by Phoebe Conn
“The beach house,” Peter murmured under his breath.
Maggie hadn’t meant to brag when there was such little comparison between the comfortable home Peter provided and Miguel Aragon’s. “There’s a cattle ranch that’s thought of as home,” she explained and feared she’d only made things worse.
Linda kissed her good-bye, then climbed into the beautiful vintage car with Patricia and her husband following. Manuel waited for Rafael to drive up behind them in his Mercedes before he exited the parking lot. Patricia turned to wave through the back window, and Maggie waved back.
“Peter raised me, so he’s my father. I’m grateful he made this trip, but staying in Miguel’s house won’t be easy for him.”
“Nor your mother,” Rafael added. “Had she stayed with Miguel, you’d have grown up here.”
“My mother isn’t the type to tolerate a philandering husband.”
“Philandering? Is that word still used?”
“I don’t know. It’s a step beyond unfaithful, and that certainly applies where Miguel was concerned. He told me he’d cheated on all his wives.”
Rafael checked the rearview mirror before changing lanes to stay with Manuel. “He admitted that?”
“Yes, and it’s not something a man ought to confide in his daughter.”
Traffic slowed, but they kept the Hispano-Suiza in sight. “No, it isn’t. We’ll have to make a point not to mention him. Your parents are here for the wedding, and we can keep Miguel out of it.”
Maggie reached over to squeeze his thigh. It wouldn’t matter whether they spoke Miguel’s name or not. He’d still be there in every breath and sigh.
Santos pulled another pillow behind his back and settled down into the sofa. He was clean-shaven and dressed in a white polo shirt and khaki shorts. A fabric brace had replaced the bulky bandage on his knee. “This might be our last chance to talk. Rafael’s been so damn helpful, I hate to plot against him, but I still don’t want him for a brother-in-law. I don’t trust a man with a past we can’t trace.”
Libby sat on the sturdy oak coffee table to face him. He’d come home from the hospital after a single night, and Rafael had seldom left his side. The house had an elevator for the servants in the back hall near the kitchen, and he’d used it to get upstairs and down without too much difficulty. He was in surprisingly good spirits for an athlete who’d be on the mend for the next few months, but she thought it might be more for show than real.
“Well?” he prompted.
“Look at it this way, Rafael won’t hide the fact he’s been in prison, and that makes it difficult not to like him, but I don’t want to be there when he tells my father he’s served time for murder. Dad’s never raised his voice to us, but I’ve seen him go off when he’s been provoked by a judge’s poor decision. Mother always calms him down, but this time she’ll be equally upset.”
He took her hand and drew it to his lips. “Come up to my room, and we’ll hide together.”
She laced her fingers in his. “Don’t tempt me. This whole situation is bizarre. There are lots of combined families, but this one is unusual by any standard. I can’t side against Rafael now that I know him, but my parents won’t understand. Poor Maggie will be caught in the middle.”
Santos drew in a deep breath. “We won’t have caused the trouble, which works to our advantage. Anyway, you’ll go home and may never see Rafael again. I won’t be that lucky.”
She hadn’t meant to bring feelings into it, but when he’d fallen in the bullring, it had been impossible not to care about him. He’d just dismissed her as a brief visitor, and she was embarrassed by how badly it hurt. She leaned over to kiss him, and he slid his fingers through her hair to hold her close. Tears came to her eyes as she pulled back, and she hurriedly brushed them away.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
She had no easy answer, and her anxiety rose as she heard the cars pull into the driveway.
Mrs. Lopez greeted Maggie’s family with a curt nod. “Your luggage will be taken to your rooms. Santos is waiting for you in the den. Would you care for refreshments, something to drink?”
“I’d like a Coke,” Patricia answered.
Peter surveyed the wide entryway. They’d eaten in fine restaurants that weren’t as large. “Do you have iced tea?”
Mrs. Lopez barely controlled a sneer. “We take pride in providing whatever our guests desire.”
