by Day Leclaire
Before she could draw breath to ask what he meant, he yanked his switchblade from his pocket and flicked it open. In one easy move; he sliced through the harness.
The attached basket upended, spilling ripe beans into the dirt at her feet.
“Rafe!”
His name ended in a panicked shriek as he picked her up. Tossing her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, he spoke in rapid Spanish to the workers. To her utter astonishment, they burst into loud cheers. Twisting around to look, her hat snagged on a nearby branch. It was lifted neatly off her head, while her loosened hair tumbled free, clouding her vision. Planting her hands on the solid wall of his back, she shoved upward.
“What’s going on?” she demanded furiously, shaking her hair back from her face.
His only response was to wrap one arm around the back of her knees and bounce her to a more secure spot on his shoulder. Her breath left her lungs in an audible gasp. Catching hold of the back of his belt, she hung on for dear life as he strode from the fields. Once they were well out of view of the villagers, he dropped her to her feet. She staggered and he caught her elbow while she steadied herself.
“You want to explain what all that was about?” she questioned grumpily. She attempted to bring some sort of order to her hair, but soon gave it up as a lost cause.
“That was about saving face.”
“I figured as much.” She glanced back at the fields. “Why did they cheer?”
“Because I ended the strike.”
She swiveled to look at him. “You—You’re not selling the finca?” she questioned hopefully. “You’ve changed your mind?”
He shook his head. “I warned you it wasn’t that simple. I fired Manuel for a very good reason. I’m not about to rehire him just because you’ve been rash enough to step in where you don’t belong.”
“Then how did you end the strike?”
A cold smile touched his mouth. “As a matter of fact, you gave me the idea that night at dinner.”
“I did?”
“You said that you’d hire Chelita if I fired her.” He inclined his head in response to her dawning comprehension. “It seemed fitting to turn the tables on you. I may not be in a position to hire Manuel, since I’m the one who fired him. But you can. The distinction isn’t lost on the workers. It appeases them so they’re willing to return to work—”
“While still allowing you to save face.” She nodded ruefully. It wasn’t quite what she’d hoped to achieve, but it was a start. “What am I supposed to do with Manuel? I don’t really need an employee.”
Rafe shrugged. “That’s your problem. But in future, I’d appreciate your staying out of my business. No more miracles. Are we clear?”
Her brows drew together. “I’m not sure we are.”
“Then allow me to make it clear. I leave for San José within the hour. A problem with the sale of Esperanza has cropped up and must be dealt with. Don’t look so hopeful,” he was quick to add, accurately interpreting her reaction. “The problem is nothing that a few days’ discussion won’t correct.”
She smiled sweetly. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“I’m sure you are.” His expression might have been carved from stone. “While I’m gone I suggest you give your future plans careful consideration. Stop worrying about matters you can’t change and start worrying about matters you can.”
“Meaning?”
“Your own position is somewhat precarious at the moment—far more so than the villagers. At least they have my protection. You do not, as you discovered last night. I recommend you think about ways to correct that.”
“You’re referring to the agreement you want from my parents.”
“Yes.”
“One conversation can straighten that out,” she assured him calmly.
“I’m relieved to hear it.” He waited a beat before adding, “We’ll have that conversation on my return. Now are we clear?”
“As crystal.”
“excellent.”
And with that, he turned and—once again—walked away.
Over the next several days, she considered what Rafe had said. But it didn’t change her mind. It just made her more determined than ever to find a way to get through to him, as well as to find out why he was so hell-bent on selling Esperanza. Once she discovered the answer to that, perhaps she could prevent the sale and help the villagers. And then there was Shayne. Although Ella knew she couldn’t wave a magic wand and make Chaz McIntyre reappear, she just might be able to give some assistance in another area.
Shayne’s mosaics.
Manuel had told her about an art gallery in San José that specialized in unique artworks by local artisans. It sounded perfect for what she hoped to accomplish. If she showed a few pieces to the proprietor, maybe an expert could convince Shayne that her talent shouldn’t be wasted. Unfortunately, in order to put her plan into motion, she needed to go into the city while Rafe was away.
It took hours of arguing to convince Manuel to help. “You don’t understand,” he protested. “I cannot bring you back. I have to return to school.”
“I can drive myself back. I’ll watch the route we take—”
He shook his head. “It’s not that simple. The mountain roads can be very confusing. And they’re dangerous. There are rock slides. We get sudden downpours where entire sections of road wash away. Not to mention the potholes. If something happened to you—”
“Nothing will happen. Not if you draw a map and not if I’m careful. Please, Manuel. It’s important. I wouldn’t ask you to do this if it were just for me. But it’s for Shayne. Or do you want her to spend the rest of her life working as an accountant?”
“What’s wrong with being an accountant?”
“Nothing, if that’s what Shayne really wanted. Can you honestly say it is?”
“No,” he admitted. “Creating mosaics has been her obsession since she was a teenager. She even had a few commissions before...” His shrug spoke volumes. “Just the other day, when she thought no one was watching, she sketched a new design for her portfolio.”
