Mercy and Elena hung back. They held on to each other as their mother laid her hand over their father’s hand, as she bent close and pressed a gentle, awkward kiss on his top lip, above where the breathing tube protruded, as she whispered something only he could hear.
He was nodding. A tear dribbled down out of the corner of his eye. He tried to speak again. He said something in Spanish. Maybe “Siempre.” Always…
Or maybe something else.
Elena felt her own tears then, sliding down her cheeks. She looked at her sister. Mercy was crying, too. Simultaneously, they swiped at the tears with the backs of their hands.
Already, Javier was fading out, his eyes drooping shut. But he seemed to see them, his daughters, at the foot of the bed. Did he smile at them?
Elena thought he had tried to.
In the other bed, behind the curtain, the machines started beeping louder and faster. Someone in there cried out.
The doctor had disappeared. But a nurse touched Elena’s arm, instructed softly, “Come with me, please. Mrs. Cabrera, you need to come, too. I’ll take you back to the waiting area. As soon as Mr. Cabrera is comfortable in ICU, you’ll be able to see him again.”
Rogan watched as the three women, still holding on to each other, reappeared from the hallway past the elevators. Luz’s face had a glow about it. Elena and Mercy were red-eyed, clutching tissues, dabbing at their cheeks. But he knew, mostly from the expression on Luz’s face, that things were looking up.
Luke was already on his feet. His wife ran to him. He gathered her into his arms as a sob escaped her. She clung to him and he kissed her black hair. “Hey. Hey…” When she looked up at him, he cradled her face and pressed a cherishing kiss on her upturned mouth.
“He’s going to make it, Luke, I just know it,” Mercy whispered.
“Good,” her husband said, and kissed her again. “Good.”
Watching them, Rogan couldn’t help thinking that closeness like that with the right woman would almost be worth the price of getting himself tied down again.
But not quite, he reminded himself. A man needed a little freedom. A man needed a few years in his life that belonged to him and him alone.
He glanced away—and right at Elena, who waited nearby, holding on to her mother’s arm. Even with her eyes and nose all red and puffy from crying, she was way too damn beautiful for his peace of mind. He asked, “Good news, huh?”
She sniffed away the last of her tears. “He looks…like he just had open heart surgery. But yeah.” She blew out a slow breath. “He came through all right.”
“He’s going to get well,” her mother said. “I will see to it. And he’ll be taking a lot better care of himself from now on.” Rogan thought that even death wouldn’t have a chance against the determination in Luz Cabrera’s dark eyes.
And it was time for him and his brother to go. He glanced back at Cormac.
Cormac arched an eyebrow. “Ready?”
“Yeah. Just about.” Rogan turned to Elena again. “Got a sec?”
Those thick, silky lashes swept down. And then she looked at him full-on again, wariness in her gaze. He thought she might refuse a moment alone with him. But then she forced a smile.
“Sure.” She let go of her mom’s arm.
He led her away from the waiting area, in the opposite direction of the elevators.
Around a corner, out of sight of the rest of them, there was a wide window overlooking the street below. He went to the window. It was raining, a drizzly sort of rain. The sky was thick with low-bellied dark clouds.
She faced him, one hand on the railing that ran beneath the window. “I know I said it earlier, but I don’t see how it can hurt to say it again. I’m so glad that you and Cormac were there when it happened. You saved my dad’s life. I can’t tell you how grateful I am.”
He put up a hand. “Seriously. It’s not a big thing. Anyone would have—”
“Uh-uh.” She was looking down now, at the tightly woven industrial gray carpet beneath their feet, shaking her head, her shining hair falling forward. “I don’t know what anyone would have done.” Guiding the thick curls back behind her ears, she looked at him again. “I know what you did. You saved my dad’s life. Thank you.”
He wanted to reach for her, to pull her close, to tip up her chin and kiss her—a long, slow, deep kiss. But of course, he didn’t. They knew where they stood with each other and they weren’t going there. “Well, all right. You’re welcome.”
“And if there’s ever anything I can do for you, just say the word. I’ll be there.” Her whiskey-brown eyes held no double meanings.
Which was good, he told himself. They understood each other. There would be no kissing. Not now. Not ever.
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll remember that.” He stuck his hands in his back pockets and chuckled low. “What’s funny?”
“It’s just that you beat me to the punch. I dragged you over here to tell you that if you needed anything—anything at all—you just have to call me.”
She smiled then, a warm, open smile. He spotted that dimple he’d always admired. “Well. Okay, Rogan. I’ll do that.”
He slid a card from his breast pocket and gave it to her. She took it by the corner. Their fingers didn’t touch. “My cell’s on there. And the office number, which is in Fort Worth. And for now, I’m at the Palicio del Rio Hilton.”
“I remember. You told me.”
He added, “We’ll be there for a while, depending on how your dad is doing and how long it takes us to wrap up the deal.”
“So, the sale is a go?”
“I think it’s safe now to say that it is.”
“Good. I know it’s what my dad wants….” Her voice trailed off.
