Summer Dreams

by Hebby Roman

  Curling his hands around the sweating beer bottle, Esteban hesitated. How to begin? Paco was a married man with a family. Compared to his friend, he was stuck in puberty, skulking around like a moon-struck calf. He felt ridiculous, at twenty-five years old, asking advice about his love life. And it wasn't as if he hadn't had plenty of experience. He had. But nothing that prepared him for the way he felt about Natalia.

  "Dime," Paco demanded. "It's about that girl, Pura's granddaughter, isn't it? What's her name?"

  He gazed at his old friend. Was he that obvious? Had he always been that obvious?

  He ducked his head and took a long pull at his beer. Hell, it had always been about Natalia. Even Paco, whom he hadn't seen for months, knew it. How long had he been carrying the torch? He didn't know, unable to remember a time he hadn't wanted her.

  "Sí," he confessed, "it's about Pura's granddaughter, Natalia."

  Paco nodded sagely and finished his beer quickly, asking the bartender for another.

  Esteban waited until Paco was served, vaguely aware of the spirited salsa number playing on the jukebox. And then he blurted, "I want her."

  "Then ask her out, mi pana."

  "I tried that. She refused me."

  Paco released a low whistle. "She turned you down?"

  His friend had often vicariously thrilled to Esteban's conquests. Paco possessed a good-humored but ugly face, and he was short for a man. His María had been the only woman who'd taken him seriously.

  "Natalia's college educated. All of her family is, and they're professionals. She was engaged to a rich guy in Dallas. You should have seen the ring. The damned thing would have made a great door-stop."

  "Feeling a little out of your league, eh?" Paco asked.

  "Sí."

  Paco grunted and shook out another cigarette, hunching forward to light it. "You say she was engaged. Then she's free now?"

  "Sí, I think so. But I'm not sure. I don't think she wants to give up the security of being engaged. Natalia is very security conscious. Always has been, since she was a girl."

  "And you can't give her security." Paco nudged him. "Just a roll in the hay."

  Esteban slid back on the barstool and stared at his old friend. Is that how he looked to Natalia? It was true he wanted her, but with Natalia, it was more than that. He would give his right arm to offer her the kind of security she needed ... if only she would have him.

  "No, I want to marry her," he said, "if she'll have me."

  "Now we're getting somewhere." Paco took a final drag from his cigarette and stubbed it out. "Does she know you finished your associate degree? Has she seen you play ball?"

  "Sí, but I don't think she's impressed. Oh, she's nice enough," he said and lifted his beer, finishing it in one gulp.

  "Forget her. She's a snob then." Paco, who was a great listener but liked black-and-white solutions, declared. As if the decision was already made, he turned toward the bartender and waved for another round.

  How many times had Esteban vowed to do just that? Only to be brought to his knees again, the next time he saw her. How many times had he sworn he would leave Pura's employ so he wouldn't have to see Natalia again? More times than he could count. But he couldn't bring himself to do that to Pura, despite the pain her granddaughter caused him.

  Or was he fooling himself? As much as he loved Pura, did he continue to work for her because he knew he would see Natalia?

  And she had told him she was going to stay in New Mexico. He couldn't ignore the situation any longer. He had to make a decision---that was what had driven him to seek Paco out, to help him sort his thoughts.

  "Sometimes I think she's a snob, but other times ... I'm not so sure, Paco. I think she wants life tied up in a pretty ribbon with no conflicts or problems."

  "She's a baby then. You want to be saddled with an infant?"

  "No," he agreed, adding, "But she's very strong too. When she puts her mind to something, she goes after it and gets it."

  Paco touched his arm and grinned. "I wish she would go after you and stop your suffering."

  Esteban sighed. "Yeah, me too."

  "So, you can't let her go. She's in your blood, eh, mi 'mano."

  "She's in my heart, sí."

  "Ah, then you must make her want you, too."

  "How do I do that?"

  "Don't ask her out again. But be available. You work on her grandmother's farm, so it should be easy to hang around. Suggest walks or picnics. Touch her when you can but be casual. If there's any hope, she'll come around."