His words confirmed what Ella already suspected. “Then you’ll help?”
He sighed. “I will help. But if anything goes wrong, you could work in the coffee fields until doomsday and still not salvage my job a second time.”
That gave her pause. She wouldn’t want to do anything to harm Manuel’s future. And though that future wasn’t picking coffee berries, she didn’t doubt Rafe had a long reach. Not to mention a propensity for vengeance. “I promise. I’ll be very careful.”
And she was. The entire way to San José the next morning, she paid close attention to the route. Even after they arrived in the city, she reviewed the map Manuel had drawn and thoroughly familiarized herself with it. Next, they located the art gallery.
“The owner is away on a buying trip,” explained the assistant, a friendly young woman, with an appealing smile. “But I’d be happy to show him your mosaics when he returns.”
“I can leave them with you?” Ella asked. “You wouldn’t mind?”
“Not at all.” She examined them appreciatively. “They’re stunning. I’m certain Senor Jiménez will be most impressed.”
After leaving a phone number and address where Shayne could be reached, Manuel drove to the outskirts of the university. He insisted on going over the map one last time before he was satisfied that she could safely find her way to Milagro.
“I’ll start back right away,” she assured him. “Don’t worry. I’ll be home well before dark.”
“It won’t matter. Your husband will have my head for this regardless,” he predicted gloomily. “Even if it is for a good cause.”
Ella grinned. “Well, Chelita will appreciate the effort you’ve taken even if Rafe doesn’t”
Once again dusky color tinged his cheekbones. “Hasta luego, Estrella. Vaya con Dios.”
“The same to you. And...thank you, Manuel.”
Taking a deep breath, Ella pu
t the car in gear and pulled into traffic. To her relief, the trip progressed without incident. She took her time, managing to avoid most of the potholes she came across and all of the oncoming cars. They passed at such high rates of speed she suspected they’d end up finding their way down the mountain by the fastest possible route—off a cliff and straight to the bottom. To her relief, the kamikaze traffic vanished once she turned onto the side road that led to Milagro.
Two thirds of the way home, she skirted a pile of branches dumped in the middle of the road. And rounding the next curve she ran into trouble.
Serious trouble.
CHAPTER NINE
RAFE stood by the side of the road, leaning against his car, a jacket hooked over one shoulder. Ella immediately applied the brakes and pulled in behind him. He stared for a moment, then shook his head and walked toward her.
“Why am I not surprised to see you?” he asked, resting his forearms on the edge of her open window.
She couldn’t help smiling. “I don’t know. Why?”
“Perhaps it’s because I so frequently find you where you don’t belong.”
“Well... Maybe you should just change your opinion of where I do—or rather, don’t—belong.”
“I have reached a similar conclusion,” he admitted wryly. “Is there any point in asking what you’re doing here?”
“I’d rather discuss what you’re doing,” she replied candidly.
“Broken water pump. I’ve been waiting for a Good Samaritan to come to my rescue.”
Her smile grew. “And here I am. The answer to your prayers.”
“The answer to many prayers, I fear,” he said with resignation.
She thought better of responding to that one. “If you’re willing to drive, I’d be happy to give you a lift.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you like our roads, amada?”
What would be the most delicate way of phrasing her reply? “No.”
“In that case I’d be happy to offer my services. Let me get my luggage and briefcase and we can be on our way.”
He returned a moment later and dumped his bags and suit coat onto the backseat. Climbing behind the steering wheel, he shot her a curious glance. “You still haven’t told me what you’re doing here.” Pulling onto the road, he carefully skirted his abandoned car, the narrow lane leaving little room to spare.
Around the next bend she spotted another pile of branches. “I saw those on the last curve,” she commented. “Why would someone just dump them in the middle of the road, like that?”
“I put them there to indicate a hazard ahead. It’s a common practice. And you haven’t answered my question.”
She hadn’t expected to successfully divert him. Still, it had been worth a try. “I went into San José.”
He frowned. “On your own?”
“No, Manuel drove me.” His frown grew fiercer and she hastened to emphasize, “As my employee, he could hardly refuse my request for a driver. Although to give him credit, he tried.”
“I suspect if he hadn’t consented, you’d have gone on your own,” Rafe guessed shrewdly.
“True enough. He needed to go back to the university, so we drove in together.”
“Leaving you to return to Milagro by yourself?”
She took instant exception to the implied criticism. “He drew a very detailed map and went over it several times.” Her mouth tightened. “I’m a twenty-six-year-old woman, Rafe. Not a child. I’m perfectly capable of driving myself from point A to point B without a man along to help.”
He let that pass. “What were you so anxious to accomplish in San José that it couldn’t wait until I’d concluded my business?”
“Actually, I didn’t think you’d be willing to take me,” she confessed.
Comprehension dawned. “Once I knew what you wanted, you mean?”
“Yes.”
“And the purpose for this trip was... what?”
She shot him a nervous glance. She’d been most concerned about his reaction to this part of the story. Best to get it over with quickly. “I took several of Shayne’s mosaic pieces to an art gallery for an expert opinion on their quality.”
