by Phoebe Conn
He pulled his car into the garage and walked out onto the patio. The nights were cooling, and a chill wind blew off the water. Libby would be back at the university, probably dating guys who knew how to ski or dance in snowshoes or whatever guys did in Minnesota to impress girls. But no matter how many times he told himself he’d done the honorable thing, he wished with all his heart he hadn’t had to send her home.
Sunday afternoon, Patricia came running up the stairs and burst into Libby’s room. She waved the new Cosmopolitan magazine. “Have you seen this?”
Libby looked up from her computer. Her sorority sisters were more into their classes and sports than celebrity fashion, and she doubted any of them subscribed to the magazine. She knew what Patricia was going to show her, though. “I didn’t realize they were buying ads here.”
Patricia flopped the open magazine on the desk. “I wouldn’t have picked that pose, but you look awfully good.”
Patricia had seen all the photos soon after they’d arrived at the house. Libby saw only Santos. She bit her lip to stifle the threat of tears. “Deadly is the perfect slogan. It has a vampire touch to it, don’t you think?”
Marcia came into the room. “Hi, Patricia. Watcha got?”
“This is how Libby spent the summer. Did she tell you about Santos?”
Marcia picked up the magazine to study the ad. “Oh my God, you spent the summer with him?”
“A few weeks,” Libby admitted reluctantly. “He’s Maggie’s half brother.”
“Wow. We’ve got to put this on the bulletin board.”
“That’s my magazine,” Patricia said. “Go buy your own.”
“All right, I’ll go right now,” Marcia agreed. “Do you want me to buy one for you, Libby?”
“No, I’ve got the photos at home.”
“If I had photos of him, I’d plaster the walls here with them.”
“It would be too distracting,” Libby responded with a forced laugh. Patricia left with Marcia, and she slumped back in her chair. Now the whole house would tease her about Santos, and she wouldn’t be able to shrug it off for long. “Damn.” Things were already bad enough without everyone asking about Santos when no words would do him justice. As for the way he’d treated her, all she’d need was a creative string of expletives.
Her mother called later that afternoon. “There’s a big package here for you from Santos. It has Aragon stamped all over it. Do you want me to open it and see what it is?”
Libby cursed under her breath. “It has to be Aragon cologne. Open it and give it to any homeless men you see.”
“Libby, really. We’ll save it for Christmas gifts.”
“Fine. How’s Dad?” He’d helped transfer Santos’s money back to his account without asking her reasons. Her parents could see how unhappy she was, but she wouldn’t worsen her situation by crying through a humiliating confession of how abruptly, and rudely, Santos had sent her home. After telling her mother good-bye, she grabbed her coat and left her room for a walk. She pulled on her mittens and cap. This was her last semester at the university, but as she lengthened her stride, the familiar landmarks passed by in a blur.
“Hey, watch out.” A young man in a University of Minnesota football jacket caught her arms seconds before they collided. “You stare at your feet, no telling who you’ll run into.”
Libby recognized Brad Matthews as one of the stars of the football team. He had curly dark hair and warm blue eyes, and there were girls who attended the games just to see him. “Sorry. I’ve got a lot on my mind.”
“So do I. Let’s walk in the same direction and avoid another near collision.”
Last year she would have flirted with him and gone out for a beer, but today, she was dead inside. “That was a great game last week. There are plenty of girls walking around who’d follow you to the moon. You’re sure to find one.” She took a step away, but he caught her elbow.
“I like a spicy lack of interest in a girl. Now where are we going?”
He was tall, good looking with a charming smile, but she wasn’t playing. “I’m seriously considering becoming a nun.” Her family wasn’t even Catholic, but he didn’t need to know the details. “I wouldn’t want you beating on a convent door.”
He laughed. “I like a great sense of humor too. Let’s go get some hot chocolate.”
“I thought you’d be more of a beer man.”
“You don’t know everything, do you?”
