If he was surprised at her tenacity, he didn’t let it show. After staring at her for a long moment he turned to his mother and said in English, “If you’ll show us the way to my apartment? I believe Kit is tired and would like to freshen up before dinner.”
Kit had prepared herself for a fight; she certainly hadn’t expected his swift capitulation. She wondered what was going on in his mind. She could tell that his mother was equally thrown by the change in plans. But the older woman chose not to argue with her son’s suggestion, probably because she, like Kit, could see from the purple, bruiselike shadows beneath Rafe’s eyes that he was exhausted and sorely in need of sleep.
“Come with me,” his mother said in accented English.
Kit tried not to let her surprise show when Rafe gripped her elbow to usher her inside. Unfortunately, her body betrayed her, trembling at his touch. She’d always reacted to his nearness that way. And he’d always known it.
But right now all she could assume was that he felt physically unsteady and needed something or someone to hold on to. As far as she was concerned, they couldn’t reach his room fast enough.
The hacienda was exactly as she remembered it, a masterpiece of Spanish architecture with its beamed ceilings, ornate furniture, tiled walkways, works of art, paintings and plants. But she was too concerned for Rafe’s welfare to pay much attention as his mother showed them up a central staircase to the right wing of the hacienda, the one area Rafe hadn’t taken her the night of her visit.
When she’d asked him what was there, he’d replied, “My apartment. Would you like to see it?” Her face had burned with embarrassment and she’d remained silent, not daring to answer.
Even now heat washed over Kit as she remembered the velvety tone of his voice and the smoldering look in his eyes as he’d asked her the question. She had no doubts he would have shown it to her, and she freely admitted to herself that she’d wanted him to. From the very beginning, she had yearned to know every intimate thing about him.
“We are here.” The older woman’s voice broke into Kit’s reverie as she pushed open the double doors leading to Rafe’s bedroom. Luis followed with the luggage, which he placed just inside.
The large room was more modern and simply furnished than the rest of the hacienda. No statuary or gilded frames here. Except for the dark, hand-carved double bed and armoire, the room had a lighter feel and was tastefully decorated predominantly in gray-blue and white.
A private study lined with books adjoined his bedroom; so did a bright, modern bathroom. As Dona Gabriella led them through the apartment, Rafe staggered and leaned heavily against Kit. Filled with alarm, she darted him an anxious glance, but he shook his head almost imperceptibly, warning her to say nothing to his mother.
Supporting his weight, Kit turned to her. “Thank you for the tour.” Moistening her lips nervously, she said, “I-I’m not feeling well, Señora Mendez,” which was very nearly the truth. “Would you mind if I lay down for a while?”
Dona Gabriella contemplated Kit’s request before addressing her son in Spanish. He answered in kind, but their conversation was too rapid for her to follow. Apparently whatever Rafe had said didn’t sit well with her, but again his mother chose not to argue.
“I will instruct Consuela to bring you your dinner. Now I will say good-night, mi hijo.” After kissing her son on the cheek, she scrutinized Kit one more time, eyes cool and unwelcoming, before she left the room, closing the doors behind her.
By tacit agreement Kit helped her husband to the bed. He lay on his back, covering his eyes with his forearm.
“Are you in pain?” she cried softly and put a hand to his forehead. It felt warm but not alarmingly so.
Rafe pushed her hand away. “I’m weak, that’s all. The doctors told me I’d feel like this for a few more days.”
“Thank heavens you’re home in your own bed. Let me help you change and get under the covers.”
“No.” The fierce look in his eyes stopped her in her tracks. “That is the one thing you will not do. When this Consuela comes with our dinner, I will instruct her to show you to the apartment my mother has had prepared for you.”
“But outside—”
“Outside I could feel this weakness coming on. I didn’t want to use the little energy I had left discussing our sleeping arrangements.”
“Well, I’m not moving from this apartment,” Kit declared. “You’re my husband and I love you.” To her consternation, her voice quavered again. “We took vows together. You said it yourself at the hospital—for better or for worse, we’re married and we’re going to live together. It’s what we both wanted more than anything else in the world. It’s the reason you flew all the way to Idaho to find me.”
