“Yes, sir,” Elías said. He shot Kara another shy grin before scuffing his shoes across the dirt and disappearing behind the house. A soft moo called from somewhere nearby. Moments later, it was answered by two others.
“This must be our guest?” Enmanuel asked Miles and pointed at Kara. “She is very pretty, but she looks too smart for Elías’s flirting.”
“Yes, this is Kara Mason with United Rainforest Fund.”
At the sound of her name, she looked at Enmanuel and the corners of her mouth lifted. She stepped forward and said, “Hola, Enmanuel. Bonito casa.”
“Thank you,” he answered carefully in English, then winked at Miles. Over the time Miles had spent in town building their well, he’d taught a few words to Enmanuel, which the Santos patriarch liked using whenever he could. Switching back to Spanish, he added, “Please come inside. My wife and daughters have prepared a meal for you. My house is your house. Tomorrow the others will want to meet you, but tonight you rest.”
Miles translated the invitation to her, to which she answered, “Gracias.”
Kara pulled out her backpack and Miles grabbed his bag of clothing from behind his seat. Without giving her a second to get her luggage from the back, he lifted it out, careful not to jostle its contents, and carried it up to the house. While she walked beside him, she placed her hand on his forearm. “Thanks, you didn’t have to carry my bag.”
“Sure I did,” Miles answered, distracted by the feel of her fingers on his arm. Her skin was soft and warm, and he found himself wanting her not to let go. But she did.
Just in front of the home, under a long, grass-roof covered porch, the Santos women greeted them. Enmanuel’s wife, Alita, introduced Kara to her daughters and granddaughter. Miles had stayed at this very house while he’d built the town well. He watched Kara while she grinned politely at their hosts and combed her eyes over their modest home.
Alita guided them inside, across the concrete foundation, to a small room with a bare twin mattress on a wooden frame wound with twine. “Miss Kara can use this room during your stay. Please come and join us outside for dinner when you’re ready.”
After she left them in the dusty gray bedroom, Miles set Kara’s luggage on the ground and said, “This’ll be your room.”
Kara dropped her backpack onto the bed and wandered to the open window. The twilight made her skin glow softly as she took in the view. “Who normally sleeps here?”
“I believe it’s Enmanuel’s son’s family—you met his wife and daughter just now. Damian is probably out with the cattle.” Miles took two steps, joining her at the window.
“But where will they sleep if I’m in here?” Despite the fact that she had the best view of the house, looking out on the coffee trees and the mountainous hillside, she was frowning.
Miles could see she was struggling with the sleeping arrangements. “There are two other bedrooms. They’ll all sleep together, but that isn’t strange to them like it would be to us.”
She turned to face him. The layered hues of her green eyes glimmered in the soft light. “I don’t want to take away their bed—”
“Listen, Kara.” He was pleased to see how much she cared about these people she’d only just met, but he needed her to understand. “You’re looking at them with American eyes. I assume you live in a home with plenty of food, bedding, clothing—wood floors. Before coming here you probably took it for granted. I’m sure you work hard at what you do, but these people get up at the break of dawn to provide the necessities for their families—and sometimes they’re not even able to do that. But they’re proud of who they are and of what they do have. It would be rude not to appreciate the gift they’re offering you. My advice is to accept it and be grateful.”
She took a deep breath, continuing to look at him. After a long, quiet minute, she nodded. “I’m not used to this—I don’t like being unprepared. I tried to research the best I could before coming here, but—”
“Nothing can prepare you. Not until you see it, touch it, feel it and live it for yourself.”
He wanted to rest his hand on her shoulder—connect with her—but couldn’t will himself to move. Maybe it was because deep down he knew it wasn’t in his personality. He wasn’t a touchy-feely person. Miles looked at her guilt-ridden face and could relate. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. I know what it’s like. Every time I’m offered anything—from a bed for the night when it means someone else has to sleep on the floor, to a small gift when they have nothing for themselves—it makes me want to work that much harder to improve their way of life.”
