A Match for Celia

by Gina Wilkins

  The only restaurant employee who didn’t seem overly curious was their waiter, a good-looking young African-American with an engaging smile. The service he gave them was nothing more than briskly professional—which was a great relief since Celia was so painfully aware of the more open curiosity from the others.

  This was getting ridiculous. She was not the personal property of Damien Alexander, despite what his staff might think. Or was she being completely paranoid?

  She looked across the table. “I need to get away from this place today, Reed. Are you interested?”

  “Tired of being the center of attention?”

  She widened her eyes. “You’ve noticed it, too? That everyone seems to be watching us? I thought—I hoped I was imagining it.”

  He shook his head. “You aren’t imagining it.”

  “I don’t know why they’re doing this. It’s not as though I’m all that interesting.”

  “They’re guarding the boss’s interests,” Reed explained with a faint smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

  She frowned. “That’s stupid. Damien and I aren’t—we haven’t even—we’re only friends,” she concluded awkwardly, wondering how many times she had to repeat it. And whether Reed believed her any more than anyone else seemed to.

  Reed studied her for what felt like a long time. And then his smile deepened, becoming just a shade more genuine. “Where would you like to go?”

  “Anywhere,” she said in quick relief. “How far are we from San Antonio?”

  “It would take about three, maybe three-and-a-half hours by car, I think. Why?”

  “I’ve never been there, have you?”

  He shook his head in the negative, though he wasn’t looking at her, but at the nearly empty cup of coffee in front of him.

  “I’ve heard it’s a nice place to visit. Lots of things to do. And the Alamo’s there,” she added enticingly. “That should be right up your alley.”

  “You’d think so, wouldn’t you?”

  “Or we could do something else,” she said, uncertain of his reaction to her initial suggestion. “We could drive into Mexico or maybe up the coast to Corpus Cristi or—”

  “San Antonio sounds good,” Reed said, lifting his gaze to hers. “We should probably leave soon if we’re going to have enough time.”

  Something in his eyes still bothered her. She cocked her head and looked at him closely. “Reed, are you sure you want to? I’d understand if you have other plans. Really.”

  “I don’t have other plans. I’d like to spend the day with you,” Reed said, and there was no doubting the sincerity of his voice.

  She relaxed. “Good. I’ll go get my purse.”

  “Meet you in fifteen minutes.”

  She glanced up to find two waiters watching them. She shivered. “Make it ten.”

  He followed her gaze, then turned back to her with an understanding nod. “Ten,” he agreed.

  Though she felt rather foolish, Celia was relieved that he agreed with her so easily.

  She was growing more anxious by the minute to get away from the Alexander resort, if only for the day.

  The drive to San Antonio was a pleasant one. Comfortable. Reed had insisted that Celia bring along a lightweight jacket, knowing the unpredictability of that area in early November, but they quickly discovered that she didn’t need the extra warmth. The temperature was in the low eighties when they arrived, not much cooler than Padre Island. Celia laughed and declared that the weather was cooperating with her crusade to make sure Reed had fun on his birthday vacation.

  She added that she was glad they’d gotten an early start. There was so much to do, she enthused. So many fascinating things to see.

  Though he’d been to San Antonio quite a few times before for various reasons, Reed found himself viewing the city through Celia’s eyes, and felt almost as though he were really seeing it for the first time. At the Alamo, for example.

  Many tourists were disappointed when they first saw the Alamo. Expecting an impressive structure in a true old-West setting, they found, instead, that the old mission was now shadowed on every side by hotels and shopping malls and tourist booths. The Alamo compound, bordered by a surprisingly low rock wall, contained a museum, a theater, a shrine and a souvenir shop stocked with Alamo key chains, drinking glasses, postcards and faux coonskin caps.

  A sign outside the chapel everyone associated with the Alamo—the original mission San Antonio de Valero—requested that visitors enter quietly, in respect of those who’d died there. Inside, neatly lettered informational signs hung on the pocked walls, finger-smudged glass boxes held historical artifacts such as Davy Crockett’s razor and William Travis’s ring, and discreetly placed containers solicited donations from tourists for the maintenance of the grounds, for which the Daughters of the Republic of Texas received no state or government funding.

  A uniformed park employee stood behind the reception desk to answer questions until the next scheduled historical lecture. Gawking tourists shuffled around the foot-polished rock floor and read the signs aloud. A tiny Japanese toddler dashed squealing through the main room, pursued by his embarrassed mother.

  Reed had been one of those disappointed by his first visit to the landmark. This hadn’t looked to him at all like the place where John Wayne had led his fellow actors to a dramatic and glorious defeat in the movie; he’d later learned that the set of the movie still stood as a tourist attraction in Bracketville, Texas. Of course, Reed had only been a teenager still dazzled by that old movie the first time he’d visited the real Alamo. Now, as an adult, he felt more respect for this structure, built in 1758, that had served as such an important symbol since its bloody capture in 1836.

  Realizing that he was suddenly standing alone in the center of the chapel, he looked around for Celia. He found her in front of the William Travis display case, reading the famous appeal for aid that Travis had written during his ill-fated stand against a Mexican army of thousands.

