Speak to the Wind

by Mary Tate Engels

And yet, even as he thought of Maria, his mind shifted to his campaign and the difficulties associated with his possible election. There were also tribal problems and what to do about the economic struggle of his people. Give in to the developers' ready answers? Or... what?

  Joe paid for his beer and walked out into the misty night. If he became involved in a relationship with Maria now, she would have to share him. As much as he'd like, he couldn't be completely, totally hers. He was already committed to another goal.

  And was that fair to her?

  When she emerged from her refreshing bath, Maria was delighted to discover that Joe had sent her a bottle of California Chardonnay. Curled up on the sofa where he had sat, she sipped a small glass of wine and let her thoughts wander.

  She noticed the yellow rose he'd presented to her in the airport and realized the gesture had been somewhat romantic. Perhaps he even had seduction in mind. He had been honest enough to admit his interest in her. And she had reciprocated.

  Being with him this evening had been so easy, so natural. And she hadn't been able to resist kissing his cheek before he left. But he wasn’t satisfied. When his lips had touched hers, the feelings that had spun through her couldn't be denied. She hadn't felt this way with anyone since Wayne's death, mostly, she suspected, because she'd been successful in avoiding any intimacy with a man. Until now.

  But Joe was different.

  Though she was reluctant to admit it, Joe made her feel desire again... the rich, strong desire of a woman for a man. She wanted to hold him close, to feel his heartbeat and to feel him inside her. And she wondered if she could spend another day—or evening—with Joe and keep their relationship strictly business.

  Chapter Five

  “I know I'm too early."

  "What makes you think so?" Maria blinked sleepily and drew the front panels of her yellow robe tighter across her breasts. "I'm usually at work by now. The leisure of Mexico must be getting to me already." She couldn't avoid staring at Joe, not fully prepared for her reaction to the sight of him this morning.

  Dressed in a blue sweatshirt and black running shorts, Joe exuded a mild musk as he panted on her doorstep. His hair fell in dark disarray around a black headband. His tanned, muscular arms were magnificently displayed by his cutoff shirtsleeves, and his powerful legs glimmered with a thin moisture sheen. The aura of a healthy heat radiated from his body, bringing a warm flush to hers.

  He swiped a drop of sweat from the tip of his nose with the back of his hand and reached up to brace himself on the side of the doorframe. The man emitted unbridled masculinity that almost took her breath away.

  Joe's smile was more of an openmouthed admiration. Finally he spoke. "You look like—"

  "Don't say it. A canary, right?" Maria's laughter was still husky with sleep. "My sister-in-law gave me this outfit last Christmas. It's a bit much, don't you think? The fact is, it's comfortable and warm." She stuffed her hands deep into the pockets and wriggled her shoulders beneath the thick material. "And I just love the way it feels."

  Joe watched her movements and rubbed his jaw with his thumb. "I don't think you look like a bird. You look terrific to me." He thought the bright yellow enhanced her blond hair, but a canary wasn't his comparison. His thoughts ran more to a glass of bubbling, intoxicating champagne. "I was going to say that you look like you just crawled out of bed. I woke you, didn't I? Sorry about that."

  "It's okay. I should be up by now. This is the first time in ages I've slept this late." She squinted in the bright sunlight. "You probably want to get started early."

  "I already did, running along the beach."

  "You've been out already? I'm really late."

  "No, you aren't. It's just a little past eight. This stretch of the beach is a great place to run. You don't have to get up at dawn to avoid the crowds. It's practically empty most of the time."

  "How appropriate that you're a jogger." Her lashes fluttered as she took in all of him. "I read that ancient Apache runners used to run four miles with a mouthful of water to test their endurance."

  Joe's mood changed immediately. His relaxed attitude and smiles were gone, and the brooding expression returned to his dark eyes. "Reading up on how to handle this Apache?"

