This time, a smile curved his lips. "No. It won't take long. I'll be back soon. I promise," he added.
Lina glanced away from him, back inside the room toward the bed.
"Lina."
She looked at him once more.
"I promise." He nodded toward the door. Relief flooded her features, and Miguel felt ashamed again. He was what he was. But she would understand that he would keep his word. This time, he had promised. He walked to the front door and turned the knob. And he only looked back once.
Lina disappeared inside their daughter's bedroom. She wasn't going to watch him leave a second time.
Chapter Seven
Purposefully, Miguel strode down the main street, his long strides eating up the distance between Lina's boarding house and the place where he'd spoken to the vendor earlier that day.
The streets were all but deserted. Most of the vendors had packed up their wares and gone home, their shops closed and shuttered. An old man led a burro down the street, and Miguel hurried to him, touching his arm. "Hola, senor."
The man stopped and looked at him, fear in his eyes.
"I only want some information. I'm looking for a merchant. Short, heavy, with eyes that are as blue as the ocean. A mestizo…" He hesitated before adding, "Like me."
The man shrugged, his gaze shifting to the dirt road. "I know who you mean. But I don't know where he lives. His name is Luis."
Miguel bit back his frustration. "I need to find him."
The man shrugged again, pulling on the burro. "Lo siento, senor. I can't help you."
Miguel turned away, scanning the darkening village for someone else who might tell him Luis' whereabouts.
Christmas Eve. Miguel noted bitterly that the streets were completely bare. Everyone had gone home to their families.
Slowly, it occurred to him that for the first time since he'd been a child, he, too, had a family of sorts waiting for him to come back.
"Luis!" he called suddenly in desperation. "Luis the vendor! Show yourself!"
Up and down the street, he saw several people glance down from upstairs windows, or peek out their front doors, then go back to their family activities and meals.
Lina would be ready to put dinner on the table. He shook his head at the absurdity of the situation. He was going to be late for dinner. The one night he and his "family" could sit down to eat together—maybe in his lifetime—and he was not going to be there unless he abandoned this mission to find Luis and his damn ribbons.
But how could he, knowing what they meant to little Maria? His little girl.
He started back down the street, calling for Luis as he went. No one answered. Finally, he had reached the church. He stopped, looking at the arched doorway that seemed to invite him in.
He wasn't far from Lina's now. Maybe he would go inside now, quickly—just for a moment. He would light a candle for his mother, and see if the priest knew where Luis lived. Why hadn't he thought of that sooner?
Just as he came inside the welcoming doors of the church, he remembered he was wearing a gun. Regret filled him. He'd never worn a gun into a Holy Church before, and he understood it for what it was; the honest mistake of a man who'd lived too long by weaponry and the skills it took to survive in a godless world.
Yet, the priest met him halfway down the middle aisle, with his arms outstretched in welcome. "Miguel Rivera! I would know you anywhere!"
"Esteban?" Miguel's voice was hoarse with disbelief. "Esteban Montoya?"
"Padre Esteban, now."
"I never believed…you—"
Esteban laughed. "I know. We were cut from the same cloth for many years, eh? And now, I am a man of the cloth and you wear…that." He kept the smile as he gestured at the gun riding low on Miguel's hip. "Things change, my friend."
People don't, Miguel had replied earlier to that same remark. Yet, here was proof which reflected that, as well. Esteban had changed, remarkably.
"Come," Esteban said, taking his elbow. "I have some time before mass. What is it you seek?"
When Miguel told him the impossible story of Lina, of Maria, and then finally, the ribbons, Esteban sat silent for a moment. "You've been gone a long time," he said finally. "Five years."
Miguel smiled caustically. "That's all you have to say? A comment about how long I've been away?" He shook his head, looking at the floor, and said slowly, "I know how long I've been gone, 'Steban. I know—now, I should never have left. Not with Lina being pregnant. I wouldn't have gone, if I'd known."
"Yes, you would."
