” Smith said. He looked at Juan, and his tone bright
ened. “You sticking around for dinner?”
“No,” Juan said, a little too quickly. He coughed into his fist. “I, uh… I should be getting back.”
“All right.” Smith looked between Juan and Catalina. He seemed to think something over, then he leaned toward Juan and said in Spanish, “You once gave me an important piece of advice, brother. Now, let me give it back. Don’t fuck this up.”
Juan scowled. “Gracias,” he said through clenched teeth.
Smith grinned. Then he was out the door and off the porch before Catalina could figure out what he’d meant.
“Smartass,” Juan muttered, his gaze on the door.
Somewhere in the house, a clock chimed thirty minutes after the hour.
Juan looked at her. His gaze moved over her face, lingering on her mouth, making her heart skip a beat. Then he glanced around the foyer. “Are you all right here?”
“Yes.” Dios, she sounded like she just smoked half a dozen cigarettes, her voice was so husky. She swallowed and said, “It’s just temporary.”
He looked like he wanted to say more, to question her statement, but he just nodded.
And she was not bothered by his easy acquiescence. She wasn’t.
“I have some papers here for you to look over.” He unbuttoned his jacket and withdrew a folded document from an inner pocket. He stared at it a moment, then held it out.
Her heart fluttered as she accepted it. Apprehension trickled down her spine. “What is it?”
He put his hands in his pockets. Gave his head the slightest shake.
It was like someone else was controlling her hands as she unfolded the sheaf of papers. Or maybe she was just numb. Then she saw it, right there in big, bold letters. Petition to annul marriage.
“It’ll be like the marriage never happened,” Juan said. “If you look near the bottom, it lists duress as the grounds. That means—”
“I know what it means,” she said. She lowered the papers to her side.
“Right.” He cleared his throat. “I didn’t have much choice when it came to picking grounds. Neither of us is insane, and we, ah, definitely consummated the marriage.”
Her cheeks heated. Yes, they certainly had.
“That’s not the only reason I came here, though,” he said. He took a deep breath, and a strange expression crossed his face.
Abruptly, she realized it wasn’t strange. It was just that she’d never seen it on Juan before.
He was terrified.
She was so stunned, she could only stand there while he talked, his voice halting at first, then picking up steam as he went.
“I owe you the annulment, but I also owe you a lot more than that. When I found out my father gave you everything, I told myself it was an opportunity. I could stop Rafe and…I could make you see reason.” Pain shaded his eyes. “I thought you were selfish for doing what you did. For running away. For running out on me, on us. But it wasn’t selfish. It was the most selfless thing you’ve ever done.”
Her throat burned. She tightened her grip on the annulment papers.
He went on. “That night on the beach, you said I would have married you anyway. You’re right, Catalina. You’re absolutely right. You also said I would have tried to fix you. And you might be right about that, too.” He paused, as if he needed her full attention for what he intended to say next.
He had it. He most definitely had it.
“But you said I would have resented you. And you’re wrong about that. You think I would have blamed you for changing, or because something happened that made you different. You’re not the person you were eight years ago, but neither am I.” He lifted his shoulders. “None of us are. We all change, Catalina. Everyone on this crazy, complicated planet. Life doesn’t stand still. It’s not always pleasant or pretty or kind. It’s a fire. Sometimes, it’s a goddamn inferno. It can burn you up if you let it.”
Her throat was so tight, she could hardly breathe. She just stood there, balanced on a cliff’s edge.
“Sometimes,” Juan said, “the best thing you can do is grab someone by the hand and run through it together.”
They stared at each other on either side of the grand staircase, the old house holding its breath around them. Dust motes drifted in a bar of early evening sun that shone on the hardwood floor like a narrow spotlight.
Juan pulled his hands from his pockets and let his arms hang at his sides. “I said I owed you more than the annulment. I owe you an apology. Saying I’m sorry will never be good enough, but I have to say it, anyway. I’m sorry for bullying you into marriage, and I’m sorry for thinking I had any right to control you. There’s no excuse for my actions, but you should know…” He switched to Spanish, his voice low, his beautiful eyes burning with an intensity that seared her soul. “I love you. I’ve loved you for so long, I don’t even remember when I started. I loved you when we were together before, and I loved you after you left me. I loved you when we were apart. I never stopped loving you.”
Now, tears were slipping down her cheeks and over her chin. She squeezed her fist around the annulment, gripping the paper until her hand hurt.
