Within Reach

by Marilyn Pappano

  “Little girls like their beautiful mother,” he finished for her. He often found himself dreaming about children, too, about daughters who were the mirror image of their blue-eyed mother. “What about your career? What if your dozen children interfere?”

  “Who needs a career when you can have babies?”

  “You don’t support the women’s movement with sentiments like that, do you?”

  “Women’s lib means the right to choose. If I choose a family over a career, that’s my right. Besides, I could have both.” Her hand dropped from his hair to his chest, where it rubbed sensuously over smooth skin. “What about your family, Rafael? Do you miss them?”

  “Yes.”

  There was a tightness in his voice, warning her, but she continued without notice. “We were a horrible family. My mother couldn’t even love me. I was one of the reasons she left Dad. She hated the house, the desert and ‘that clinging brat.’ That was me. She hated me, and I hated myself. It was years later, Rafael, that I finally realized I wasn’t to blame for Selena’s unhappiness. I couldn’t accept responsibility for her. I couldn’t control her anymore than you could control Rebecca and her father when they hurt you and Josefina and your family.”

  The lines of his body tensed, and his breathing was tightly controlled. He started to roll away from her, but something held him still, forced his eyes to hers. “Do you think that still bothers me?” he asked carefully.

  “I think that even after twelve years you feel guilty as hell over that. You blame yourself, and you avoid your family. You hate yourself for letting those bad things happen.”

  “This is none of your business.” His voice was harsh, his eyes turning to ice.

  Krista nodded, gracefully accepting his rebuke and hiding her hurt with a smile.

  “I’m not ‘avoiding’ my family.”

  “All right.”

  “It all happened a long time ago.”

  She nodded again. “A very long time.”

  “Halderman was a bastard.”

  Rafael couldn’t stop the words. Honesty compelled him to admit that she was right, and each short, defensive sentence was born of the guilt he was denying. “It’s better for them—not seeing me. I can only remind them of the sadness and pain.”

  “Rafael, you’re their son, their brother. They love you, and seeing you would only remind them of how much they love you. They don’t blame you for what happened. How could they?”

  “I was responsible!” He rose to his feet and walked to the edge of the slope to stare out over the valley. He wanted to change the subject, to force the unpleasant memories back into a dark corner of his mind, and he wanted to regain the closeness he and Krista had shared only minutes ago. When he turned he gave a hesitant smile. “I’m sorry, Krista. You’re right. I’ve avoided my family for seven years, and I rarely saw them for the five years before that, because I do feel guilty for the things that happened. I appreciate your concern, but I’m not ready to deal with that. I don’t know if I ever will be. But I don’t want to argue with you. The time we have together is too important to waste arguing. Please forgive me.”

  She welcomed him into her embrace, pressing her face against his chest. “I’m sorry, too, Rafael. I won’t bring it up again.” Her mood changed rapidly from regret to playful teasing. “You promised me something back there in town. Are you going to renege?”

  “What?” he asked, pretending ignorance, though his eyes showed that he knew very well what she meant.

  “You said you would undress me and kiss me and make love to me.”

  “With you. I always make love with you.” He eased her onto her back and removed her shirt, then the rest of her clothes. While she lay there naked, trembling with anticipation, Rafael meticulously folded her clothes, straightened her socks, making a neat stack on the corner of the blanket. When he turned back to her, he merely looked at her, aware of her growing frustration but in no hurry to ease it.

  “You are beautiful.”

  She reached out to him, but he shook his head and waved her hands away. “Be patient.”

  His hands moved over her, a mere fraction of an inch above her skin, and, without even touching, left a widening trail of goose bumps in its wake. The first place he made contact was with one coral nipple, and Krista whimpered. He drew his hand away and bent over her, and without touching any other part of his body to hers, he sucked the eager bud into his mouth for a gentle kiss.