“You know,” Kara said, with a frown, “I think they’re lucky to have someone who cares about them as much as you do.”
He shrugged.
“So, where are you sleeping tonight?” she asked.
Miles shrugged again. “Doesn’t matter which dirt floor I’m on. It’s all the same.” A guilty expression revisited her face again. Before she could say anything, he changed the subject. “Come on, I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry. You don’t know what you’re missing.”
He led her outside to the porch, where everyone was waiting for them. Elías was back with his cousins, who were promptly introduced to Kara with a handshake. The Santos family, in total, came to nine people. At least, the ones who were there.
They were led to the end of the porch, which was attached to the exterior kitchen. It consisted of a wood-burning stove, a porcelain basin and a long wooden table. Delicious smells filled the breeze, making Miles salivate.
“Alita, I’ve missed your cooking!” he groaned when he surveyed the food laid out on the table.
She giggled in response and offered him a plate. He handed it to Kara, leaned in and whispered, “This is what home tastes like. Fresh tortillas, beans, carne asada and cream with cut avocados and tomatoes. They’re treating us tonight.”
Kara’s neck was inches from his face. Her hair fell in waves of brown past her shoulders. He smelled flowers—what type, he didn’t know. Miles took a shaky breath. Moments ago he’d been focused on the meal that had been prepared for them, but one trace of flower petals and he was derailed.
She took the plate from him and leaned over the food, inhaling deeply. Before long, he heard snickers and realized Alita and Enmanuel were looking at him. The hostess was holding out another dish when she said, “You need a wife, Miles.”
He’d long been used to getting teased by all of the elder villagers. They enjoyed seeing him squirm at the idea of settling down. You have too much stress not to have a wife too, they’d laugh. Glad Kara couldn’t understand what was being said, his cheeks flushed and he accepted the plate. “Like I’ve always said, not unless you have a sister, Alita.”
Miles laughed with the couple, trying to pretend his face was hot from the steam rising off the food, or the humid night. He ate beside Kara and watched her expression change when she took her first bite of dinner.
“So good!” she exclaimed.
After their bellies were full, Enmanuel’s son, Damian, pulled out a guitar. His seven-year-old daughter stood beside him, and when her lips parted, the most beautiful, angelic voice came out. They performed song after song, the family clapping and cheering them on. There was nothing different from the other nights he’d spent with this family. Except something was different.
The sun melted below the mountains, something he was sure to point out to Kara. A soft and occasional call from the cattle filled the air before the quiet of the night fell on the village and they went inside, ready for bed. He pulled out their sleeping bags from the back of his car. He knew from experience that the Santos family would be up early, rising with the sun, so he laid out his bed on a patch of concrete floor that wasn’t too near the front door.
Miles stared at the dark ceiling of the home while he tried to go to sleep. Moments from his day replayed in his mind: the clear trace of pain in Kara’s face as she told him about her father’s death, the sun shining off the nape of her neck, catching he
r hair in a soft brown glow as she leaned into the back of the car to put away her dirty clothes, and her smile while she listened to Damian and his daughter perform for them. His heart stuttered in a strange new beat. He rolled over and hoped that Kara had come prepared to convince the people of El Punto that bamboo could change their lives. If not, she’d wasted her time coming this far.
In the morning, the familiar sounds from the ranch woke him from his sleep. Soft singing from Alita and her daughters wafted in from outside. They were likely starting the process of preparing the corn to make tortillas, something that took many hours. A true labor of love for their family.
Miles unzipped his bag and stood up. Every morning he woke on a concrete or dirt floor there was a moment he missed his mattress stateside. The muscles in his back were braced tight. He reached his fingers to the sky, then leaned down to touch his toes. A series of cracks reverberated down his spine, and he breathed out slowly in relief. Now looser than he’d been when he’d woken, he pulled out a pair of jeans and slipped them on over his boxers.