She sighed sadly. “You’ve got that right.” She let Brad do all the talking, as men loved to, but, seated across from him in Starbucks, she concentrated on her hot chocolate and heard every other word.
Libby and Patricia came home for Thanksgiving dinner. They helped their mother with the cooking and decorated the table as they had since they were small. The house was warm, had a luscious spicy smell, and a classical CD provided the perfect background music. It was a wonderful dinner as always.
“This is our best turkey ever!” Peter exclaimed.
“You say that every year,” Patricia responded with a teasing giggle. “But this is especially good.”
Libby took another bite of stuffing. “Yes, it really is.”
Her parents exchanged worried glances. “You look as though you’re spending too much time studying, Libby,” her mother remarked softly. “Are you having any fun?”
Libby chewed slowly while she searched for a believable answer. “Partying gets old after a while. I’m concentrating on finishing my classes and getting a good job.”
“That’s wise, of course,” her father agreed. “It’s also important to have a balance in your life. Maybe we can all go skiing after the Christmas holidays, the way we used to.”
“That would be so much fun!” Patricia replied. “Would you mind if Fox came along?”
Her father dropped his fork into his mashed potatoes, quickly picked it up and wiped the handle on his napkin. “We’re a long way from London, sweetheart. Does he even know how to ski?”
“He learned to ski in Switzerland, and he can afford to come. His school has a long winter break, and he’d rather come here than Barcelona. Please. He won’t be any trouble.”
“You sound like you’re begging for a puppy,” Libby offered.
“He’s not a pet,” Patricia argued. “But he can ski, and he’s a lot of fun, and why can’t I invite a friend to come with us? We used to bring friends.”
“When we were ten,” Libby reminded her.
“Let’s just savor this marvelous dinner and discuss Christmas later,” her mother suggested. “Although I’m going to miss Maggie.”
“Maybe we should all go to Spain,” Patricia suggested. “Why don’t we do that? Then we could see Maggie and Rafael and Fox and Santos.”
Libby’s heart skipped a beat. “I’ll need to stay here for interviews.”
“No one will be doing interviews over Christmas,” Patricia argued. “Please think about taking us all to Spain, Daddy. It would be so much fun.”
“I’ll think about it, but two trips to Spain in one year might not fit into our budget.”
“Take on a few more clients,” Patricia quipped. “Preferably wealthy clients in big trouble.”
“Then I’d be too busy to go,” her father replied.
Libby made a real effort to eat. She speared a piece of turkey breast and lifted her fork to her mouth, but swallowing was the difficult part. She took a sip of wine, one of her father’s favorites, but it wasn’t one she’d had with Santos. She couldn’t think of anything worse than seeing Fox and Patricia fawning over each other while she remained so incredibly alone. She rested her fork on her plate.
“Libby, aren’t you going to have more?” her mother asked fretfully.
Libby found a faint smile. “I’m saving room for the mince pie.”
Santos called Fox every Sunday afternoon. He had to look for subjects all week to find something in the news or sports Fox might possibly want to discuss. He’d met with little success with that strategy
, but he kept calling. After Fox’s usual hesitant greeting, he surprised Santos by taking the lead in the conversation.
“I want to go to Minneapolis for Christmas. I know I’ve got my mother’s money somewhere. Could you move some into my school account so I can go?”
Santos had celebrated Thanksgiving with Maggie and Rafael, even if the day wasn’t a holiday in Spain. He’d promised to host Christmas dinner, but he’d thought Fox would be with them. “Did the Gundersons invite you to come?”
“Patricia did, and she said it was okay. If you’ll add some money to my account, I’ll make all the arrangements myself. It won’t be any trouble for you.”
“I need to talk with the Gundersons first. Patricia might be a lot more excited about having you visit than they are.”
“Why?” Fox asked.
Santos grabbed for the first reasonable reply that occurred to him. “That’s just the way parents are.”
