The Fires of Paradise

by Brenda Joyce

  Then she watched Linda slicing potatoes, her face flushed, her dress stained and damp, and all her joy vanished. She came forward, taking the knife from Linda’s hand. “I’m going to help anyway,” she said firmly. “There is too much to do for one person.”

  Linda smiled. “Thank you, niña.”

  Some time later, when the meal was almost done, Lucy saw him outside, through the wide-open window. He was approaching the house with Roberto, strolling with that particular masculine swagger of his. Her hands stilled in the midst of their task of draining the boiled potatoes. She had to admire that semistrut. She had to admire him. He was clad in his tight Levis, with his shirt tucked in but open to his belt buckle, and she glimpsed enough form and flesh to recall just how virile he was in fact, as well as appearance.

  He saw her as well and his steps slowed. His eyes brightened instantly and their gazes held. Lucy smiled shyly. He smiled, too, then his brow furrowed and he scowled. Her heart sank a little.

  He disappeared from view as he went up the porch steps, and then the front door slammed. Lucy turned to see him hovering in the doorway.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I …” She found herself looking at his mouth, at his throat. His dark skin glistened where his shirt hung open, and the denim-encased bulge of his groin was overly suggestive. She lowered her gaze.

  For just a moment a brief silence came between them. “Dammit, I said you don’t have to work here. Linda! I told you Lucy won’t be working in the kitchen anymore!”

  Lucy interrupted before Linda could speak. “She told me, Shoz, but I decided to help her anyway. There’s too much work here for one person, and I don’t mind, truly.”

  He blinked at her.

  She smiled hopefully, and saw the softening in his eyes.

  “Carmen can help.”

  “Carmen never helps,” Lucy said.

  “She’s going to start.”

  Lucy thought about how she had taken Carmen’s place in Shoz’s bed. “I really don’t mind. And I think it’s better if Carmen and I keep our distance right now. I mink it’s better—” she looked at him boldly and flushed “—if she stays away from the house.”

  He understood her exactly, because she could see him fighting a small dry smile. “Carmen has decided to bunk with Pedro.”

  Lucy’s eyes widened. So he did know about her infidelities!

  “And I think you’re right,” he said.

  A few moments later they sat down to eat, just the three of them, Roberto, Shoz, and Lucy. Lucy did not see Carmen at all during the next two days.

  It was siesta time, and Lucy and Roberto were on their way for what had been, before Shoz’s return, their daily swim. The past couple of days, Lucy and Shoz had taken the siesta together, but early this morning he had gone hunting. Lucy was humming and holding Roberto’s hand. He skipped alongside her.

  The tune died in her throat as she saw a familiar gypsy-clad figure rushing toward her from the houses behind the remuda. Lucy hadn’t seen hide nor hair of Carmen since the night she had first slept with Shoz. She stiffened and stopped to wait for their imminent confrontation.

  “What’s wrong?” Roberto asked.

  Lucy realized she was clenching his hand. She released it, rubbing his back. “Nothing, niño, nothing.”

  “So,” Carmen huffed, without even a glance at her son, “the bruja thinks she is the new woman, eh?”

  “Hello, Carmen.”

  “Do you really think you can possibly keep a man like mar?” Carmen’s gaze raked her contemptuously.

  “Yes, I do,” Lucy said. The reply was more automatic than anything else, because she had tried very hard not to think about the future at all.

  “Ha! I have been his woman for live years, and I know him better than anyone. You he will tire of—soon.”

  “We will see.”

  “Did he tell you?”

  Lucy dreaded asking. “Did he tell me what?”

  Carmen’s smile was a study in malicious triumph. “That he plans to get rid of you in a few weeks.”

  “What?” She couldn’t contain her surprise and shock.

  “In a few weeks! He told me the other day that he plans to free you in a few weeks. And then he will return to me—as always!”

  Lucy’s heart beat thickly and painfully. “Of course I must leave,” she said with dignity. “I want to go home. I want very much to go home.”

  “Good! Because you will!” She turned to go, and paused. “Enjoy his bed while you can, perra.”