Miguel's head came up swiftly, his anger surfacing at Esteban's soft spoken certainty that he would have done the unthinkable. But looking into his old friend's face, he found understanding rather than the condemnation he expected. After a moment, he nodded in mute agreement.
"I was young and stupid." He stood up to go. Lina would be worried and angry all over again.
"You've changed, too, Miguel." Esteban rose. "Why? What happened?"
How could he explain what he had no words for? How could he tell his old friend how nothing else mattered when he looked into Lina's face, and saw the traces of love still remaining—even after what he had unwittingly done to her? Or how, when his little girl laid her soft cheek next to his, he felt his heart move, expand, in his chest? There were no words.
"You love her, don't you?" Esteban's words were quietly spoken, but Miguel knew that Esteban understood everything he was at a loss to explain. And hearing him say it made it real. Miguel could not deny it any longer.
"Yes, I love her. But what good does that do anyone, Esteban? She's suffered enough because of—having my child; not being married." There was a bitter taste in his mouth as he spoke. The loss was his. It had been, already, for five years—but knowing what he had missed started a wellspring of longing inside him that he could not ignore. It threatened to consume him.
"Hmmm. And what of your daughter, Maria? Have you thought of what your leaving will do to her?"
Miguel heard the edge of anger in Esteban's tone. No. He hadn't wanted to think of the disappointment and loss that separation would bring, because he'd seen just how much she'd loved him, how desperate she was for a father. No, not any father. Her own. Him. His daughter loved him unconditionally.
He met Esteban's sharp gaze again.
"How can you think of leaving her, Miguel?"
The air crackled with tension, and Miguel remained silent.
"You won't," Esteban spoke with certainty now. "Not even you can ride away from a love so strong, my friend."
"I have to. Don't you understand? Tonight is all I have. My reputation—"
"Oh, yes. I almost forgot. El Diablo—a man to be feared." Esteban leaned close to Miguel. "I think you are the one who is afraid—afraid you are unworthy."
Miguel took two steps away from Esteban. He didn't want to do something he'd regret, but his friend was driving him to it. And he still needed to find the vendor. He couldn't return empty-handed, no matter how worried Lina might be. Plainly, he was wasting time here. "I am unworthy, Esteban," he murmured softly. "Lina and Maria are the only good things that ever came into my life."
"Yet, you're determined to let them go. You won't fight for them."
"Look at me! I have nothing to give! Not even a decent name."
Esteban remained unruffled. "You could change that, if you wanted to."
Miguel let go a sharp bark of laughter. "You don't know. You have no idea. I want it, Father, more than anything I've ever wanted."
Esteban raised his brows at Miguel's mockery, then looked at the rough tile floor. "You can have what you want most."
Miguel shook his head. "How? I can't go back in time."
A glimmer of sadness passed over Esteban's dark features just as Miguel looked at him again. "No. But Christmas Eve is a night for miracles."
Miguel pressed his lips together. "My faith is not strong, Esteban. I don't believe in miracles. I've never seen one." Immediately, he thought of Maria, a
nd knew that wasn't true.
Esteban's smile was melancholy. "Miracles happen all the time, Miguel. You have to open your eyes. Expect good things—"
"Where can I find the vendor? Do you know him?" Enough talk of miracles. The miracle would be finding scarlet ribbons to replace the ones he lost.
Esteban turned away. "No. I'm sorry. I can't help you." With no further word, he walked toward the back of the little church, and seemed to disappear into a small doorway.
Chapter Eight
Miguel sighed, fighting back the urge to curse the air blue around him. He was, after all, inside the church. He strode quickly for the front door, trying to put Esteban's words from his mind.
Miracles happen all the time. Expect good things.
He stepped into the cool night air, breathing deeply. Didn't Esteban understand the first thing about all this? He ran a hand through black hair before putting his hat back on. He was not going to find the vendor in time. It seemed like such a small thing, those ribbons. Now, they were everything. He'd had them in his saddlebag. He'd seen the vendor wrap them, tie them—felt the slight weight of them resting in the brown paper.