“I suppose. Hurry up, because most people already have their holiday reservations made.”
“I will,” Santos promised, but when he said good-bye, he sat there unable to even calculate the time difference for Minneapolis, let alone make the call.
Chapter Twenty
Santos phoned Maggie for help. “Fox wants to go to see Patricia over Christmas. Does that sound like a good idea to you?”
“I thought you weren’t listening to my advice.”
“I’m making this an exception.”
“Fine. You better call and talk to my father. If he isn’t as enthusiastic about Fox making the trip as Patricia is, then he’ll veto it.”
“So I can let him take the blame instead of me?” He was well acquainted with that underhanded strategy.
“Yes, Fox has to think you’re the good guy.”
“Then at least one person will,” he admitted softly.
“You sound so discouraged, Santos. Why don’t you make the trip with Fox? It would give you a chance to see Libby again. Maybe she’s gotten over you, and you could just be friends.”
He drew in a deep breath. “And if she hasn’t gotten over me?”
“I doubt your pride will allow you to imagine that, but it’s possible. There are a lot of good-looking men at the university, and she may have found someone new. If not, you can tell her you haven’t gotten over her and finally work out whatever your differences are. That’s if she’s speaking to you. When I drove her to the airport, all she said was, ‘Thanks for the ride.’ I wasn’t going to defend you, so it wasn’t much of a conversation. But whatever the risk, you ought to go.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“That’s how you got into all this trouble. Stop worrying and just go. Minneapolis will be an adventure for you. Have you ever seen it snow?”
“No. I didn’t realize I wanted to.”
Maggie sighed. “Tell yourself you’re going to chaperon Fox and just do it. Call me when you make up your mind.”
“I will,” he promised. Fox really did need a chaperon, but he wasn’t qualified. Still, going with Fox would keep him from being thoroughly humiliated if Libby refused to see him. He thought about it for a long time and finally left the decision to a toss of a coin. He had to toss it several times to get an answer that didn’t make his heartache any worse.
By mid-December, Libby was finished with her classes and exams and had moved out of her sorority house and back home. She’d ended the semester with the highest marks she’d ever earned and had begun sending résumés, but so far she hadn’t received any positive replies. She’d been invited to holiday parties but had sent regrets rather than go and stand in the corner all evening, wishing she hadn’t come.
She’d bought presents for her family, had even gotten Maggie’s and Rafael’s into the mail in November, but it was Christmas Eve before she found enough holiday spirit to wrap her family’s gifts. Her father’s favorite author had a new book out, so he’d been easy to shop for. Her mother had remarked on a new cookbook, so she’d bought it for her. Patricia loved girly things, and she’d found a black nightgown with pink polka dots her sister would love.
She set the gifts on her desk and sorted through the ends of the Christmas wrappings, ribbons and bows. Next year, she hoped to be in her own apartment, where maybe she’d feel like decorating as beautifully as her mother always did. This year, she didn’t have so much as a tiny stuffed reindeer in her room.
When she heard Patricia’s high-pitched shriek, she went to the top of the stairs to see what her sister was up to now. Patricia was jumping up and down and hugging Fox as though they’d been parted for centuries, while Fox blushed so deeply his ears turned a bright red. Libby hadn’t realized the details of Fox’s trip had ever been finalized, but she was happy to see him. She brushed her hair out of her eyes and started down the stairs to say hello when Santos stepped through the front door.
He wore a tweed overcoat, and snowflakes melted in his hair. He looked up at her and flashed the grin that always weakened her knees. Shocked to see him, she collapsed on the stairs with a jarring thump.
Peter grabbed Santos’s overcoat and gloves. “We didn’t tell Libby you were coming.”
“Why was that, Daddy? Did you think I’d leave town?”
“Be nice,” her father warned her. “He’s come a long way to see you.”
Just looking at Santos hurt, and she stayed put, forcing him to come up the stairs to sit on the step below hers. Her father and mother ushered Patricia and Fox into the living room, leaving her alone with Santos in the entryway, which was no favor.