“Iced tea for me too, thank you,” Linda responded.
Libby came from the den to greet them. “How was your trip?”
“Too long,” Peter replied. He hugged Libby and followed her into the den. The first thing he saw was the stunning painting of Miguel Aragon at the height of his career. The talented artist had caught the famed matador facing down a fierce Miura bull with a deft swing of his cape. Peter’s horrified gaze drifted to the man on the sofa.
“I’m Santos. Please forgive me for not standing.”
Linda stared at Santos, paled as though she’d seen a ghost and fainted. Peter caught her before she hit the rug.
“Mom!” Patricia cried.
“Bring her here.” Libby directed her father to a large black leather chair near the sofa. “Run to the kitchen, Patricia, and bring her a glass of water.”
Patricia shrugged helplessly. “Where is the kitchen?”
Rafael and Maggie walked into the confusing scene and looked to Santos for an explanation.
“I look too much like my father,” he answered. “I’ll go outside.” He reached for the crutches on the floor beside him. Rafael helped him rise.
“No, wait,” Libby begged. “She was just surprised. Look, she’s already coming around. We should have warned her how much you look like Miguel, and this wouldn’t have happened.”
Maggie brought a glass of water from the adjacent bathroom. “Here, take a sip, Mom. The trip must have worn you out.” She looked over her shoulder to send a pleading glance to Rafael. Any confessions he had would have to wait.
Santos used his crutches to slide by Rafael. “I don’t want to scare her twice. I’ll be on the patio.”
Linda gulped the water. “I’m sorry, I know Miguel’s dead, but I didn’t expect his double. I should go to my room and rest before I make a bigger fool of myself.”
“No one thinks that, sweetheart,” Peter assured her.
Julian entered, carrying their drinks, and Patricia reached for hers. “Let’s rest a minute here, Mom. We can unpack later.”
Peter handed Linda her iced tea and took his own. “Thank you.”
Julian nodded and, with a last lingering glance toward Patricia, left the room.
“He’s cute,” Patricia whispered.
“You may not flirt with the servants,” Linda emphasized. “I do so wish you’d come home, Maggie. It would have made everything so much easier.”
“I’m going to make certain Santos is all right,” Rafael said and left the room.
“Wow,” Patricia enthused. “He’s so hot.”
“Patricia, please,” her father cautioned. He moved to the sofa and patted the cushion beside him. “Is he really the man you want?”
Maggie joined him and couldn’t contain her smile. “Yes, he’s as serious a man as he looks. He’s going to med school in the fall, and there wasn’t time to come home and plan a big wedding. Neither of us wants one anyway.”
“Med school?” Linda repeated. “He’s given up being a matador?”
“It was a childhood dream he outgrew.”
Peter failed to hide a yawn. “Maybe we should go up to our room and rest.”
“I’m not tired,” Patricia interjected. “Where did Rafael and Santos go?”
Libby stood to give their parents time alone with Maggie. “I’ll show you.” She walked her sister to the doorway behind the wide stairs and paused. “Don’t flirt with Rafael, because he’s Maggie’s. As for Santos, he’ll take more than you mean to give, so keep clear of him too.”
“Now I’m intrigued. Have you s
lept with him?”
“No, and I’m not going to and neither are you.”
Patricia twisted into a playful pose. “After coming all this way, I should sample the local culture.”
Libby pushed open the door leading outside. “Don’t say you weren’t warned.”
The ocean view caught Patricia’s eye, and she pulled off her flip-flops and walked toward the sand. “I want to step into the ocean first. It’s the Mediterranean, isn’t it?”
“Yes. I’ll wait for you on the patio.”
Patricia’s fair curls caught the afternoon light as she skipped over the sand, and Libby feared Santos would see her baby sister as a voluptuous cream puff he couldn’t resist. She’d have to set him straight fast. Confident Patricia couldn’t get lost, she joined the men, but neither looked happy to see her. “I’m sorry my parents’ visit got off to such a poor start.”