  Lucy watched her leave, shaken. Carmen was probably lying, but she was upset—just as Carmen had intended. Worse, the issue she wanted so much to avoid had been thrown right in her face—making it unavoidable. She did have to go home, sooner or later. Didn’t she?

  Of course she did.

  But later would be better than sooner.

  What was she thinking?

  And was Carmen lying, or telling the truth?

  Roberto tugged on her hand, breaking into her thoughts. “Don’t let Mama make you sad.”

  “I’m not sad,” she said, bending to hug him. “Not at all.”

  “Do you love Papa?”

  Lucy jerked back. Although Roberto was a child of six he had undoubtedly understood every word. Did he know, too, that Shoz slept in Lucy’s room now? He regarded her solemnly, his eyes big and black. “Roberto, do you mind your papa and me being good friends?”

  “I’m glad Papa likes you!” he cried.

  “Your mama’s not very happy,” Lucy said cautiously.

  “That’s because you’re prettier and Papa likes you more.”

  At the moment, Lucy thought. “Roberto, do you miss your mama?”

  He didn’t hesitate. “I like it better when she stays down there.” He looked past the remuda toward the adobe homes beyond it. Carmen was just entering one of the houses. His gaze turned to Lucy. “She can’t yell at me when she’s down there.”

  “Some people just have a temper, Roberto. She doesn’t mean it.” She stroked his hair.

  His expression was far too old for a young boy, and his words far too wise. “Yes, she does. She doesn’t like me. She doesn’t like me because Papa loves me.”

  Lucy felt a tear slip down her cheek. “He loves you very much.”

  “Do you love my papa?”

  She smiled, but another tear fell. “Yes, I do. Very much.” She bent to embrace him. “And I love you, too.”

  “I wish you were my mama,” he said, clinging.

  Shoz came back later that day, and despite Carmen’s disturbing words, Lucy was overjoyed to see him. Yet that night, together in her bed after frenzied lovemaking more appropriate for two lovers reunited after weeks instead of hours, he pulled her close and lifted her chin. “What is it?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Something’s upsetting you, and don’t say it isn’t.”

  She had learned he was sensitive that first night they had shared. Another facet of his character which, she thought, he would hide if he could. “Carmen and I had words.”

  “She’s a bitch. Ignore her. She’s succeeded in doing exactly what she wanted, which was to make you unhappy.”

  She turned more fully into his hard, sweat-slickened body, nuzzling the crook between his neck and shoulder.

  “I’m not unhappy.”

  “What did she say?”

  She leaned back on the pillows to look at him. “She said that in a few weeks you plan to free me.”

  He regarded her steadily. “I do.”

  She attempted a smile and failed. “I have to go home.”

  “Yes. You have to.”

  They looked at each other for a pregnant moment. Then they reached out to each other simultaneously. This time their lovemaking was more frantic than before—and tinged with desperation.

  33

  “Lucy?”

  There was no answer. Shoz poked his head into her room, but she wasn’t there. He wondered where she had gone of
f to, and if Roberto was with her, because he was also not in the house. It was siesta time, the heat particularly thick and intense, making everyone and everything more sluggish and sleepy than usual. He had thought to share the siesta with Lucy. It was too damn hot to do more than sleep, and he didn’t need Lucy in order to do that. He would rather not admit the truth—that it was comforting to sleep with her beside him. It was something he could become very accustomed to.

  The house was silent. He padded through on bare feet, seeking the coolness of the stone floors, his shirt hanging open but sticking to his torso. Linda was just finishing up in the kitchen, and when he asked, she told him that Lucy and Roberto had gone to the creek, probably for a swim. “It’s what they usually do during the siesta, Padrone,” she added.

  He had certainly noticed Roberto’s friendship with Lucy. It disturbed him. The little boy was like a dry sponge, greedily soaking up the affection Lucy gave him. He so obviously needed a warm, caring mother. When he had first met Lucy Bragg, he would have never thought her mother material, far from it, but he had been wrong. One day she would be a fine mother with her own children—and that disturbed him as much as anything.

  He suspected that she genuinely cared for Roberto. And although the boy needed her attention, it could only be temporary, and maybe when she left, more damage than good would have been done. He didn’t want Roberto hurt.