Some miracle. The one thing his child wanted. He'd had them. How could they have disappeared? His steps grew slower, and he finally stopped a few yards from Lina's boarding house.
He should have been back an hour ago. He smiled at the thought. He was thinking like a man who had a woman waiting for him.
But…didn't he? She'd waited for years, and she still waited. How long would it take for him to come to his senses? She wanted him. God only knew why. Esteban said things could be changed. With a startling realization, he knew Esteban had been right—he doubted himself.
He squared his shoulders, and once again started for the house. No scarlet ribbons, but perhaps he could bring some happiness to Maria's heart—and Lina's—just by spending Christmas here with them.
Lost in thought, he came up the walkway and onto the front porch. The door opened as he raised his hand to knock. Light spilled from the foyer, washing over him, pulling him out of the darkness.
Lina smiled at him, and Miguel's heart melted. He stood uncertainly for a moment, removing his hat, lost in the warmth of her presence. How could he ever have left her? How would he do it again?
"Come inside. We've waited for you."
"I went to find someone. A man." Suddenly, it was important that he tell her why he left in such a hurry.
"It doesn't matter. You're back now. That's the important thing."
"Lina—I wanted to find the vendor." He shook his head in frustration, knowing he wasn't making sense. "To buy the ribbons—scarlet ribbons for her hair. I had them, but…"
Lina's eyes softened and she took his hand, rubbing her thumb along the tenseness of his knuckles. "Oh, my darling," she whispered, "she can't see the color—"
"But I would know, Lina. I would know." He stepped inside, aware suddenly of the rawness of the wind at his back. Lina closed the door, and he turned once more to face her.
When he did, tears shimmered in the depths of her dark eyes, along with a sadness he knew he could never take from her. She was remembering their little girl as she'd been before the fever, when she could see.
Miguel opened his arms, enfolding her, holding her close to his heart. He soaked up her warmth and the love she'd kept for him all these years, smiling against her dark hair as he thought of Esteban's words.
This has to be the beginning of a miracle, he thought. The fact that she still loved him—and he knew she did—amazed him. As his frozen heart began to thaw, he realized he had tried to hide his love for her from himself. His heart had been playing games with his mind. "Where is she?"
Lina swiped at her eyes and drew a deep breath, and he held her away from him for a moment.
"I let her go ahead and eat. She wanted to wait up for you, but it was getting late."
Miguel sighed. "I've disappointed her again."
Lina laid a finger to his lips. "No. You were only trying to buy her something she wanted, Miguel. You were trying to make her happy—and for that, I'm so grateful—"
He pulled her to him, interrupting her words as his lips closed over hers. She put her arms around him hesitantly. The sweetest kiss Miguel had ever known was quickly tempered by Lina's uncertainty. He had no right to expect any forgiveness from her…yet, as the kiss deepened between them, he knew it was already his. A gift he had not asked for.
He lifted his head, his eyes opening at her breathless sigh of wonder.
The love for him showing in her face rocked him to his core as nothing else had ever done—not the leaving, nor the men he'd killed, nor the times he'd almost died, himself. Her love was beyond imagining.
"Why?" he asked hoarsely. "You still love me."
He half expected her to deny it, but instead, she looked down at the floor, collecting her thoughts. "I will always love you," she said. "There will never be anyone else for me."
"Lina—"
"Please. Don't say it. Riding out of my life five years ago was a most…eloquent refusal."
He shook his head, as if to deny her words, then drew one of her hands up to his lips and kissed her knuckles. "I never meant to hurt you. I didn't know you were pregnant."
"Would it have mattered?" She lifted her head, her eyes boring into his, demanding honesty.
"I don't know. I don't know what I'd have done. I want to think I'd have stayed—done the right thing. I was young, too," he reminded her. "And—stupid."