“Oh, good morning.”
He turned around with his T-shirt in his hands. Kara was wearing jeans and a beige top. She’d pulled her hair into a ponytail, but a few strands framed her face. When he met her eyes, her cheeks flushed and she glanced at the floor.
He pulled his shirt over his head and said, “Morning, Hot Lips. How’d you sleep?”
“It was much better than sleeping on Maria’s floor. How about you?” she asked with a frown.
“I’m fine. It’s part of the job description doing work like this. So, no complaints.” He grabbed his shoes and walked beside her. “You ready for some breakfast?”
She nodded, and he walked outside with her by his side. The morning sunlight bathed everything in a comforting warm glow. Birds were singing their song to the day, and cattle throughout the valley made echoing calls to their herd.
Miles set his shoes beside a chair and led her across the porch to the edge of the outdoor kitchen. There, Alita was busy grinding corn on her work table with her daughters. When she saw him standing so near Kara, she offered a wink and a smile. He ignored her suggestive expression and said, “Good morning. Can I trouble you for some coffee? No one makes it better than you, Alita.”
“Of course,” she said, lifting her hands up. The older woman turned to her stove and picked up a pot. She poured black liquid into a couple mugs, then scooped a spoonful of beans and fried plantains onto some plates.
Miles thanked her and guided Kara to a free seat. “Here, drink some coffee. It’ll slap you awake.”
“I’m not a coffee drinker,” she answered him.
“C’mon, do as the Romans do.” He motioned for her to lift her cup toward her lips and watched her take her first sip. Her face pinched into a grimace.
“Oooo-ah.”
Satisfied she’d given it a try, he said jokingly, “If you don’t eat some breakfast, it might burn a hole in your stomach, it’s that strong.”
Kara’s eyes widened. She looked at the food that he handed her and began eating.
“There you go,” Miles said and drew in a long sip of coffee. “A little food and drink should get you going. And if that doesn’t help, then that should—”
He pointed to Alita’s granddaughter, who was trying to coax a chicken across the dirt road with a dried-up corncob. She stood beside a two-foot-tall hut made of large banana fronds. She sang to the bird, “Come to me, pretty baby, I have made a house for you—”
Miles translated her song to Kara, who began to giggle into her plate. “That’s the sweetest thing ever.”
When he’d eaten his breakfast and emptied the contents of his mug, he stood up and took Kara’s dirty dishes from her hands. Alita, having noticed the stack, relieved him of them and placed them in a basin.
Miles rubbed his hands together and asked, “So, are you ready to go and discover El Punto? See why you were asked to come?”
She jumped to her feet. “Yeah, I read the report that Dave Billings sent us, which is why I’m here, but I do need to see the land so I can draw up a plan. I’ll be able to give a better presentation to the village if I know what they’re struggling with and determine if bamboo really is a solution for them.”
“You don’t have a problem riding a horse, do you?” he asked.
Kara appeared mildly surprised by the question, and he caught her glancing toward the car. She answered, “I rode one at summer camp when I was eleven, but haven’t had the opportunity since then.”
Miles finished putting on his socks and shoes and waved for Kara to follow him around the house. A short distance away was another building that resembled an open-air barn. It had a thatched roof and stalls were visible, with a horse in one.
“I hope you don’t mind sharing, but Enmanuel needed the other horses. The ride won’t take long—we don’t have to go far to see what I want to show you.”
Kara looked from the horse to Miles and lifted her brow. “Okay, if that’s what it takes.”
He was glad the horse had already been prepped for them. It was wearing its bridle, and a woven blanket lay across its back. There was no saddle, which was something that had taken a little getting used to. Miles hadn’t been a horse person when he’d arrived in Honduras, but over the six months he’d worked here, he’d found them extremely useful. They could go where his car could not.