  “‘I shall never surrender or retreat,’” she read in a low, husky voice when Reed moved to stand beside her. “‘Victory or death.’”

  She looked up at him, then, and her blue eyes were brightened by a sheen of tears. “Can you imagine being so dedicated to a cause that you’re willing to die for it?” she whispered. “One-hundred-and-eighty-six men died here, because freedom meant more to them than life itself. They were true heroes, weren’t they?”

  “And almost six hundred Mexicans died here believing they were preserving the glory of their own country,” Reed reminded her gently. “Many of them were just young soldiers with dreams and families and the duty to follow the orders they’d been given. They were no more anxious to die than the men inside these walls, and yet their names aren’t recorded here as brave heroes. Obviously, I support the cause of freedom, and greatly admire the courage of the men who died for it. But dehumanizing the enemy is one of the greatest evils of war, one we should always try to resist.”

  Celia looked thoughtful. “I hadn’t considered it that way. We tend to view the great historical battles as good against evil, right against wrong. But it all comes down to individuals, doesn’t it?”

  “This ‘history stuff’ can be pretty interesting, after all, can’t it?” he teased her gently.

  She gave him a smile that made his head swim. “It is when I’m with you,” she said.

  Reed was forced to clear his throat before he could speak again. “Ready to move on?”

  After one last glance at the display case, Celia nodded. “I’m ready.”

  Celia was disappointed to learn that Sea World was closed in November, even on weekends. “I would have liked to have seen Shamu,” she said with a sigh.

  Reed fought an immediate impulse to try to arrange a special showing of the famed killer whale just for her. He couldn’t do that, of course, even if he wanted to—but for some reason he didn’t want to examine too closely, he hated to see her disappointed. “Maybe you’d like to go to Fiesta Texas
, instead?”

  She looked intrigued. “What’s that?”

  “An amusement park built into an old rock quarry. You know, rides and shows and arcade games and junk food. There’s a huge wooden roller coaster that’s supposed to be world class. Very popular place. Want to go?”

  She seemed surprised at how easily he described the park. “I thought you said you’d never been to San Antonio.”

  Reed tugged at his open shirt collar. “I’ve heard about it from friends.”

  “Oh.” She considered the offer for a moment, then shook her head. “Why don’t we just explore San Antonio, instead?”

  Reed was secretly relieved. Theme parks weren’t really his thing. And roller coasters inevitably made him queasy. Still, he would have ridden this one with Celia, if she’d asked. After seeing her tears in the Alamo, there was very little he could have denied her today.

  “Damn it, Hollander, what are you doing?” he could almost hear his partner asking.

  He wouldn’t have had a clue how to respond.

  They spent the afternoon exploring two of the other old missions in the area—Mission Nuestra Señora de la Purisima Concepcion and Mission San Jose y San Miguel de Aquayo—and the Witte Museum, which closed for the day before they could begin to do justice to all the exhibits in it. They talked easily and at length about the artifacts they were seeing, Reed sharing his extensive knowledge of history, Celia asking questions and forming her own opinions about the stories he told. Despite her self-proclaimed disinterest in history, Reed could tell that she enjoyed the outing. She walked from one exhibit to another with avid, unflagging interest.

  His love of history was one of the few things he’d told her about himself that was true. He really had considered becoming a history teacher at one time, until a good friend had persuaded him to give law enforcement a try. He’d displayed a natural aptitude for the job, and had eventually worked his way into the Treasury Department, working in the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms. Instead of facing classrooms of bored teenagers, he spent his days tracking down illicit shipments of stolen military weapons and ammunition, and those who profited from the sales.

  He’d been in danger on more than one occasion, had lost several good friends, but on the whole, he liked his job. Enjoyed the rush, the satisfaction of bringing down those who profited from the loss of human life.

  He wasn’t enjoying this assignment. He didn’t like looking into Celia’s seemingly trusting blue eyes and lying through his teeth. He didn’t like wondering if she was as naive and upright as she seemed, or if she had let greed pull her into a transaction that could ultimately lead to another bloody disaster like the one in Waco, which Reed still couldn’t think about without shuddering. He’d lost friends in that fiasco. He didn’t want to lose others in central Arkansas.

  Afternoon was fading into early evening when Celia spotted the forty-foot-high cowboy boots outside Saks Fifth Avenue at North Star Mall when Reed drove past while showing her a bit more of the city. A light came into her eyes that Reed hadn’t seen at the museums.

  He shook his head and turned the Mercedes into the parking deck without even asking if she wanted to stop. There was just something about women and shopping malls he would never understand.

  Celia was a window shopper, he quickly discovered. She loved peering into each intriguing display, admiring the merchandise, at times unable to resist touching, but she didn’t seem overwhelmingly compelled to actually buy anything. Reed suspected part of her reserve was due to lack of resources, particularly when she gasped audibly at one high price tag.

  “Can you imagine spending that much just for a dress?” she whispered, shaking her dark head and tugging him away from the department.

  “I don’t buy a lot of dresses, personally,” he answered dryly, making her giggle.