Outside, a bolt of lightning pierced the clouds. Thunder rumbled. Rain drizzled down the wide window pane. The scent of her came to him, faintly, a sweet, tempting echo of what might have been.
There was nothing more to say. “Take care of yourself, okay?”
Her smile was brave and bright. “You, too.”
They went back to the others. Rogan and Cormac said goodbye and headed for the elevators.
Elena watched him go and longed to chase after him, to tell him that she did need something, as a matter of fact. She needed him. Now. Here, by her side.
Once they’d disappeared from view, Mercy gestured over her shoulder, in the direction Elena and Rogan had gone to speak privately. “What was that about?”
Elena only smiled. “He just wanted to wish me well.”
“He’s a good man,” their mother said and Mercy made a low noise of agreement.
“Yeah. He is.” Elena stared off toward the elevators, way too aware of his absence now that he was gone.
Sisters of Mercy had a patient-centered Cardiac ICU, so Luz could spend a lot of time with her husband, could be there, be involved, any time a decision had to be made concerning his care.
And at night, the hospital provided a sleeping area, where spouses could stay over, to be nearby in case of any after-hours emergencies. Luz remained at the hospital round-the-clock. Mercy, Luke and Elena were in and out.
Elena took family leave for the rest of the week. And since the next week, the first week in May, would be spring vacation and Cinco de Mayo, she’d be free then, too. She could be with the family, stick close to her dad.
Javier improved relatively quickly. He was out of ICU in twenty-four hours. In his new room, Luz could stay with him all the time.
Maybe it was happiness that speeded his recovery. He and her mom were like a couple of newlyweds, holding hands, whispering together. Suddenly, her mom looked ten years younger.
Friday, Marcella came to see him. And a couple of sub-contractors who worked with him.
And later in the afternoon, Elena’s half sister, Abilene Bravo McCrae stopped in to see how he was doing.
Abilene was an architect. The year before, she’d worked with Elena’s dad at Cabrera Construction, drafting house plans for hi
m, sometimes even supervising at building sites. She and Javier were good friends—and yet another example of the many connections between the Bravo and Cabrera families.
She brought her new husband with her, the famous architect, Donovan McRae.
Donovan had been in an accident a couple of years before and sustained serious damage to his legs. He could walk now, using a cane. But most of the time, he got around in a wheelchair. He said that the chair was a lot easier than limping around on his messed up legs. He wheeled into Javier’s hospital room behind his wife. Abilene took one side of the bed and Donovan the other.
The couple stayed for an hour, joking with Javier, reporting on the progress of the children’s center they were building. Elena and her mom were there at the time. They stood back out of the way, letting the visitors enjoy their time with him.
Elena watched Abilene and her husband together. They were clearly a great match, with so much in common. And totally in love. Whenever they glanced at each other, you could feel the connection between them, the excitement—and the affection, too.
Lately, it seemed like everywhere she looked she saw a couple in love. Her mom and her dad. Mercy and Luke. Abilene and Donovan.
She was happy for them. She truly was.
But she did wonder if her turn for true love would ever come.
And that got her thinking about Rogan, about how he was the right man at the wrong time—the wrong time for him, anyway.
How much freedom would be enough for him? How long until he’d had his fill of being footloose and unencumbered by love or commitment?
She could almost feel angry at him, for not wanting what she wanted. Even though she knew that wasn’t the least bit fair.
But then, life wasn’t fair.
Life was tough—and way too short.
She was achingly aware of how quickly life could be snuffed out. Her dearest Papi had almost died. He probably would have died, if not for the quick action on the part of the Murdoch brothers. Her dad could have died without ever getting to look in her mother’s eyes again, without ever getting another chance to really be with her mother the way they were together now.
Because life was not only tough and short, it was unpredictable. A person needed to grab what she wanted when she had the chance. In the end, you just never knew if your chance would come around again.
At home that evening, she had a bunch of messages on her machine—people asking how her dad was doing, a couple of teachers from her school checking to see that she was hanging in there.
There was one from Caleb. She returned his call first.
“Hey, big brother.”
“Hey. How’s it going?”
“Really well. My dad may be going home Monday.”
“Isn’t that fast?”
“I think they say three to five days after getting out of ICU is average, so it’s quick. But not out of the ordinary.”
“That’s terrific.”
“Yeah.”
He said, “Irina’s doing her famous crown roast of lamb for dinner. Come on over. Join us.”
Just what she needed. An evening with another perfectly matched loving couple. “Can I get a rain check?”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. Think I’ll put my feet up, watch a little Lifetime channel.”
“You don’t know what you’re missing—but I get it. You probably need a little downtime about now.”
“That is exactly what I need.” And a little time away from blissfully happy couples.
He told her to call. Anytime. For anything. She promised she would and they said goodbye.
She returned the other calls—all but one. From Davis.
It wasn’t the first time he’d called her. Or the second. In the past couple of years, he’d been calling her home phone every couple of months or so, on average. Often enough that she’d gotten into the habit of screening her calls to keep from having to deal with him, and of hitting the delete button automatically when he left a message, without even listening to what he had to say.