“Performing more miracles, Estrella?” he inquired with surprising tolerance.
“Just a very tiny one.”
Before he could say anything more, the car gave an odd coughing sound. Muttering a curse, Rafe pulled to the side of the road once again. With a tired wheeze, the engine died.
“What’s wrong? What happened?” Ella asked.
“Give me a moment to see.” He attempted to restart the car, without success. Next, he opened the door to get out, then paused. “Ah...amada?”
She didn’t care for the tenor of his voice. “Yes?”
“When you were busy being this independent twenty-six-year-old woman capable of driving herself from point A to point B... Did you by any chance check the fuel level?”
She cringed. “We’re out of gas?”
“Yes, we’re out of gas!”
“Oh.”
“Oh? That’s all you have to say?”
“Um. I’m glad you’re here to keep me company?”
He climbed from the car and slammed the door closed. “Sit tight and don’t move.”
“Where are you going?”
“I’m going to put more branches in the road.”
“I can help.”
He spun around and strode back to the car. “No. You can’t help. And, no. You won’t help. You will sit without moving so much as an inch. Understand? The way our luck is running, you’re likely to gather up some manzanillo branches and poison yourself.”
She folded her arms across her chest and glared. “Even you couldn’t be that lucky. Besides, they only grow by the ocean and you know it.”
He poked his head through the open window. “First of all, there would be nothing lucky about losing you to the ‘tree of death,”’ he informed her in no uncertain terms. “And second, I don’t care where it grows. With your propensity for sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong, you’d manage to find one. Now don’t move.”
Ten minutes later he returned to the car. “It may be a while. I don’t suppose you have any bottled water?”
“Actually I do. Manuel insisted,” she informed him, hoping to score a few points on the student’s behalf. “I also have a thermos of left-over coffee and a bag full of Tico snacks I couldn’t live without. Or so Manuel informed me.”
Rafe picked up the large bag she indicated and looked inside. “I may have to forgive his lapse in judgment in taking you to San José. He has made some excellent choices. We won’t starve, that’s for certain.”
“What’s in there?” She peeked over his shoulder. “I haven’t even checked.”
He shifted toward her side of the seat so she’d have a better view. “Are you hungry?”
“Very.”
“Well, we have tortas and chorreados.”
“Which are?”
“Tortas are a bread containing meat and vegetables. And chorreados are a corn pancake.” He rummaged through the bag. “It would seem Manuel has a sweet tooth. Half the bag has been filled with cajeta, pañuelos y tapitas.”
“All right. I give up. What’s a cajeta?”
“It’s fudge.”
“And pañ—”
“Pañuelos. The literal translation is handkerchief. But it’s a pastry.”
“And tapitas?”
“A small chocolate wrapped in foil.” He gave her a lazy smile. “Is this a Spanish lesson? Perhaps there are more words you’d like to learn.”
His question sparked her curiosity and she slowly nodded. “As a matter of fact there are.” She gazed at him intently. “What does esperanza mean? I keep forgetting to ask.”
His jaw tightened, his amusement vanishing with frightening speed. Clearly, he hadn’t expected that particular question. “It means hope,” he said without expression.
She stared at him, stunned. “Your finca is n
amed hope?”
“Not from choice.”
“That I can believe.” Her curiosity grew. “And the town? What is Milagro in English?”
“Miracle.”
She drew a shaky breath. “And amada?”
He gazed out the front windshield and shrugged. “It is a form of endearment. One not often used.” He tossed the bag into her lap. “I thought you were hungry. Have the cajeta. It’s quite good.”
“Amada,” she repeated deliberately, shoving the bag aside. “What does it mean?”
His voice was so low and rough, she had to strain to catch his response. “Beloved.” He thrust his hand into his pocket. “What the hell have I done with my cigarettes?”
“You threw them out, remember?” she murmured, badly shaken.
“The day you arrived. How could I forget?”
“Don’t change the subject.” She touched his shoulder, drawing his gaze. “All this time, that’s what you’ve been calling me? Beloved?”
“You must have realized it was a form of endearment,” he said testily.
“Not really.”
“What did you think I’d been calling you?”
“I don’t know. Dark-haired woman... Most annoying one... Silly twit. I was afraid to ask.”
Amusement turned his eyes to points of silver light. “Silly twit?”
“I think I prefer beloved.”
“I would hope so.”
She snuggled closer, dropping her head to his shoulder. “I missed you,” she confessed.
“And I, you. It has been a long few days.” His fingers grazed her cheek. “I trust you’ve stayed out of the coffee fields while I’ve been gone?”
“Yes. Have you changed your mind about selling the finca?”
“No.”
“Is it because you can’t bear to live on a ranch called ‘hope’ outside a town called ‘miracle’?”
“I have lived there for a good portion of my life.” His hand shifted from her cheek to ruffle her hair. “I would not sell my home for such a trivial reason.”
“Then why?”
He hesitated. “I’m doing it for Shayne’s sake,” he finally said, answering the question that had plagued her since she’d arrived.