Miles grasped the horse’s mane and jumped onto the creature’s back. He found his balance and adjusted the blanket under his leg before offering his hand to Kara. Her eyes widened as she stood motionless for a minute, staring at him. Then, after a gentle shake of the head, she furrowed her brows and accepted his hand. With little effort, he helped lift her off the ground, and she pulled herself behind him on the horse’s back. She placed her hands on his shoulders as she teetered in place.
He grasped the leather reins in one hand and said over his shoulder, “You can put your arms around my waist if you need to—don’t want you falling off.”
She gave a nervous laugh in his ear, which sent a chill down his spine. He tried to ignore the goose bumps that rose on his arms and hoped she hadn’t noticed them. He closed his eyes when he felt her hands leave his shoulders and slide to his hips.
“Arre!” he commanded the horse and nudged his heel into its flanks.
The chestnut walked forward, out from under the open-air building and into the sunlight. Miles surveyed the land, deciding to take Kara south. He led the horse across the grassy valley, past stray cattle that were grazing on their breakfast. From where they were, he could see the ripple in the land and knew they were getting close.
After a ten-minute ride, the grass disappeared under a carpet of dried mud. Dirt spilled out over the earth in mounded ripples in a hundred-yard radius. A small hut with a thatched roof tilted at an awkward angle, caked-on mud and dirt pressed halfway up its walls. It had clearly been emptied and abandoned. A small group of banana trees lay down in a tangle, their long oval leaves now yellowed and dead.
Kara swore under her breath.
“Yeah. That about sums it up. Landslides are a problem here. With no trees to help anchor everything down, rain carries the earth into the valleys below. The villagers clear out the trees to make room for their cattle, but that creates its own issue.”
He felt Kara adjust behind him to look around her. “Can I get down?”
“Sure.”
He offered her his hand as she swiveled her body off the side of the horse. She took a careful step away from the animal. Her shoes sank into the squishy mud, and she walked carefully toward the upturned home. Miles moved the horse forward, keeping her close by.
Kara touched the side of the building and peered inside. She called over, “Looks dangerous. Are the people okay who lived here?”
“There was a broken arm, but no human deaths. Two cows were killed—one was a nursing mother, and that was a big blow.” He tightened his hold on the reins.
“Were they Enmanuel’s
?”
“The nursing mother was. The other loss was felt most by his neighbor.” Miles waved to the building she stood beside.
Kara straightened and walked up to the horse. “How often does this happen to them?”
“They can happen often during the rainy season. This was just the most recent landslide. Sometimes they don’t do damage, other times the villagers aren’t so lucky.” Miles sneered at his word use. He wouldn’t consider the people here lucky. They certainly did what they could with what they’d been given, but that wasn’t much to begin with.
Kara reached for his hand, and he pulled her back onto the horse. Although it only created more heat, he enjoyed having her so close to him again. Her breath tickled the hairs of his ear as she said, “It’s one thing to see pictures or read news reports about it, but it’s something else entirely to see it in person. This is definitely one of the negatives of deforestation.”
While she spoke, her fingers tightened around his waist, and he found himself distracted. He forced his mind back to the topic at hand, but not without a struggle.
“You want to see the land to decide if it can support bamboo?”
Her voice answered, “Please. I especially want to go up this hillside if it’s safe.”
For the rest of the morning, he took her through the areas of El Punto’s valley and mountains which had been cleared of trees. In the distance, they could see space untouched by ranching and farming—growing wild and free. He took her through Enmanuel’s property and to nearby neighbors’ land. Many small homes were scattered across the grass-covered valley, although she wasn’t as focused on the flat area of the village itself as she was on the highlands.
“Whose property is that?” she asked, pointing toward the hillside ahead of them.
“I think Hector Rodriguez. Do you think you need his land for the project?”
Kara answered, “His land is an important key to this valley’s health. I don’t like the look of his property. See those trees tilting horizontally and the bulge in the earth below that exposed dirt up the channel in the mountain?”
Love Takes Root: A contemporary romance novella Page 6