  He smiled in response, but his mind was filled with doubts. Was she hoping to afford dresses like that after concluding her dealings with Alexander? Or was she hoping Alexander would take care of her purchases in the future? And if she was really intent on reeling in Alexander, why the hell was she spending this much time with him? Reed hadn’t bought her anything except a fajita combo platter for lunch, yet she seemed to be enjoying his company.

  Or was she only killing time until Alexander returned?

  “Reed?” Celia sounded as though she’d spoken his name several times.

  He blinked. “What?”

  “Are you okay? You’re frowning as though you have a headache, or something.”

  He gave her a reassuring smile. “No, I’m fine. It’s getting late, though, and we have that long drive ahead of us. We should probably head back toward the resort.”

  “But we haven’t even seen the River Walk, yet,” she protested. “We were saving it until after sundown, remember? Surely you don’t want to leave San Antonio without even seeing the River Walk.”

  Again, he found himself unable to resist the appeal in her eyes. “I guess it doesn’t matter when we get back,” he said. “It isn’t as though either of us has to get up early in the morning.”

  Her own smile was blinding. “No, there’s no reason at all to hurry. Besides, I’m hungry. I’d love to eat at an outdoor table beside the river, wouldn’t you?”

  He couldn’t do anything but agree.

  Celia smiled at him again, and took his arm in a warm, companionable gesture that made his pulse rate climb. “Think you can find the way back downtown?” she asked.

  “I think I’ll manage,” he answered, wishing he didn’t sound quite so hoarse.

  Chapter Five

  As Celia had wanted, they dined at a popular restaurant on the river. The temperatures had fallen with the onset of darkness, so she’d worn her jacket, but it was still a nice evening for dining beneath the old-fashioned streetlamps that lined the narrow river. Shallow tour boats passed occasionally, some containing tables for more adventurous diners.

  The river was lined on either side with restaurants, clubs, boutiques, hotels, a specialty mall. The muted strains of several types of music drifted on the fragrant air, inviting them to explore and sample. Celia could hardly concentrate on her food for taking in the sights and sounds and smells and sensations around them.

  “Isn’t this wonderful?” she asked Reed, smiling across the table at him.

  Looking up from his mesquite-grilled quail, he glanced around and nodded. “It’s nice,” he said with the understated simplicity she’d come to expect from him.

  Funny how comfortable she was with him, she mused as she turned back to her own grilled shrimp dinner. Hard to imagine she’d actually met him only yesterday. She could hardly believe she’d been so forward with him—dragging him off on an excursion only a few hours after he introduced himself, pulling him away again today. She’d always made friends quickly, but this was different. This was…special.

  She studied him from beneath her lashes. Reed was a very nice man, she’d decided. Easygoing. Undemanding. Pleasant. She could hardly imagine him losing him temper, or being deliberately unkind.

  Her family would probably love him.

  She sighed. If only he didn’t remind her of everything she’d convinced herself she didn’t want in a man. He was so staid and practical, so serious and cautious. He’d probably be the overprotective type, as well—like her family. Like her late brother-in-law. Nice, upstanding, admirable—but without an ounce of adventure in his soul.

  “Celia, if you sigh one more time I’m going to think you’ve sprung a slow leak,” Reed teased her. “What’s wrong?”

  She shook her head quickly, as though to clear it. “Nothing. I’m just sorry our day is coming to an end. It’s been so nice.”

  “We could always spend the night here, in San Antonio,” he suggested cautiously. “See some of the other local attractions tomorrow.”

  She searched his face, wondering what, exactly, he meant by the invitation. Was he really only suggesting that they extend their friendly sightseeing excursion? Se
parate rooms, no strings, no expectations?

  Or was he hinting that he wanted to spend the night with her? Together. One room. One bed.

  She honestly didn’t have a clue.

  Not for the first time, she regretted her sheltered upbringing, blaming that inexperience for her inability to understand Reed now. She wasn’t quite sure how to respond. She didn’t want to lead him on—nor did she want to make assumptions that could prove embarrassing for both of them if she was wrong.

  It seemed safest to smile, shake her head, and say, “That sounds really nice, but I guess we’d better go back to the resort. My family might call, and they’d worry if I wasn’t there.”

  He nodded, apparently unaffected by her decision. “Fine. We’d better plan to leave here no later than 10:00 p.m. Even then, it will be well after midnight before we get back to the island.”

  “All right. Will you be too tired to drive? I’m afraid I don’t drive very well late at night.”

  “I’ll drive,” he assured her.

  “You won’t be too tired?” she persisted, and then wondered if she wanted him to talk her into staying, after all.

  He shook his head. “I’ve been known to keep late hours—especially during tax season,” he added with a slight smile. “I’ll be fine. Now, how about dessert?”

  True to their plans, they left San Antonio behind at just after 10:00 p.m. Buckled into the passenger seat, Celia was rather quiet during the early part of the trip. Reed reached out and tuned the radio to a soft-rock channel, leaving her to her thoughts as he concentrated on his own.

  He wasn’t immune to the pleasures of driving the expensive, powerful car—nor to a faint sense of guilt at helping himself to the property of a man he fully intended to destroy.

  “Celia?” he asked after they’d been traveling for nearly an hour in near silence.