  Maria's heart sank, and instinctively she put her fingers to her lips. Stupid! She'd offended him with her unthinking remark. It was presumptuous of her to relate Joe's jogging to his Apache ancestry, of which he was obviously sensitive. On the other hand, his reaction pointed out his hypersensitivity, something the media could manipulate or give unwarranted attention to, so he’d better learn to handle it.

  She stuck to her guns. "No, Joe, I wasn't reading up on you. I think I read that fact in Arizona history when I was a kid, and it stuck with me. I was impressed with that kind of endurance."

  "I'm not an Apache runner. I'm just a man who jogs to keep in shape."

  "Joe, I'm sorry if I offended you. I didn't intend to. Please believe that. I didn't think before I spoke. Will you accept my apology?"

  “It’s fine. Not to worry.” He nodded, but his face remained tight and expressionless.

  She gazed up at him, trying to read his impassive facade, finding it impossible. Spontaneously Maria reached out and squeezed his hand. He responded with a little flinch, but he didn't move away from her touch.

  Maria let her hand remain on his for a moment. "Aside from the Apache long distance runners, I'm also impressed with anyone who jogs. I'm more of a walker. It's less jarring to my body than running." She paused and he had no comment, so she cleared her throat and continued. "I suppose you stopped by this morning to see when we should get started working."

  "Actually, I stopped by to remind you that I’ll help unpack all those bags. And to see if you wanted to have breakfast together. As soon as I grab a quick shower."

  "Well, maybe breakfast is a good idea." Maria moved her hand from his and pushed her disheveled hair back. Of course, he probably wanted a business breakfast. Her gaze traveled beyond his broad shoulders to the sunlit stretch of sand and water. Soft waves rippled against the shore, and the salt air smelled fresh and clean. Suddenly everything else was forgotten, and she moved outside into the glorious sunlight and onto the sand. "The beach! It's right here!"

  "I told you the Marisol is located between the mountains and the beach." He gestured behind them where the white stuccoed villa with its red curved roof tiles was nestled against a rugged mountain range that followed the shoreline.

  She whirled in a circle to take in the scenery, smiling and hugging her arms. “It's wonderful, Joe! Really beautiful!"

  His mood softened as he watched Maria's response to the place he'd chosen specifically for her. "Didn't the election committee give you a brochure?"

  She looked chagrined. "Honestly, I glanced at it but didn't pay much attention. I travel so much, I figured it was just another hotel."

  "Just another job, huh?"

  "I have a feeling that when I leave here, none of this will be just another anything, Joe."

  “I’ll do my part to help you remember."

  "Oh, I’ll remember."

  He shifted and rested his hips on the low porch railing in a half-sitting position. Behind him stretched an endless extension of blue from the softly swelling Sea of Cortez. This was a sight she'd long remember.

  "Did you sleep well?” He leaned forward as if it were the most important question of the day. “How’s your room?"

  Maria pretended not to notice his muscled body so boldly revealed in his jogging outfit. She was trying to think business while he was looking like a copper skinned Adonis. And she couldn't keep her mind off the man.

  "I slept like a baby," she said with a grin. "Thanks to the wine. Gracias. The casita is great. It reminds me of my cabin in the mountains, so peaceful and quiet."

  "You like it, then?"

  "Love it. Now I can hardly wait to walk on the beach!"

  "Then let’s go. Get your shorts and shoes, and we'll go beach walking." />
  She smiled happily up at him. "You, too?"

  "It'll be a good cool down for me."

  "Okay. I'll only be a few minutes."

  "Mind if I come in and get a drink? I don't run with water in my mouth."

  "Not at all. Come on in." She ducked her head at his reference to her remark about the Apache runners.

  By the time she emerged dressed in white shorts and a blue pullover, he'd called room service for orange juice. They gulped the fresh squeezed juice and were off to romp along the seashore. Sometimes running, sometimes walking, they laughingly soaked up the sun's energy. For over an hour they frolicked in the sand, enjoying the simple pleasures of searching for unusual shells and dodging the incoming ripples.

  "This is the real reason people come to the seashore," Maria declared as she stooped to pick up a faded orange whelk.