“Fox and I have rooms at the Hotel Minneapolis downtown,” he said, “so if you don’t want to see me again, you won’t have to.”
He had absolutely no right to look that good. Memories of him rolled through her with an anguishing heat. “That’s one of the best hotels. You’ll be comfortable there.”
“Fox and I dropped off our luggage and came here, but it looked nice enough. You promised me a tour of Minneapolis, but if you’d rather I—”
He looked so damn sincere, which left her troubled and confused. “What are you doing here, Santos? Tell me the real reason you came.”
He drew in a deep breath and released it slowly. “I loved every minute we spent together, and I should have told you so. But when you had your future so carefully planned, I didn’t want to involve you in a life you’d soon regret. I just didn’t count on missing you so badly. The mistake was mine, and I made the wrong choice for us both. I should have talked to you until we’d found a compromise to make us both happy or we’d given up with mutual regret. But we should have done it together. I’ve been alone too long to understand that, which is no excuse.”
The sad light in his eyes touched her, but she remained cautious. “Isn’t it rather late for such valuable insights?”
“I hope not. Have you met someone else you care about?”
She wasn’t embarrassed to tell him the truth. “Since leaving you, I’ve simply felt numb and discouraged every man who flirted with me. I wouldn’t use another man to get over you. How could you think I would?”
“I’d hoped you wouldn’t.” He reached for her wrist and turned the gold bracelet. His fingers were warm against her skin. “I’m surprised you’re wearing this. I thought you might have thrown it away.”
Not when it was all she had of him. “I’ve never taken it off. Now tell me what’s happened to Victoria.”
He kept hold of her wrist and smoothed his thumb over her palm. “She went straight from jail to a psychiatric hospital. My father treated her badly, and she must have expected worse from me. Rigoberto apparently took up her cause, and when he died, she lost it. I would have sued for custody rather than leave a brother with a woman as badly disturbed as she is, but that possibility hurt her too. Now we’re back where we started. The Aragon men are better at hurting women than loving them. I thought you’d be better off without me, but I’m not better off without you. I hope that doesn’t sound selfish.”
She had
n’t even felt alive without him. Even now, with him sitting so close, her pulse was barely beating. “So you’re asking for another chance?”
“At loving you, yes. I won’t hurt you again. Ever.”
“You can’t promise that.” Overwhelmed, she looked down at her old, faded jeans. “I’m not dressed, and…”
He stood and pulled her to her feet. “You always look beautiful, but if you want to change your clothes, go right ahead.”
She smoothed her sweatshirt. “I do want to change, but I need time to think. I didn’t expect to ever see you again. Give me a minute.”
He brushed her cheek with a kiss. “Take all the time you need. I’ll wait.”
The touch of his lips sent shivers up her spine. She longed to stay and get away all at the same time. The last impulse won, and she ran up to her room. She stared at herself in her bathroom mirror, mortified by how pathetic she looked, as vulnerable as she felt. It was amazing that after a single glance at her, Santos hadn’t rushed back to the hotel. The situation wasn’t hopeless, however, but she needed to channel her inner Miss Minnesota, and fast.
She showered and blew her hair dry, coiled it loosely atop her head and left teasing tendrils brushing her neck. She had short winter dresses and pulled a red knit from her closet. The long sleeves and high neck made her near-endless legs twice as enticing. Her hand shook as she applied her makeup with extra care, but when she left her bedroom, she looked the best she possibly could on such short notice.
Santos still sat on the stairs, looking as handsome as he did in the Aragon cologne ads. She could hardly believe he was real. He stood and smiled. “You look like Christmas.”
He looked like every holiday combined. “Thank you. I should have asked about your knee.”
“I can run on the beach and made it up these stairs.” He reached for her hand. “Is there someplace we could go to talk, or would you rather stay here?”