The corners of her mouth quirked at that. "And arrogant."
He smiled wearily. "I still am, it seems."
She put her palm to his cheek, loving him with her eyes. "An arrogant man would not have gone out in search of hair ribbons for his daughter."
Miguel looked away. "I would give her my own eyes, if I could."
"You love her. I knew you would. She's waited so long—" she broke off, her voice cracking.
"Christ, Lina. Yes, I love her." He stopped short at the sound of his own admission, but it was out. He might as well say it all. More softly, he said, "I love you, too."
"Miguel—"
"Is it too late? Am I too late?" He turned away from her, uncertain at what he almost suggested with his words. What he realized now, he wanted above everything.
Her arms came around him from behind, and she laid her head against his back. "It's never too late, if you believe something can happen. I have always believed in you."
He closed his eyes tightly, drawing in a slow, deep breath. "I didn't know, Lina."
"You were young, as you said." There was forgiveness in her tone, and it was almost more than Miguel could bear.
After a moment, he turned in her arms, and enfolded her against the length of his body. He smoothed her hair back, letting the silken texture ripple through his fingertips. "Arrogant, too—as you said," he teased.
She raised her head slowly to meet his gaze. The answers to all his questions lay in her beautiful dark eyes.
"What will you do…this time?"
He smiled. "Do you still want me?" He shook his head and glanced away. "Five years is a long time."
"If you want to stay," she said carefully, "I know it would mean everything to Maria."
His gaze swung back to her. "What would it mean to you, Catalina?"
She moistened her lips. "Everything."
He leaned down slowly, his lips coming across hers. He was hungry for her as he had never been before. She loved him. She wanted him. And that was all he needed, now or ever. He had been so unaware. Her mouth opened under his as she yielded to him, melting into his arms. Every moment of pent-up longing and uncertainty of the past five years was in her kiss; but there was more. There was the promise of tomorrow—if he would but share it with her.
He lifted his lips from hers. "I want to stay."
"I want that, too." He knew just how much it cost her to let go of the last remnant of her defenses. She was trusting him once more. He'd di
e before he ever hurt her again. His thumb skimmed over her full lower lip, as if committing it to memory.
Miguel nodded, releasing her. He put out his hand, and she took it with no hesitation.
Chapter Nine
"I want to see Maria."
Lina's expression was questioning. "Don't you want to eat first? It's been ready—"
He shook his head, leading the way toward the stairs. The need to see his daughter was more important to relieve than his hunger. "In a bit, Lina. I just want to look in on her. Such a miracle—as Esteban said. He was right—"
Lina stopped at the foot of the stairs, her expression stricken. "Esteban Montoya?"
"Yes." Miguel's look became somber at her concern. "Why?"
Lina bit her lip. "You—went to the mission?"
He smiled. "See how desperate I was to get those ribbons? I thought the priest might know—Lina, what's wrong?"
"Miguel, we have not had a priest here for over six months." She took a shuddering breath. "Esteban Montoya was killed in the spring, by Federales."
"Lina…" How could this be? "I talked to him…" His words trailed away, and he leaned against the banister for a moment, trying to make sense of this day. He didn't believe in miracles. Life had been rough and hard, and he knew he was lucky to be alive—but he was here by no "miracle;" rather, his own skill with a gun and a measure of luck.
Lina took his arm and he turned to look at her. "Others have seen him, too, Miguel. But you are the only one he has spoken with. They say Christmas Eve is—"
"A night when miracles occur," he finished for her, thinking of Esteban's words.
"Yes. I believe that. It is a miracle you are here; a miracle that you and Padre Esteban were able to talk together—"
"A miracle you still love me."
She smiled at that. "No, that is not a miracle. You are the love of my life. I knew that when I watched you ride away the last time." She reached up to touch his cheek, and he kissed her palm, holding it close to his skin.
"I wish I had known, too."
Lina nodded toward Maria's door. "Come on. We'll look in on Maria then have our dinner."
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