More lines of weariness darkened his face and he grimaced. “If you wish to live in my apartment, so be it, but you’ll have to find a place to sleep other than my bed.”
She grasped at even that much headway. “There’s a couch in your study. I’ll sleep there so I can listen for you in the night. If you need anything—”
“If I still needed a nurse, Dr. Penman would never have released me from the hospital.” Hurt by his response, Kit paused before saying anything else; in the interim there was a tap on the door. That would be their dinner.
Kit glanced at Rafe, who lay there perfectly still. The strain he’d been under had exhausted him and he had fallen sound asleep.
Before Consuela could leave, Kit quickly opened the door. After thanking the young woman for the dinner, she asked her to bring them some extra bedding. If Consuela thought it an odd request, she hid it well. She returned, laden with sheets and blankets, a few minutes later.
Soon Kit had made up a bed on the comfortable leather couch and covered Rafe with a light blanket. She placed his tray on the end table next to his bed. Judging from the deepness of his sleep, she doubted he’d awaken before morning.
Though she felt drained, she didn’t want to leave his side. She sat down next to him to eat her meal, starting with a succulent piece of melon.
This was the first time, since the day of the accident, that she’d been able to look at him to her heart’s content. Her eyes wandered freely over his face and hair, noting his long black lashes and the way his firm mouth softened in repose.
She felt a sharp, piercing ache as she gazed at the man she loved. Would she ever know the fire of his kiss again? Would she ever again hear him laugh or whisper those private endearments? Would they ever truly be husband and wife?
Salty tears scalded her cheeks and fell unheeded on her dinner plate. Unable to eat any more, she put the tray on another side table and got ready for bed. She eventually fell asleep, stifling her sobs with the pillow.
Chapter Seven
SUNSHINE FILTERED through the windows of the study and stole across Kit’s face, warming her skin, rousing her from a dreamless sleep. She glanced at her watch through bleary eyes and saw that it was almost noon. She hadn’t slept in this late since she was a teenager!
What about Rafe? Was he still in bed?
Throwing off the covers, she reached for her bathrobe, slung over the chair next to his desk, and tied the belt around her slender waist before padding into his bedroom.
Rafe was gone! Not only that, his bed was made, the dinner trays had disappeared, and there was no sign of their luggage.
When she opened his dresser drawers, she felt a small thrill of happiness to discover that her nightclothes and underwear had been neatly put away alongside his. Flinging open the armoire, she saw her clothes hanging next to his, her shoes lined up beside his. Anyone peering inside would imagine she and Rafe were an old married couple who shared everything.
She shuddered to think the reality of their situation was so far removed from these deceptive appearances—and from her dreams. But standing here paralyzed by the pain wasn’t going to provide the solution to her dilemma. She was determined to make him fall in love with her all over again. That meant staying with him wherever he w
ent, whatever he did, until she was all he could see or think about.
With renewed vigor, she showered and washed her hair, then dressed in a purple cotton skirt with a matching print, short-sleeved blouse, something airy and fresh that flattered her figure and coloring. She wore sandals in the same shade of purple and put on a light pink lipstick.
After leaving Rafe’s apartment, she made her way down the hall to look for him. At the bottom of the staircase, one of the house staff directed her through a portico to the informal dining room, which was more like a patio garden with every kind of flower in bloom.
Kit’s spirits plummeted when she saw Dona Gabriella, dressed more formally in a cream-colored crepe dress, seated at the round glass-and-wrought-iron table laden with fruit and rolls. “Buenos días, señora,” Kit said in her best Spanish.
Rafe’s mother responded in English. “I have been waiting for you so we could talk. Please, help yourself to breakfast. If you want an egg or meat, tell me and I’ll instruct Nina.”
Kit shook her head. “A roll and a peach will be fine.”
“Coffee?”
“No, thank you.”