This time, though, she sat at the breakfast bar that separated her kitchen from the dining area and she played his message back.
“Hello, Elena.” His voice, as always, so deep and commanding—and maybe a little bit nervous, too. “I only wanted to let you know that I’ve been thinking about you. I heard that Javier is going to pull through and I’m really happy to hear that. Happy to know that…well, that everything is all right, or will be, in time. And I…guess that’s all. Please take care of yourself and call me if you need anything, if there’s anything I can do.” He rattled off a couple of phone numbers. And then he said, “Goodbye.”
Click. Dial tone.
Elena punched the reset button. And then she just sat there, staring at the machine. She’d heard nothing but sincerity in Davis’s voice. Sincerity and the desire to help if she needed help. Sincerity and the need to know his own daughter.
Really. Life was too damn short.
She picked up the phone and she dialed the first number he had given in his message.
He answered on the second ring. “This is Davis.”
“Hi. Um, it’s Elena.”
A huge, echoing silence. And then a sharply indrawn breath. “Elena. Hello.” He sounded shocked. And so very pleased.
She smiled to herself and held the phone a little tighter. “I got your message. Thank you.”
“Ahem. Well, yes. I wanted to check on you, to make sure you’re doing all right.”
“I am.”
“Javier?” A note of worry crept into his voice. “Has something happened?”
“He’s doing great. Really well.”
“Well. Good. Excellent. I’m glad to hear it.”
“And actually, Davis, I called because I was…” How to say it? How to begin?
“Yes?” He sounded so hopeful it almost hurt to hear him.
She went ahead with it. “I was also thinking about…I don’t know. Lunch, maybe?”
Another silence. And then a swift, “Yes. Yes, I would like that.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow. Well, that’s great. Perfect. What time?”
“Noon?”
“Noon is good.”
She named a restaurant. “Do you know it?” She named the street.
“I can find it. I’ll be there.”
“Great. I’ll call and make sure we have a table.”
“Okay. Yes. Good.”
“And I’ll…see you then.”
“Yes. Well, then. Goodbye, Elena.”
“Goodbye, Davis.”
He hung up. And slowly, quietly, she set the phone down.
She felt the strangest happy glow within. The kind you feel when you know that you’ve taken a big step in the right direction.
Truly. Life was too short.
She glanced at her watch. Nearly seven. She supposed she ought to start thinking about putting something together for dinner. She had her mother’s famous recipe for pork chile verde, already made, in the freezer. A lot of it. Burritos, maybe. And a salad.
Way, way too short…
She put her head down on her arms, shut her eyes, let out a little moan of indecision.
Too short…
And when she sat up straight again, the first thing her gaze fell on was the small corkboard on the wall above the phone and the business card she’d pinned up there when she got home late Wednesday night. Rogan’s card.
She took the card off the corkboard and carried it with her into her bedroom, where she pulled open the drawer in the nightstand.
The box of condoms was way in the back. She’d bought them when she was going out with Tonio, before she started on the pill.
Just in case…
Now, of course, she’d been on the pill for weeks, much longer than the initial seven days during which her doctor had warned her she also needed to use some other form of contraception.
However, she’d kind of gotten off her schedule, had m
issed a pill yesterday, after her dad had his heart attack.
So what, she’d thought this morning when she’d discovered she’d skipped a dose.
It didn’t matter.
Or it hadn’t.
Until tonight, when she’d started obsessing over all she was missing.
But then again, she had the condoms. She should be perfectly safe.
And besides, even with a missed pill, the risk was miniscule.
As slowly as she had put down the kitchen extension, she picked up the one in the bedroom.
Chapter Seven
Twenty minutes after she called him, Rogan stood at Elena’s door, ringing the bell.
The door swung open so fast, he wondered if she’d been standing on the other side of it waiting for him. “Rogan. Hi. Um, thanks so much for coming.”
Words seemed to have deserted him. He managed to speak her name. “Elena.”
And then, for several endless seconds, they just stood there at her threshold, staring at each other.
How was it that every time he saw her she seemed to get more beautiful? She wore curve-hugging jeans and a sleeveless silk shirt with a deep neckline. It was white, that shirt, printed with little red hearts, a spill of ruffles down the front. Her hair was loose and thick on her shoulders.
It couldn’t be fair for a woman to look that good.
Finally, she stepped back and ushered him in. He followed behind her, through the open living area, past the dining table set for two, to the kitchen.
Something smelled really good.
His stomach growled. Was there going to be dinner? He’d been just about to order up room service when she called.
“Would you like a beer?” she asked. He nodded. She got a tall one from the fridge, opened it, passed it to him. “Have a seat.” She indicated the counter that divided off the kitchen.
He sat. Sipped. “So…what’s happened?”
She stirred a pot on the stove—the source, he realized, of that wonderful smell. “Hungry?”
“Starving. But you said there was a favor you needed from me….”
The lid clattered a little as she set it back on the pot. Carefully, she set her wooden spoon in the spoon rest. She looked…kind of pale. Kind of stricken.
Marriage, Bravo Style! Page 8