  "I think she likes my touch," Esteban said, staring at his empty beer bottle.

  "Eh, mi pana," Paco said, "then don't despair. There's hope."

  ***

  Today was Tuesday and because it was Tuesday, it was market day. Like summer followed spring, Natalia knew Pura didn't like to upset the natural order of things. Tuesday had always been Pura's market day, rain or shine, avalanche or blizzard. Unless it was a Saint's Day, and then all bets were off. For the hundredth time, Natalia wondered if Pura's obsessive/compulsive complex had invaded her, rendering her life organized but dull and predictable.

  Natalia's mother wasn't particularly organized. And her father preferred controlled chaos, at least around the house. When it came to his profession as an attorney, he was meticulous. But Natalia craved perfection and organization in all facets of her life. Had Pura infected her while she wasn't looking?

  Shaking her head, she let the screen door slam behind her. She'd risen early and with Pura, they'd already gathered the eggs, fed the chickens, milked Hera and Diana, and eaten breakfast. There was only one morning chore left---to milk the nanny goat, Apolinaria.

  Natalia despised milking that damned goat.

  Apolinaria was a perverse and obstinate creature, given to unaccountable bursts of temper. But with Pura, she was as docile as a newborn lamb. That was why Pura usually milked her, but this morning, Apolinaria hadn't seen fit to turn up at the barn.

  And Natalia refused to admit she wasn't up to the task. Sending her abuela to town, she'd promised Pura she would find and milk the goat.

  The barn doors stood cocked open. Her grandmother had left them that way to encourage Apolinaria to return to her stall. When Natalia grasped one door to widen the opening, she heard muffled sounds from within. Cautious but not unduly alarmed, she hesitated.

  Faint groans followed by outraged bleating assaulted her ears. Curses singed the air. Startled, she released the door and jumped back, her ears burning. Not that she hadn't heard as bad or worse. She'd suffered through enough action films with Hector to be well-versed in the finer points of profanity.

  But she hadn't expected such words to be coming from the barn.

  Her heart sprinted, as if running a marathon. The farm was miles from town, linked by a rutted road. Her grandmother had taken the only vehicle. What if a thug was hiding in the barn? Panicked, she turned toward the house. She would lock herself in and call for the police. But something stopped her. She knew that voice, and the voice belonged to Esteban.

  What was he doing here, unannounced? And why was he cursing?

  Her fright forgotten, she marched to the barn and slipped through the open doors. The gloom of the wooden building enveloped her, and it took a few moments for her eyes to adjust. Not wanting Esteban to notice her, she hugged the inside of the door and stayed quiet. Peering over the stalls, she discovered what the fuss had been about. He'd cornered Apolinaria and was milking her. The nanny goat appeared to have surrendered after the initial skirmish. She stood tied to the stall, contentedly munching hay.

  With a deft downward pull, he finished milking and patted the goat's rump. Faster than the blink of an eye, Apolinaria landed a well-placed kick to his mid-section. His hands flew up, his arms wind milling in the air. His balance lost, he went over, landing with a sickening thud against the concrete floor.

  "Uumph," the sound of his breath leaving his lungs echoed in the still barn.

  Natalia darted f
orward to help. But he righted himself quickly, drawing deep breaths and letting loose another string of profanity. She stopped and hesitated again, not quite ready to let him know she was watching him. So, Esteban, the bad boy wasn't completely tamed. He still knew how to cuss with the best of them. She smiled to herself.

  "¡Mira! Enough of that!" She shouted.

  His dark head swiveled, and his gaze found her. He lowered his eyes. The barn was dark, but she could have sworn he blushed.

  So much for her image of him as a dangerous man.

  He scrambled to his feet and dusted himself off. "Por favor, I apologize, Natalia. I didn't know you were there."

  "Not a good excuse. I know Apolinaria can be ... difficult at times. But really, Esteban, your language ..."

  She grinned to herself, loving his embarrassment. Being the serious-minded person she was, he was usually the one who teased her. Now the shoe was on the other foot, and she couldn't be more pleased.