  As he had promised he covered her body with kisses until she pleaded mindlessly for him; then he shed his clothes and answered her pleas with his body, giving her all she could take. When she arched beneath him and gave a shattered cry, he joined her in sweet agony, emptying himself into the warmth of her.

  “You are beautiful.” Krista repeated his words to him as she drew her fingers across the stubble on Rafael’s jaw and the softness of his lips to the silkiness of his mustache. “I love you, Rafael.”

  He lay on his back, his eyes closed, feeling warm and satisfied and lazy. “Why?” he asked softly. “Am I so different from the other men you know?”

  She chose not to answer his second question. “I don’t suppose any of us has a choice as to who we fall in love with. I think it just happens.”

  No, he certainly hadn’t been given a choice. He hadn’t even wanted to like Krista, but no matter how hard he’d fought, it had happened anyway; he’d fallen in love with her.

  She would like to hear the words, he knew, but he wouldn’t say them. When his part in her father’s arrest came out she would be hurt and angry, and she would probably question everything he’d ever told her. When it was all over, when she could see that he had no reason for lying, then he would say it. Then he would tell her how much he loved her. But for now he could only show her and hope she understood.

  “I want you again, pequeña. Making love with you is the nicest feeling…better than anything I’ve ever known. When I’m with you, I feel like that’s where I belong. I’ve waited all my life to meet you.” He pulled her gently to him and kissed her. His lips were soft, his teeth gentle, his tongue boldly stabbing into her mouth. His hands left off their caresses and tangled themselves in her hair, holding her head as his mouth became demanding, forcing a response from her.

  Krista tried to move onto her back, impatient for him, but Rafael resisted. “I want to look at you,” he muttered thickly, easily lifting her body onto his. “I want to watch you move. I want to see you take me inside you, and I want to see that it feels good for you. I want to see your face at that moment when everything explodes, pequeña, my little one, my love….”

  Gentle fingers guided him inside her; then Krista sat still, her eyes moist with tears. He was a very special man, and she felt as if she might burst with love and happiness. She had never felt so rich, so blessed, as she did with Rafael. “My love,” he’d said. Yes, he was definitely her love.

  She moved slowly, rocking her hips, her small breasts swaying slightly. Rafael was content to lie still and give her total control, to let her do what she wanted with his body while he simply watched. His mouth formed a straight line, not smiling but not as harsh and stern as usual, because his eyes were soft and gentle. They were filled with the love that he refused to put into words, though Krista saw and recognized it.

  She felt that her release was near when Rafael reached his own, and she forced herself to hold back, because his eyes were closed. When he had relaxed and was looking at her again she began moving against him. While somber, intense black eyes looked on, Krista, silhouetted against a slowly setting sun, reached the moment “when everything explodes” and sank slowly, tearfully, into Rafael’s arms.

  Chapter 10

  “Nick and Carla Morris are having a party tonight. Everyone at work is invited.”

  Krista looked at Rafael, but he kept his eyes on the road. “Would you like to go?” she asked.

  “Yes.” He admitted it simply. Rafael, who chose to have little contact with anyone, wanted to go to a
party. He wasn’t sure why. Maybe he felt more sociable these days. Maybe twelve years of loneliness was catching up with him. And maybe he wanted to show Krista off, to let his co-workers who called him cold and unfeeling see the way she looked at him.

  “All right.”

  “Krista…” He slowed to a stop at the junction of the dirt road and the highway. “Constancia Aranas will be there. She’s dating Darren Carter.”

  A flare of jealousy coursed through her. A party sounded like fun; meeting Rafael’s former lover didn’t. When he saw them together—lovely, beautiful Constancia, and Krista—would he realize how wrong he’d been to choose her over the Mexican woman? Be gracious, she cautioned herself. “That’s okay,” she said, feigning indifference. I have no intention of letting you get within ten feet of her anyway.

  Sometimes, Rafael thought, it was as if he could see into her mind, see her thoughts and fears. He leaned toward her, and with one hand he traced the line of her jaw. “You’re a very special lady, Krista.”