  He should tell her to stay away from the boy.

  Grim, he made his way to the river. He heard their laughter and splashing before he saw them, and a pleasurable warmth spread rapidly through him. As he came closer, he watched their antics. Roberto would dive under the water, then emerge with all the fanfare of a baby whale, splashing Lucy. Submerged up to her neck, she waited for his attack, only to spray him back. Shoz softened right to his very bones.

  It was bittersweet. She didn’t belong here, not in Death Valley and not with them. With every day that passed, increasing their intimacy but bringing their separation that much closer, he knew it more. But she looked as if she belonged. She acted like the boy’s mother, and she cooked and cleaned for him and shared his bed as if she were his wife. But she was neither of those things, not Roberto’s mother, not his wife, she was just an illusion of those things, and very soon she would be gone and the illusion would be reduced to nothing more than a dusty memory.

  If he dared admit it, her leaving would not just be difficult for Roberto, it would be difficult for him, too.

  “Shoz!” Her cry was happy and she popped up, smiling. “Come join us!”

  “Papa!” Roberto called enthusiastically.

  Shoz’s smile faded. “Get back in the water, Lucy, dammit!” he barked. Her chemise and blouse were translucent, her red petticoat molded to her thighs and crotch. “What if one of the men saw you?”

  Lucy wasn’t smiling anymore, and she had obediently sunk back down, up to her neck. “I’m always careful.”

  He was mad. He was mad because she was an intruder, worming her way into his family, where she didn’t belong and would never belong. He was mad because she was his, at that moment, and he had never been so possessive before—if some other man even looked at her, he would kill him. He was maddest of all because in reality, she wasn’t his at all.

  “Shoz?” she asked, hurt.

  “You should know better,” he said gruffly, wishing he’d been kinder.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s all right.” He wanted to apologize, too. But he didn’t know how, so he just swallowed it. He jammed his hands in his pockets. He wouldn’t interrupt Roberto’s fun just for his own sake. “I’m going to lie down,” he said, although he was loath to leave them.

  “Don’t leave, Papa,” Roberto cried.

  “Come join us,” Lucy urged. “The water’s wonderful.”

  He wanted to, but was frankly embarrassed to horse around like some kid. The kid in him had died a long time ago; he wouldn’t even know what to do if he got in that water with them. He turned to leave, not wanting to but resigned, when he was thoroughly drenched with water from head to foot.

  He wheeled and stared incredulously, water dripping down his face and into his eyes, while Lucy and Roberto erupted into gales of laughter. He tried to scowl ferociously, but failed, making them laugh harder. “What the hell?”

  “It wasn’t me,” Lucy said, wide-eyed and innocent and grinning.

  “It wasn’t me,” Roberto echoed with the identical tone and expression.

  “It must have been a helluva fish,” Shoz said, making them both roar hilariously. It had been a long time since he had cracked a joke, and he found his mouth softening helplessly into a smile.

  “Come on in,” Lucy urged, her tone low and husky. His glance flew to hers, and she gave him a particularly inviting look. There was nothing subtle in her seduction. He wasn’t immune, not at all; his blood boiled instantly, dangerously. Slyly, sensing her power, she stood and crooked a finger at him. “Come here.”

  Now was not the time to become aroused, but she was every man’s dream, beautiful and sexy, her breasts straining the sheer blouse, nipples hard, her tone promising the fulfillment of untold fantasies. With a jolt he realized that if she chose to exercise it, she had immense power over him. He hoped she would never realize just how much.

  “Please, Papa,” Roberto screeched, jumping up and down.

  “Please,” Lucy whispered.

  He looked at her, and she hit the water as hard as she could with her hand, causing it to spray him in the face—and his mouth had been open. He sputtered, shaking like a dog; she and Roberto laughed riotously. An instant later he dove shallowly in. She squealed and tried to leap out of the way, but he caught her around her knees and brought her under.

  When they came up, she was wedged in his embrace, giggling. He was laughing, too, feeling absurdly pleased with himself. “With me, you can never win,” he stated smugly.