  "I, ah, I know, I shouldn't---"

  "Okay, let's not dwell on it." She bit her lip to keep from smiling.

  "Está bien." He thrust his hands into his blue jeans.

  The breath caught in Natalia's throat. With his hands inside his almost-too-tight jeans, it stretched the fabric thin, revealing the distinct outline of his sex. Her heart thudded, low and deep, somewhere in her nether regions. A warm, wet slickness started between her thighs. She itched to cross her legs and stop the tell-tale evidence, but that would look odd.

  Instead, she went on the offensive. "Hey, you weren't supposed to be here today, and you scared me to death. I thought you were a vandal or worse. Where's your car?"

  "It's in the shop. It's the alternator, I think." He removed his hands from his jeans to explain, making vague rotary motions. "You see, the starter has teeth on it and when one of those teeth break off, the alternator won't engage and the car won't start."

  She nodded, not understanding half of what he'd said. All she cared was that he'd removed his hands from his pockets. She hadn't realized it, but she'd been holding her breath. Gulping air, she felt giddy.

  "So how did you get here?" she asked.

  "Hitched from the main road to the turn-off and walked the rest of the way."

  "I see. Pura didn't mention you would be coming today."

  "Didn't she?" His voice dripped innocence. "Pura wanted me to hoe the garden. She said it's full of weeds. When I got here, I realized Apolinaria hadn't been milked, so I decided to help."

  He was blushing again. Was he lying or telling the truth? Had Pura really told him to come without mentioning it? And if she had, what was her abuela up to? Trying to throw them together? But she wouldn't fall into that trap, not even for her grandmother.

  "Gracias for milking Apolinaria." She made a face at the goat, still tied to the stall. "It's not a pleasant task, all things considered." She crossed her arms over her chest and asked, "Are you okay?"

  "Just got the wind knocked out of me," he replied. "I'm fine."

  "Then you'll be working in the garden?"

  "Sí, but I wondered if ..."

  Here it was. She had expected it. And her own abuela had set her up.

  "Sí," she prompted.

  "I went to the grocery store this morning and bought a lot of food." He shrugged. I don't know what came over me. I must have gone to the store hungry. Anyway, I brought my lunch with me, and there's more than enough for two." He paused. "Want to have lunch with me? We could picnic by the waterfall."

  Every fiber of her being strained to say no. She had known what he would ask. Though, technically it wasn't a date, given Pura's connivance, his invitation came to the same thing. Or was she reading too much into her grandmother's actions? She couldn't be certain.

  Esteban's invitation hung in the air. What should she do? Was this her chance to be adventuresome? Could she forgive herself if she crept into the house and played it safe?

  She didn't know who she surprised more, herself or Esteban, when she said, "I'd love to go on a picnic."

  Chapter Four

  Esteban spread the blanket while Natalia emptied the picnic basket. The waterfall splashed in the background, misting the warm summer air. The wind moved through the trees, bringing their pine-laden scent with them. Underfoot, the smell of crushed grass filled the air, a sweet counterpoint to the trees' astringent fragrance.

  Natalia gazed at the horizon. The mountain peaks stretched away, as far as the eye could see, humped one after another, like whimsical, multi-hued, paper maché creations. Aspens shuddered on the hillsides, their leaves tossing in the wind, green and then gold and then green again. Purple columbine, golden day lilies, and crimson field poppies sprinkled the mountains, their gaudy splashes of color dotting the meadows.

  She sighed, filling her lungs with the crystal-pure air. Her muscles and nerves relaxed, untangling like threads of a skein. Her mind floated free, soaring with the lazy circles of a hawk flying overhead. Peace filled her, an almost drowsy contentment, a feeling of supreme well-being. This was hers and Esteban's special place, and there was no other place quite like it.

  "Daydreaming?" Esteban's deep voice brought her back.

  "Sí, daydreaming," she said. "This is the perfect place for it."

  He lowered himself to the blanket and crossed his legs, Indian-fashion. Shading his eyes with the palm of his hand, he followed her gaze to the horizon. "Sí, it is perfect for all kinds of dreams."