Santos’s glance followed Patricia. “I’m the one who might have fainted. My mother hanged herself when Miguel married your mother.”
Libby reeled from the shock. “Oh God, she didn’t!”
Rafael nodded. “She did, out at the ranch. Your mother probably doesn’t know, so it would be a kindness not to tell her.”
“Kind? I understand. Don’t tell Patricia either. She’s as discreet as a sieve.” Feeling sick for Santos, she took a chair at the table beside him. Talk about abandonment issues. She didn’t understand how a woman could kill herself when she had a baby to raise, and Santos must have been a beautiful child. Maybe it had been post-partum depression, but the diagnosis would be a small consolation to him now. “I thought you were close to Maggie in age but not older. Let’s hope my mother doesn’t ask when you were born.”
Patricia had struck up a conversation with a pretty young woman by the shore, and Libby worried she might wander off. “I better keep an eye on Patricia.”
Santos watched her walk toward the shore. “With those legs, I wish Libby would always wear shorts. You know what bothers me?” he added.
“Your knee, probably,” Rafael posed.
“Yes, that too, but my father spent most of his life chasing women who closely resembled Maggie’s mother. He must have regretted losing her.”
Rafael shrugged. “Maybe.”
“I swear I could have a better conversation with this table.”
“You like to be surrounded by people. I don’t.”
“Some doctor you’re going to be. Have you considered going into pathology?”
“No. Don’t you believe I’ll have much of a bedside manner?”
“No.”
He flashed a wide grin. “Maggie would disagree.”
Santos glared at him, but clearly Rafael had won that exchange. “I wish I still had my condo. I didn’t realize how awkward it would be to have Maggie’s parents here. They’re so damn blonde and, I don’t know, American, I suppose. Do you realize what you’ll be getting into?”
“We won’t be having Sunday dinner together every week.”
“No, but they aren’t like us.”
Rafael turned toward the sea. “You and I aren’t alike either, and look how well we get along. Patricia has made a friend. Do you recognize the girl with her?”
Santos leaned forward to get a better look. “No.” Patricia and Libby were talking with a petite young woman with flowing waist-length black hair. A black bikini showed off her golden tan and left little of her spectacular figure to the imagination. “I know a few of the people who live along the beach, but she doesn’t look familiar.”
The three young women started toward them. “She isn’t armed,” Rafael murmured under his breath, “so she doesn’t appear to be a threat.”
“She’s not my type.”
“Mine either,” Rafael responded, but he smiled as though he was pleased to make her acquaintance.
“This is Victoria Rubio. When I said I was staying with the Aragon family, she didn’t believe me. Do you believe me now?” Patricia asked her.
Victoria regarded both men with a glorious smile and, with a saucy dip of her head, gave her hair a gentle sway. “I’d heard you had a home near here, Santos, but I never expected to meet you. To find El Gitano here too is overwhelming!” She backed away. “I won’t bother you. Maybe I’ll see you again on the beach.”
Patricia watched her go. “Is everyone in Barcelona as friendly?”
“Yes,” Santos assured her, “but don’t use my name or Rafael’s again.”
“I’m sorry, we just started talking, and she seemed nice.”
“I’m sure she is,” Rafael said. “Just be careful.”
Libby understood his warning even if Patricia failed to. She was going to have to make a list of everything they’d rather her parents didn’t know, murder attempts being right below prison time.
Mrs. Lopez showed Linda and Peter to their room and had Patricia’s luggage placed in Libby’s. Linda took in the beautifully furnished room with a widened gaze and stepped out onto the balcony.
“Where’s your room, Maggie?” she asked.
“Just down the hall. Come, I’ll show you.” She took her mother’s hand and pulled her away from Peter. “I want to show Mom my dress for the wedding.”
Once they were out in the hall, she whispered, “Nothing has been changed since Miguel died. Would you like to see his room?”