Growing more and more uncomfortable under the older woman’s scrutiny, Kit buttered her roll. She tried to act nonchalant as she peeled her fruit and started to eat.
“When Diego telephoned and told me the news about my son, I did not want to believe it. But after talking to Rafael this morning, I can see that the past, the family, the estate, means nothing to him. That I mean nothing to him.”
Dona Gabriella never minced words. She was a strong, proud woman like her son, but Kit heard the quaver in her voice and looked with compassion into her dark eyes. “Señora Mendez, Rafe doesn’t remember anything or anyone, but the doctors assured me that in time he will probably regain his memory. We have to be patient.”
“For how long?” Dona Gabriella moaned. Kit knew exactly how she felt.
“No one can say. We can only hope and pray and do everything possible to help him adjust.”
The older woman looked pained. “Why did you come back? He doesn’t love you, he doesn’t know you. You don’t even sleep together. You have nothing between you but a meaningless document saying you are married, and that marriage not even in the Church.”
The sweet fruit suddenly felt dry and tasteless and Kit had to swallow hard. She wiped her mouth with her napkin. “He may have lost his memory, but I’m more in love with him than ever. If he’ll let me, I want to be a wife to him. He loved me before the accident. I’m hoping he will love me again.”
In a brittle voice the older woman said, “You may have a long wait. I don’t believe he will ever remember.”
“I disagree,” Kit retorted firmly. “The psychiatrist told me that permanent amnesia is very rare. I refuse to believe Rafe won’t make a full recovery.”
Dona Gabriella shook her head and her bottom lip trembled. “When I talked to him about the business, he told me he wasn’t ready to think about that yet, that he doubted it would ever interest him.
“With Jaime gone, the family affairs are in the hands of our estate manager, who is out with my son right now, showing him the property. But Rodrigo isn’t capable of overseeing our international concerns the way Rafael did. For the past few months while my son has been looking for you, the situation has deteriorated. I have been getting phone calls. There are problems.”
In an unexpected gesture, she reached out and grasped Kit’s hand. “If you truly love my son and if you still refuse to leave, then you must see that he takes his rightful place once more. Everyone looks up to him, needs him.”
And you most of all, Kit surmised as she saw the tears gather in her mother-in-law’s eyes. Dona Gabriella hadn’t been brought up to take financial responsibility or understand the intricacies of running a business. Kit realized that the older woman’s feelings of helplessness only compounded her grief.
Dona Gabriella suddenly removed her hand as if she was embarrassed for displaying any weakness, a characteristic so reminiscent of Rafe, Kit could have wept.
“Señora,” Kit began, then hesitated because the idea that came into her mind would probably upset Rafe’s mother further. “I honestly believe Rafe will get his memory back, but since we don’t know how long it will take, someone capable needs to be in charge. Why not call Jaime and ask him to come home?”
Dona Gabriella stared at Kit as if she’d taken complete leave of her senses. “Do you know what you are asking?” she muttered in a hoarse voice.
“Yes.” Now that Kit had started this, she wasn’t about to back down. “Jaime can run the estate competently—I’m convinced of it. But since either your husband or Rafe has always been here, Jaime’s never had the opportunity to really prove himself. I got to know your younger son quite well, and he loves this land, this business. Ask him to come home. Tell him he’s needed.”
Kit wondered if Rafe’s mother had even heard her.
“He’d never come,” she murmured at last. “Not with you here.”
The bitterness in her voice brought back all the guilt Kit had been trying to resolve. Still, she had to ask, “Does Jaime know what has happened to Rafe?”
“No.” She shook her dark head. “I decided to say nothing to him until I had seen Rafael for myself.”
“Señora, you’ve just given me an idea,” she cried out, her heart pounding. “Why don’t you phone Jaime and tell him Rafe has been injured in a very serious automobile accident. Tell Jaime he’s needed at home immediately, but don’t tell him I’m here.