  A shiver tingled through her, disquieting but strangely pleasurable at the same time. It was as if he was touching her. She felt so close to him just now, this split-second in time, as if they were one person. They'd shared this view a hundred times before, from childhood through awkward puberty and into adulthood. And she knew with a certainty that went beyond knowing, that he understood exactly how it affected her.

  Suddenly uncomfortable with their unspoken affinity, she turned her gaze away, allowing it to rest on the playful tumble and splash of the waterfall. Light caught the multi-faceted diamonds of water, sparking showers of dazzling brilliance, ending in a gauzy rainbow at the foot of the cascade.

  "Are you hungry?" He asked. "I'm starving."

  Like the setting sun seeking the western horizon, her gaze sought his. He was watching her and another tremor shook her. His cloudy-gray eyes were unblinking, his eyebrows knitted together with an unspoken question. What did his scrutiny mean?

  "Sí, I'm hungry too."

  "Then pass the paper plates and fried chicken."

  "How about the potato salad and deviled eggs?"

  "Sure, I'll have some of those, too."

  She filled his plate with food and handed it to him.

  He put his full plate on the blanket and waited until she'd served herself before attacking a chicken leg. With his mouth half-full, he said, "Pretty good for supermarket deli food."

  With her mouth full, she nodded. She was famished, too, hadn't felt this hungry in a long time. The chicken was good, crisp on the outside and juicy on the inside.

  "Haven't you wondered why this place has remained the same, Natalia?" He asked. "How we can come here year after year and no irate owner complains?"

  His question took her by surprise. But when she searched her memory, she remembered something Pura had told her long ago. "My grandmother said your father owned this mountain. Isn't that true?"

  "Sí, he did own it," Esteban replied. "But I own it now." Inclining his head, he indicated the meandering valley below. "And the pass to the other side of the mountain."

  "Oh, I didn't know."

  "My father gave it to me after I straightened out and graduated high school. He said it would be my only legacy. He plans on leaving the rest of his land to my stepmother---for her security in retirement."

  Natalia thought about what he was telling her. Esteban's relationship with his father and stepmother had been rocky for as long as she could remember. But she detected no note of rancor in his voice, only a recital of the facts.

  "Do you plan
on doing anything with your land?" She asked.

  "Not really. I might retire here." He lifted his head and snared her gaze. "I don't want anyone to touch this mountain. I want my grandchildren to enjoy it as we have, pure and untouched."

  His hawk-like gaze pierced her, suggesting more than his simple words. What was he really trying to say? She lowered her head and took a bite of the potato salad. But the mention of his grandchildren taunted her. She'd never considered Esteban in that light, as a family man. Instead, she'd pictured him as a famous ballplayer with a gorgeous blonde on each arm. How silly was that? He would, like most people, even major league athletes, eventually settle down and have a family. It was just a matter of time.

  The thought of him with another woman, having children and establishing a future, left her with an empty feeling inside. Not that she was jealous of him. No, it was more like envy. Would she ever find love and a stable marriage? Damn, but it was so easy for a man. They did the pursuing and the asking. But for a woman, it wasn't that simple.

  Not simple at all.

  She wished she hadn't asked what he planned to do. She swallowed a bite of potato salad past the lump in her throat. "I think that's lovely, Esteban. To keep the land unchanged for future generations. I hope you'll let my grandchildren come too."

  "Depend on it," he said with conviction. Then almost as an after-thought, he added, "There's talk of a new ski resort on the other side of the mountain. I hope it doesn't change things too much."

  "Sí, I know about that," she said. "Remember when Hector visited last summer? He thought the basin and mountains over there would be perfect for a resort. He got some investors together and ..."

  Heat flushed her cheeks as she realized what she'd just done. Brought up her ex-fiancé and confessed he was the one who might ruin Esteban's perfect mountain. How could she be so unfeeling and crass?

  Glancing at Esteban, she saw that his features had hardened, as if chiseled from the granite of his beloved mountain. He pushed his plate off his lap, rose to his feet and walked to the pond. At the water's edge, he bent down, picked up a stone, and skipped it across the surface. Then he did it again ... harder this time.