“I will love you forever,” he said. “Wife of my heart.”
Breathe. She had to keep breathing. But how could she, when he stood there, looking at her like that?
He didn’t move. He didn’t look at the papers in her hand. He just watched her, waiting for her to make a decision.
Sign. Or don’t.
Sign. Or don’t.
The cliff’s edge loomed. The future was uncertain. If she jumped, there was no guarantee of a soft landing.
Smith’s voice ran through her head. “It won’t ever be like it was before, but something new will grow. Surviving is just a matter of getting used to the new stuff.”
“Don’t think so much,” Rafe’s voice followed.
Slowly, she lifted the papers. She held them in front of her chest, her arms outstretched.
Juan’s gaze never wavered. His eyes remained steady, locked on hers.
She ripped the papers down the middle.
He had her in his arms before the two halves hit the floor. He pressed his lips to the top of her head, murmuring endearments in English and Spanish.
She squeezed her eyes shut, breathing in his scent. Letting herself love him.
Because she was worthy of love. She wasn’t ruined.
After a minute, Juan eased her away from him. He cupped her face in both hands, his thumbs wiping away her tears. “Don’t cry, princesa,” he whispered.
“I’m crying because I’m happy,” she said, putting her hands over his, pressing his palms against her skin. “I think I might be the happiest woman on this crazy, complicated planet.”
“Ahh.” He smiled. “Then make me the happiest man, and say you’ll marry me.”
“We’re already married.”
His eyes twinkled. “Marry me again.”
She pretended to think about it. “All right. But I get to write the vows this time.”
He leaned in until his lips hovered just above hers. “Whatever you say, Mrs. Salvatierra.” He kissed her, then put his forehead against hers and smiled. “Whatever you say.”
Epilogue
The firework sizzled straight up like a rocket, then burst against the darkening sky in a riot of red and gold.
“That was a good one,” Catalina murmured, putting her arms over her head and stretching until her toes touched the edge of the blanket. The movement made her white sundress ride up her thighs.
When Juan didn’t respond, she turned her head. He lay propped on one elbow beside her, his gaze fixed on her legs.
She snapped her fingers in his face.
He looked up, not even the slightest amount of guilt in his eyes. “What?”
“Are you even watching the fireworks?”
“Hell no. I’m watching my wife.”
Wife. The word purred through her mind, filling her with a satisfaction she hadn’t thought possible. There was n
o logical reason why a simple backyard wedding should make her feel like a real, official wife. When she and Juan said their vows on Smith and Ashley’s patio that afternoon, they hadn’t even needed a marriage license. Their courthouse union was perfectly legal and binding, which meant the short ceremony in Smith’s yard was really just a renewal of their vows.
Maybe that’s why it felt so different. They had renewed their commitment to each other.
This time around, it wasn’t about hurt or revenge. It was about…well, love. This time, they decided to grab each other’s hand and run through life together.
And if they encountered a fire or two along the way? They’d get through that, too. Together.
Juan sat up and pulled two Coronas from the bucket of ice nestled in the grass beside the blanket. As he twisted off the caps, she sat up.
“Beers on a blanket. This might be the most Texas wedding reception ever.”
He grinned, passed her a beer, then held his up for a toast. “To my beautiful wife.”
She clinked her bottle against his, her heart beating a little bit faster after that grin. “Mi esposo,” she murmured. My husband.
His eyes gleamed over the lip of his bottle as he drank. Overhead, another firework sparkled to life, filling the sky with glittering silver.
The man, the sky, the warm Texas night… It was just about as close to perfect as possible.
Juan lowered his beer. “What are you thinking about, bonita?”
“How lucky I am.”
He tucked her hair behind her ear, then trailed his thumb along her jaw. “That’s true. I’m quite the catch.” At her soft laugh, he brushed his thumb over her lower lip. “Charming.” He tapped her nose. “Sophisticated.” He stroked her cheek. “Rich.”
“Modest,” she said.
“That too.” Tucking his beer against his side, he leaned in and placed a soft kiss at the corner of her mouth. “But most of all,” he whispered against her lips, “I’m hopelessly, helplessly in love with you.”
She closed her eyes. Helpless. It seemed they both knew that feeling.
Fireworks boomed, and explosions flared behind her closed lids as he deepened their kiss, his tongue stroking boldly against hers. He’d given her the same deep, passionate kiss after they said their vows, an amused Smith and Ashley looking on.