Linda looked over her shoulder to make certain Peter hadn’t followed. “I’m not sure, but I suppose I’ll regret it later if I don’t.”
Maggie opened the door and closed it behind them. The sea breeze from the balcony cooled the air, but the haunting scent of her father’s cologne still lingered. “This is the largest bedroom. I had breakfast with him every morning on the balcony. He loved the sea, and I don’t believe he ever stopped loving you.”
Linda smoothed her hand over the four-poster bed’s dark green duvet. “That’s a sweet, sentimental thought but can’t be true. I don’t regret loving Miguel, and we had you, but more than a fiery attraction is needed for a good marriage. I’d hate to see you make the same mistake.”
Maggie came close to hug her. “Rafael is no mistake. He’s had a difficult life, but we’re meant to be together. Thank you so much for coming to Spain for our wedding.”
“We wouldn’t have missed it. This room is as beautifully furnished as the rest of the house, but we should probably stay in a hotel.”
“Not when there are so many empty rooms here,” Maggie insisted. “Come on to my room, I really do want to show you my dress.”
Linda gave her first husband’s room a last fond glance. “Did he die here?”
Maggie refused to think of that horrible day. “No, at the hospital, and I can still feel his spirit here.”
Her mother nodded. “I’m so glad you had a chance to know him, if only for a few days.”
Maggie had known her father, and what he was capable of, but those secrets died with him.
Rather than force his company on Linda, Santos ate dinner in his room. By the time Patricia fell asleep later that night, Libby thought he’d be asleep too. She pulled a jacket over her sleep shirt and stepped out into the hallway to check. Drawn by the light that shone under his door, she went to his room and rapped lightly.
“Come in,” he called.
She stepped in only far enough to close his door behind her. “We got through one evening peacefully, but I don’t expect Rafael to keep quiet for long. He’s definitely a man of honor, but once Father hears the word prison, he won’t think of him in those terms.”
Santos laid his book on the nightstand and patted the bed. “Come sit here beside me so we can talk without waking the others.”
She swallowed a laugh. “You expect me to fall for that?”
“Yes, I do. I’m too badly hurt to take advantage of you.”
No matter what he said, his teasing smile drew her close, and she responded with a flirt of her own. “You’re not afraid I’ll take advantage of you?”
He opened his arms. “Come try.
”
Several wonderfully erotic possibilities came to mind, and as long as she’d be in control, she could handle his enormous charm, or any other part of him. She tried not to laugh at her own joke and moved across the room to sit on the foot of his bed.
He patted the place beside him. He’d not combed his hair after pulling on a T-shirt, and it fell in his eyes. It made him look young and deceptively harmless. “Come closer.”
“This is close enough. Rafael entertained us at dinner with the whole history of Spain without revealing anything about himself. He’d glance at Maggie, and she’d smile, but there was a tense undercurrent passing between them. Father and Patricia didn’t catch it, but I think our mother did.”
“Maybe Rafael should speak to her first and get her on his side.”
“No, I heard my father mumble a few distracted comments about Miguel, so she’s on slippery ground herself.”
“I feel like we all are. Will you please go down to the kitchen and get me some ice cream? When you came in, I was debating whether it would be worth the effort to go after it myself.”
“Sure. Do you care what I bring?”
His smile grew wide. “Surprise me.”
He was hinting at more than ice cream, but Libby ignored it. She opened his door and found Patricia standing on the other side. “What are you guys doing?” Patricia asked. She had on a pink knit tank top and long knit pants with a tiny pink rose pattern. With her luscious curves, the sleep-rumpled outfit looked all too sexy.
“We’re about to have an ice-cream party. Come with me to the kitchen.” Libby started toward the back stairs and hoped Patricia would follow. She hadn’t meant to take things past kisses with Santos, but damn, having her little sister underfoot would make even a simple flirtation impossible.
Patricia came along right behind her. “I asked if you wanted Santos for yourself, and you should have said so.”