  “To walk along the beaches? To smell the ocean? To get lost in time? To find their own perspective in the scheme of things?"

  "You're certainly philosophical this morning. I'm talking about something much simpler. To find the perfect channeled whelk." She turned the shell over in her palm to reveal the corroded underside. "Obviously not this one." She tossed it back into the sea. "But the search goes on for the perfect shell, one that time and the sea hasn't battered."

  "Why the whelk?"

  "Because it's so difficult to find a perfect one. The whelk isn't like a clam, all flat and plain. It has spikes on the outside and intricate spirals on the inside that make it unique. I'm sure they're harder for the sea creature to make than a simple clamshell. That's why, when you find a perfect one, it's very special."

  Like you, Joe thought as he let her lead the conversation as well as their walk. Perfect and special in many ways. And unexpected, as he was discovering.

  By the time they turned around and headed back, Joe had grabbed her hand and was racing with her in and out of the water. Breathless, laughing, shoes wet and bare legs splattered with sand, they reached the casitas.

  "Surely you're hungry now." His statement sounded more like a question.

  "I'm starved! Nothing like a walk on the beach to whet an appetite."

  "Great. Meet me in thirty, then."

  She nodded. "That'll barely give me time to shower and call my office."

  "Okay, make it forty-five. I probably should do the same. Be careful, though," he warned.

  "Why?"

  "Don't sound like you're having too much fun. They’ll find a reason to put you to work."

  "I wouldn't let that happen." She grinned over her shoulder. "This is, after all, a business trip."

  Joe watched her disappear and trudged slowly across the sand to his casita. Maria filled his mind, tantalized his thoughts and dominated his fantasies. She had many sides, both business and pleasure. Maybe there was a way to integrate a relationship so that it included both and wasn't unfair to either of them. That's what he'd work on, anyway.

  During her shower Maria's sense of obligation returned full force. She met Joe dressed in khaki slacks and a tailored blouse with beige and white stripes.

  He wore navy walking shorts, a powder-blue shirt with white piping and huaraches. She swallowed a comment on the tip of her tongue about how great he looked and kept reminding herself this was a business breakfast.

  "What's this?" He indicated the flat leather briefcase tucked under her arm.

  "I thought we could get started during breakfast."

  "Good idea." They walked along silently, and he wondered how much actual work they could accomplish over eggs and coffee. But she was in charge here, and he was impressed with her. And usually surprised.

  In the restaurant he followed her past hanging baskets filled with tiny purple-tinged orchids to a patio table overlooking the Sea of Cortez. Between the fresh fruit cup and main entree, she opened the folder devoted to Joe and got out her pen.

  "Okay. This is just preliminary, Joe. Sometimes it helps me to learn a little about you before we start goal setting." She looked down at her notebook. "In some respects, I feel as though we've known each other for ages. Yet I don't even know what your business is, Joe."

  "Engineering. About as removed from politics as can be."

  "Have you ever held a public office? Councilman or committee chairman?"

  "Not even PTA president."

  She made a note. "Hmm, not much experience."

  "Not in the public arena. You have your work cut out for you, lady."

  "That's okay. I expected a challenge." She moved her papers to make room for a plate of huevos chorizos, eggs scrambled with spicy Mexican sausage. "That's what I'm here for."

  "Now seems to be a good time to tell you that I've never made a public speech to more than twenty-five people. And they worked for me, so they didn't dare laugh. Or question me." He paused to take a bite of eggs. "I've never stood on a podium and looked out over a sea of strange faces, except to receive a football trophy and mumble something stupid."

  "Does the idea that now you'll have to make many public speeches like that scare you?" She glanced up, pen poised.

  "Speechless."

  She rolled her eyes at his pun and paused to start on her eggs. "Maybe it'll help you to know that most people are petrified at the thought of speaking to a crowd. It's the number one fear in the business world. But then, some people are hams and get a charge out of being the center of attention. It's important for me to know which your category is so we can go from there."

  "The former, definitely."

  She made note. "Hmm."