  She caught his hand and pressed a kiss to the palm. “No, Rafael,” she disagreed. “You’re the special one.”

  Almost everyone else had arrived at the Morris house by the time Rafael and Krista got there. She hesitantly got out of the Bronco, suffering yet another attack of nerves at meeting the beautiful Constancia. Maybe she should have worn a dress instead of jeans. Maybe, she worried, she should have taken the time to do something with her hair, instead of wearing it in her usual braid.

  Rafael stopped her at the bottom of the porch steps. Gently his fingers moved across her cheek, down her throat, over her collarbone. “You are the loveliest woman I’ve ever seen.”

  “Thank you.” She was grateful, not so much for the compliment but because he was sensitive enough to realize she needed to hear it.

  He lifted her hand to his mouth for a kiss, then led her up the steps to the door. Nick Morris answered their knock, taking them through the house to the den.

  “Drinks and food are in the kitchen,” Carla Morris called. “Glad you finally made it, Rafe.”

  “Finally?” Krista asked him.

  “They do this the first Saturday of every month. This is the first time I’ve come.”

  They were greeted by everyone in the room, and Krista was introduced to the few people she didn’t know. There was no sign of Constancia, but Royce Ann wasted no time before explaining that she was in the kitchen.

  When conversation among the men turned immediately to work, Krista withdrew. “Want a beer, Rafael?”

  His eyes moved caressingly over her. “Please.”

  She was hesitant to enter the kitchen—down the hall and to the right, Nick had said. She could hear two women’s voices, one of them Carla’s, the other soft and melodic and accented. Taking a deep breath, she entered the room. Carla said something and left. Krista faced the slender, black-haired woman nervously and for a moment they simply stared at each other.

  It was Constancia who spoke first. “I wonder if they’ll be disappointed that they missed our first meeting,” she said, a tentative smile on her lips.

  “Probably. You’re even prettier than the picture in the paper.”

  “Thank you.”

  From first grade Krista had been taught all the proper social graces, but she couldn’t think of a thing to say to this woman who had been Rafael’s lover.

  Constancia understood her discomfort. “Rafael and I had a good relationship,” she said softly. “It served its purpose, and when it was time, it ended. He wasn’t hurt, and neither was I. It’s time for better things for both of us. I’ve found mine, and I think Rafael has found his in you.” After a brief silence she continued, “Shall we join the party before they come to see what we’ve done to each other?”

  Krista agreed, first getting a bottle of beer and a can of Coke from the refrigerator. They walked down the hall together in silence. When they entered the den every eye was on them. They separated, Constancia going to Darren at one end of the room, Krista to Rafael at the other. He accepted the beer with murmured thanks. Black eyes searched her face; then he asked, “¿Está bien?”

  She popped the top of her Coke. “Está bien.” It was all right.

  Richard Houseman joined them. He was tall, blond and handsome, but Krista’s attention belonged to Rafael. “Rafe. Krista.”

  “Hello, Richard.” She was surprised that she’d been able to remember his name. He was the man from New York who didn’t like to be called Rick, Rich or, worse, Dick. “How do you like the desert after New York?”

  “I don’t care for it at all. I don’t know how you people stand it. Of course, Contreras here is the only person I know who actually likes the desert. He must have ice water in his veins.”

  She lifted the can to her lips, slowly swallowing the cool liquid. When she lowered it again, she fixed a cool gaze on Houseman. “Not at all. Personally, I love the desert. I find it…sensuous. Strong.” The look she gave Rafael left no doubt that her description extended to the man as well as the land.

  Houseman seemed to have difficulty clearing his throat; he coughed several times, then muttered an excuse and left.

  As soon as the man was gone Krista said flatly, “I don’t think I like him.”

  “I got that impression.”

  “Hey, Rafe,” Nick called. “How about a little poker?”