“You and I both know that deep down he loves Rafe, and he’ll come. I’ll stay out of sight until Jaime has had an opportunity to talk to Rafe himself. When he can see the situation for what it really is, he won’t be able to walk out on either of you, and I don’t think he’ll let his pride and anger toward me make any difference.”
Dona Gabriella stared at Kit for a long, long time, and if Kit wasn’t mistaken, she saw a glint of admiration. “You give my Jaime a great deal of credit.”
Kit’s eyes filled with tears. “You’ve raised two remarkable sons. Jaime is a wonderful man. I love him like a brother. Please believe me when I tell you neither Rafe nor I ever meant to hurt him.”
After a slight pause, Dona Gabriella said, “You’re very convincing.” Then she pushed herself away from the table. “If you will excuse me, I have some things to attend to. Consider this your home—for the time being,” she added as she walked off.
Kit had no idea if what she had suggested to Rafe’s mother would produce results. In fact, when she really thought about it, Kit wondered if she’d been wrong to bring Jaime’s name into the conversation. But it had seemed—still seemed—the only possible solution and Dona Gabriella hadn’t said no. It was a start.
Left to her own devices, Kit had little choice but to find some way to pass the time until Rafe came home. Since she couldn’t concentrate and the walls of the hacienda seemed to press in on her, she decided to go for a walk.
Beyond the walls of the back courtyard and garage, a dirt road led to the vineyards in the distance. She set off briskly, but the intense heat of the afternoon sun beat down on her and she gradually slowed her pace. She spent another half hour walking leisurely past rows of young grapevines planted in the chalky soil, which Rafe had told her was found only in this part of Spain.
She scanned the terrain, squinting in the bright sunlight. A group of outbuildings beckoned from the distance and she walked faster, eager for a drink of water.
Every so often she passed groups of workers tying vines who paused in their task to wave to her. She waved back. By now everyone on the estate must know Rafe had brought his wife home with him.
As she drew closer, she realized she had come to the stable where Rafe kept his prized horses. Rounding one corner, she noticed her husband immediately, although half a dozen dark-haired workers surrounded him. He and the man she presumed was Rodrigo had just ridden into the paddock on magnificent snowy white horses w
ith black markings.
Rafe sat astride his horse with a princely bearing, commanding the attention of those around him. She thanked heaven that his memory loss hadn’t prevented him from mounting one of his horses. For the first time since his accident, he seemed to be enjoying himself.
Kit didn’t understand his Spanish because he spoke too fast, though she could tell that whatever he said held all of them spellbound and they responded with obvious affection and camaraderie.
She stood in the shadow of the tack shed, but the shade proved no barrier against the sun. Small rivulets of perspiration, caused by nervousness as much as heat, ran down her spine and between her breasts, and her blouse and skirt clung damply to her body. She found herself staring at him, mesmerized, and couldn’t move away.
As the group drew closer, she smiled secretly because every other man paled into insignificance beside him.
He wore no hat, exposing his jet-black hair to the sun. Over the past few months it had grown longer and now it curled over his bronzed forehead in rakish abandon. Gazing at his profile brought to mind the image of the grand hidalgos of a hundred years earlier. When he turned to respond to a comment made by one of the men, Kit caught the full measure of his strong-boned face. The character it revealed went beyond mere handsomeness.
Forgetting her thirst, she stepped out of the shadows. It was like responding to a force outside her control. As she walked purposefully toward the corral, all talking ceased and every man turned and stared at her with unabashed male admiration, respectfully greeting her as Señora Mendez. Rafael’s wife.
All the men except her husband. There was a sudden, unnatural quiet. When she looked up at Rafe, she saw that his face had lost its earlier animation. Perhaps it was a trick of the light, but she thought he went pale for a moment, as if he’d experienced a shock. Had he remembered something from the past?
His horse pranced in place but Rafe’s body remained frozen in the saddle. His utter stillness unnerved her. It must have unnerved the others, too, for they quietly dispersed, including Rodrigo, who tipped his hat toward Rafe before dismounting, then led his horse into the stable.
For Better, For Worse Page 5