  "Can you help me, doctor?"

  "I'll try."

  "Can you do something about my sweaty palms? And those butterflies in the pit of my stomach that make me feel as though I'm going to toss my cookies? And the rubber legs that make me walk like I've had too much hooch?"

  She laughed. "That’s what most people say. It’s due to a high degree of anxiety. But we’ll get you over that in no time."

  "Oh." He groaned and dropped his forehead to his hand. "You've seen through my act."

  "You're just typical, Joe."

  "Hey, I don’t want to be typical. I want to rise above the ordinary. Your brochure promised."

  "That's something you'll have to do when I'm finished." She gave him a secure smile. "But I've no doubts about your ability."

  "I'm curious about how you expect to cure this anxiety disease." He buttered a corn tortilla and rolled it into a finger shape before taking a bite of it.

  "I may not be able to cure you completely, but that isn't necessary. Sometimes nervous energy can be channeled and put to good use when addressing a crowd. My aim is to give you sufficient techniques and skills to boost your self-confidence so that you're assured you can handle whatever might occur."

  He smiled devilishly across the table at her. "Come on, now, what's your secret? Do you go along to hold your client's hand for the first speech? Or put cucumber compresses on their brows and chant a few magic phrases?"

  "Obviously you've thought of some cures that I haven't. My job is to prepare you to go out on your own by teaching you a few tricks that may work."

  “Tricks, huh?"

  She made a note, then proceeded, taking an occasional bite of her breakfast. Learning about Joe was far more interesting at the moment than food. "What about the news media? Have you ever been interviewed by a reporter or been on the radio or TV?"

  "Nope." He snapped his fingers. “Take that back. In my youth I was on TV weekly. But all I had to do was stand there looking like a young brute in my college football uniform and tell how I tucked the ball and zigged this way or zagged that way until I crossed the goal line. It was fun because I was still high—" he stopped and grinned at her "—high on adrenaline after the game, of course."

  "That's what I'm talking about. You'll learn to put that extra flow of adrenaline to work for you." She couldn't help thinking he must have been a handsome young brute in his college football uniform. "Never done anything more, ah, serious?"
/>   “I’ve never had to answer to anyone outside the company about my business decisions. Never explained my logic to a camera—not that I'll have to in the future, but..." He shrugged.

  "But you might. Given today's media interest in Native Americans, you probably will at some point. Count on it." She gave him a steady look. "And you will have to realize that you can't be too sensitive about your heritage. Most of the media won't be Native Americans, nor will they be as, uh, responsive to your reactions as I. You never know what they'll ask."

  He raised one eyebrow. "You think I'm too sensitive?"

  "That's a matter of judgment, and not mine to make. It's yours. You'll have to decide if you're going to be the chip-on-the-shoulder Indian leader or—"

  "Or?"

  She took a deep breath. This was shaky ground, and she hoped she wouldn't foul it up again. "Or one of a new type who is broad minded and progressive as well as loyal to his people."

  "I always took pride that I was that kind of man." He shoved his plate away and propped his elbows on the table. His expression had grown serious. "I guess when confronted with my heritage, I become a little defensive. Maybe a lot defensive. But I won't sidestep my stand. I am Apache." He tapped his own chest. "We call ourselves Indee, which means 'the people.' And everything I do will be in the best interest of 'the people’ the Apache, my people."

  "That's the way it should be, Joe. I have no intention of changing your philosophy or your stance. Nor will I tell you what to say or prepare speeches for you. But you need to have clearly in mind exactly how you want to represent your people. The reason is so that you don't let the media distort any of your stand. You need to remain in charge at all times."

  "Somehow this sounds like a battle between them and me."

  "No, it's more of a competition for who comes out on top, or who gets the best story. Your job is to give them a story, the story you want them to have. Now, I know how the media will dig, the kinds of probing and insensitive questions they'll ask. My teaching strategy is to play devil's advocate so you can practice with me how you'll respond." She leaned forward earnestly. "But please believe, Joe, I'm not against you. I'm on your side."