  The term “poker face” could have been invented to describe Rafael. Not one flicker of emotion crossed his features while he played, whether he held nothing or a full house, whether he lost or won. The only time the blank mask ever shifted was when he looked at or spoke to Krista; there was always a tenderness there for her. It didn’t go unnoticed by Houseman or by the others at the table.

  Exactly two hours after they’d arrived Rafael pocketed his winnings, collected Krista from the sofa, where she was sitting with the other women, and said good-night. He wanted to go home, to get her away from all those people and alone at his house, where he could have her undivided attention. He had shared her long enough; selfishly, he wanted her to himself.

  “Did I embarrass you, leaving so quickly?” he asked in the truck.

  “Not at all. In fact, I was about to suggest it myself. Parties are all right, but I’d rather be alone with you.”

  Despite her answer, he still wondered. His behavior had bordered on rudeness. He hadn’t even asked her if she wanted to go; he’d just ordered her to come along. Would her rich, sophisticated boyfriends ever have treated her that way? “I’m sorry,” he said uncomfortably. “I don’t go to parties often—but you could probably tell that by my behavior.”

  “There was nothing wrong with your behavior, Rafael.”

  It was another moonlight-and-shadows night. Occasionally she could see his face well; other times he was just a dark shadow in the darker night. When she could see his face, though, she saw that he was troubled. “If it would help to talk, I can listen,” she offered.

  How could he tell her that he was comparing himself to her other boyfriends, to the rich Europeans and famous Americans, and finding himself lacking? He wasn’t even supposed to know about them.

  When she saw that he wasn’t going to accept her invitation to confide in her, she said, “Tell me about Constancia. About you and her.”

  They were in shadow again when Rafael began the story. When he’d been stationed in San Diego, he’d often patrolled the canyons adjacent to the border and east of San Ysidro. They were sometimes called no-man’s-land because of the bandits who hid there and attacked both illegals and border-patrol agents. Ramón Aranas was such a bandit. He was also un pollero.

  Pollo, he exclaimed, was slang for the illegals; it meant “chicken.” Their smugglers, or guides, were called polleros, “chicken handlers.” Aranas was un pollero who often robbed and beat the people he was guiding across the border. One night he made the mistake of attacking Rafael and his partner, an officer with the Border Crimes Task Force, a unit of the San Diego Police Department that worked along the
border. With one shot from the cop’s gun Ramón Aranas was dead.

  Later Rafael learned that Aranas had a wife, a pregnant twenty-two-year-old who was now a widow. He went to see her, to offer his apologies. A week later she lost the baby.

  Over a month passed before he made the trip to Tijuana again to see Constancia. The visits continued, and when he transferred to Nueva Vida, Constancia, with no family of her own, followed, settling in San Ignacio.

  By the time he finished the story they had reached the house, and Krista was curled up in his arms, wedged between his chest and the hard steering wheel. They sat silently for a long time, the sounds of their breathing mingling with the night noises.

  “I always hated sharing a bed with someone,” Rafael remarked while his hand found its way inside her shirt. “I felt trapped and crowded. The first night you stayed here, I was going to lie with you until you went to sleep, then go into the other bedroom.”

  He sighed softly, his warm breath stirring the hair at Krista’s temple. “You fell asleep, and I thought I’d lie there just a minute longer, and the next thing I knew it was morning and you were in my arms, all soft and warm and golden…. I never thought such a small bed could feel as empty as it does when you’re not in it.”

  After another silence, during which he played lazily, almost absentmindedly, with her breast, Krista asked, “Would your parents like me?”

  “They would adore you.”

  “And your brothers and sisters?”

  “Them, too. Maybe someday…” That magical, mythical someday, when she was able to forgive him for his actions against her father, when he was able to forgive himself for Rebecca Halderman, when he could return to his family. Someday, when he could convince Krista to marry him, to be his wife, to have his children.

  Krista fell asleep easily that night, secure in Rafael’s embrace. She slept so soundly that he was able to leave the bed without disturbing her. He pulled on the jeans he’d discarded only an hour earlier and went into the living room, to his desk.