  She was in his arms, her body flush against his, knee to knee, hip to hip, and chest to chest. Her eyes danced. “Honey,” she drawled, “I just did!”

  He knew he would have to tell her that night.

  After dinner, while Lucy helped Linda with the dishes, Shoz went to Roberto’s room to oversee the boy’s preparations for bed. Roberto was sitting on the bed, waiting for him, in a thin pair of cotton pajama bottoms. He smiled when his father entered.

  “Already washed up?”

  “Yes, Papa.”

  Shoz lifted his hands and inspected them, then took a soft earlobe between his fingers and rubbed it gently. “Ears?”

  “Yes, Papa. I washed my face and hands and feet and ears and brushed my hair!”

  “Teeth?”

  He scowled.

  “Brush your teeth,” Shoz said with paternal sternness. Roberto reluctantly got up to obey. When the boy had come back, Shoz helped him climb into bed, covering him with the top sheet. Although it was still quite hot and uncomfortable out, Roberto liked to sleep with something covering him. He ran his hand through the boy’s wet, neatly combed hair. “Sleep tight, now,” he murmured.

  Roberto nodded, his gaze moving past his father. Shoz turned to see Lucy hesitating in the doorway.

  She smiled. “May I come in?”

  “Of course,” Shoz said.

  Roberto sat up, beaming. “Will you tell me a story? Tell me about the time Colin took the canoe out into the ocean. Papa, he’s only two years older than me and he lives on the ocean!”

  “Really?” Shoz regarded Lucy questioningly. Her smile was soft. “Mother and Daddy always used to tell us bedtime stories when we were young. I thought Roberto would enjoy it, too.”

  Carmen never even said good night to her son, much less sent him to sleep with fairy tales. In the dark intimacy of the evening, he felt none of the anger that he had felt earlier, just the piercing of poignant heartache. How could he protect Roberto from the hurt he would feel when Lucy was gone? How could he protect Roberto when he was finding it more and more difficult to protect himsel
f? Did she realize what she was doing to their lives?

  “I don’t want to intrude,” Lucy added.

  “You’re not,” he said quickly. But the irony wasn’t lost on him, not at all—she had already intruded into their existence, and irrevocably she had already disrupted it. He gestured, and she came forward to sit on the bed, smoothing back Roberto’s cowlick with one supple hand. While Roberto begged her for a story, Shoz’s gut twisted into a knot. He should not let this go on. He absolutely must end it. He should have never brought her here, into the midst of their lives, and if he were smart, he would send her back to her family as soon as possible.

  But he wasn’t as strong as he had thought he was, because he knew he wouldn’t free her a day sooner than he had to. He sat beside Lucy at Roberto’s feet and listened to her tell an anecdote about one of her brothers, acutely uncomfortable. The situation mesmerized him, illusion nearly defying reality. This was how he had been raised, and it brought back powerful memories. This was what he had always thought he would have one day, until fate and Marianne Claxton had dealt him the first bitter blow. Tonight the illusion was reality, but he was sane enough to know it as a sham. This was not his family no matter how much it seemed so, and he would never have a family like this.

  Shoz watched Lucy kiss Roberto good night. He bent and dusted the boy’s cheek with his own mouth. He sighed and they left him with the small lamp on and the door ajar.

  In Lucy’s room, Shoz stood and stared out the window, seeing nothing but blackness, while Lucy undressed. He listened to the now familiar sounds of her clothes sliding down her body, of her footsteps as she moved about, of the splash of water as she bathed quickly and then rinsed out her things. Feelings he had thought were dead had merely lain dormant and were too intense to deny any longer. Like the hot gases of a volcano, he could feel the pressure building. Eruption was imminent. How had his life come to this hellish existence?

  Before Lucy’s advent into his life, he had accepted his fate unquestioningly, taking the blows with the instincts of a jungle cat, always landing on his feet. Survival in an inhospitable reality became the ultimate driving force, the overriding challenge—and distraction. The bitterness he could have entertained would have wasted valuable energy. Brooding was not in his nature. Until now. He realized her departure would affect him in no small way. Her presence had upset the careful rhythm and arrangement of his life. What had once been acceptable was now nearly unbearable.