“Would you like a drink, Señor…Joaquín?” she asked.
“If it wouldn’t be too much bother, perhaps some wine?” He smiled pleasantly.
“Of course.” She glanced to Mara who took her cue, turned, and left for the kitchen.
“Once again, I hope this visit isn’t an inconvenience,” he said, eyeing Alyssa with the appreciation of someone who had obviously had enough contact with women to enjoy the company of an attractive one when he happened upon one.
“Not at all.” She wished she’d thought to tell Mara to bring two glasses. “It’s nice to know one’s neighbors. You say you live nearby?”
She was hard-pressed to figure out where any immediate neighbors could possibly live. Unlike in the States, where they were usually just down the block, or a few miles away, at most, here she had the definite impression that she could drive for hours through nothing but her own property.
“Off in that direction,” he said, motioning toward the north. “The original settlers, perhaps sensing the isolation so easily afforded by owning such large tracts of land, conveniently built haciendas within commuting distance of adjoining points of properties. There’s my ranch. Yours. And, that of Victoro Isidro. All joined together like three massive pieces of one giant pie. In fact, one purpose of my stopping by was to see whether or not you would be inclined to attend a small get-together I’m holding this weekend. It’s nothing overly fancy, you understand. I’m expecting a rather important matador as my houseguest. He’s agreed to test some of my heifers for bravery. It could prove decidedly entertaining, and it would give you an excellent opportunity to meet more of the locals.”
Mara appeared and carried a tray that—Alyssa was pleased to see—sat two glasses of red wine. Mara delivered Alyssa’s glass first, and then Joaquín’s, before leaving.
Joaquín sampled his wine, flashed Alyssa another dazzling smile, and complimented her on her wine cellar.
Alyssa was quite content to have this handsome man in attendance, no matter what his motives in coming. While she had come to Spain seeking rest and relaxation, a time to just sit and think, she couldn’t help admitting she rather enjoyed the idea of attending a local get-together to see some “rather important” matador fight heifers. It was the kind of exotic invitation usually received only in the movies, not in real life.
“You will come?” he asked after another sip of his wine and another smile.
“This weekend?”
“Saturday. Come early. Around ten. Usually, I like to start out with a large breakfast, followed by a light lunch, then siestas before turning everyone loose at the corrida. I could even send a car for you; that is if Adriano hasn’t beaten me to the punch.”
“Adriano?” It was an automatic response that, had she had the time to think about it, she would have never made. She’d given the false impression she hadn’t the foggiest notion who Adriano might be, when, in fact, the man was in one of the hacienda bedrooms at the top of the stairs.
“Adriano Montego,” Joaquín said, seeming somewhat surprised that she had responded as she did. “I believe he’s your stepbrother—or was at one time.”
“Of course,” she admitted. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”
Knowing that Joaquín knew Adriano somehow made Alyssa extremely nervous, even if, since Joaquín had once been Lalo Montego’s best friend, it seemed logical that Joaquín and Adriano would know each other.
“He did stop by yesterday, didn’t he?” Joaquín asked. “He said that was his intention.”
“Actually…,” Alyssa began and then hesitated. She’d been on the verge of telling a lie, even so far as denying she’d seen Adriano at all. Before she could get that out, however, she contemplated the possible repercussions. Lying now was liable to cause all sorts of difficulties later. What possible motive could she give for denying everything now, especially if she wanted to come out of this as the wronged party? It seemed unavoidable that word of Adriano getting beaten up by her men was eventually going to get out. Too many people were involved to keep it any big secret for long. Her denying everything, now, would solve nothing, and, likely, raise all sorts of embarrassing conjecture at some later date.
Obviously made curious by her pause, Joaquín still managed to wait for her to reply in her own time.
“This, I’m afraid, is a little awkward,” she said finally, deciding to begin again. “I presume Adriano Montego and you are friends.”
“As was his father and I,” Joaquín said.
She found that confusing. From the inflection of his voice, it might well have been assumed that he and Lalo had been friends up until the very end. However, Karen had insinuated quite differently. So, what kind of game was Joaquín Hidalgo playing, or had Karen got it wrong?
“Adriano could well be a good friend of yours, too, if given half the chance,” Joaquín said. “I can personally vouch that he holds absolutely no animosity toward you because his father bypassed him to leave you the ranch. In fact, I think he was rather relieved. He’s the exception to the general stereotype that has all Spaniards revere the bulls. Actually, Adriano can’t stand them.”
“Can’t stand them?” she queried for clarification.
“Probably because his father was so determined that Adriano follow in his footsteps,” Joaquín said. “I feel quite confident that had Adriano been left on his own, without having had el toro rammed down his throat, morning, noon, and night, he would have probably taken a far more favorable outlook on la fiesta brava.”
“Just because he didn’t like the bulls wouldn’t mean that he would…well…kill them, would it?”
“Kill them?” Joaquín’s full lips spread into another smile. He had even white teeth. “Adriano’s father would have given anything to see him take to the ring and kill more bulls. The truth is that Lalo was furious whenever his son refused to do so. Adriano, you know, would have made one hell of a matador. Heaven only knows, he certainly had at his disposal the very best tutors to illustrate proper technique. However, he seldom fought real bulls, only the mock-ups used for practice.”
“I didn’t mean kill them in the bullring,” she said, wondering how she was going to come across without sounding ridiculous to Adriano’s friend. “I meant kill them with a gun.”
“A gun?” Joaquín response seemed genuine surprise. “I’m afraid I’m not following.”
Alyssa took a larger swallow of her wine than she intended. She thought for a quick moment she was going to choke and thanked God when she didn’t.
“Yes, a gun,” she managed finally.
“I’m afraid I still don’t understand.”
“Actually, my own understanding of what has happened isn’t the best, I assure you,” she confessed. “You understand that I did just arrive yesterday afternoon, completely ignorant of anything except that this ranch had been left me by Lalo Montego? I’ve since come to understand that several of my bulls have been…killed…shot.”
“My God! And you suspect Adriano?” His tone indicated he surely must have imagined any such insinuation.
“Unfortunately, your friend was found standing over a recently killed bull yesterday by some men from this ranch.”
“Surely not!” Joaquín swallowed the last of his wine and set his empty glass to one side.
“I’m afraid the sight of him, standing over the dead animal, was…well…for my men…a bit disconcerting.”
“I should think so,” he said, obviously not needing her to go into any additional details in order for him to get the picture she painted. “Is Adriano all right?”
“The doctor assures me that it’s only superficial wounds, but Adriano does look pretty bad.”
“Dr. Santos saw him?”
Alyssa paused, once again faced with the embarrassment of telling someone she had agreed to call in a mere veterinarian to oversee Adriano’s condition. What would Joaquín think?
“He looked so bad, I’m afraid I rather panicked and sent for someone a bit nearer than
Dr. Santos,” she admitted finally.
His expression told her that he expected something more specific.
“A man.…” She found it so hard to admit it had been a veterinarian. “…by the name of Galba.”
“Leandro Galba?”
“You know him?”
“He’s probably a better doctor than Santos,” Joaquín said: one more person putting Alyssa’s guilt to rest. “But, don’t ever tell Santos that if you ever see him, will you? He gets a little upset if anyone suggests medicine can be learned purely by on-the-job training.”
Alyssa smiled, more as an expression of relief that from genuine amusement.
“Can I see him?” he asked.
She thought for a moment he meant “see” Leandro Galba. Quickly, she recovered, however, to realize he had to mean Adriano.
“Certainly, we can look in on him,” she said. “He was sleeping, though, a few minutes ago.”
She came to her feet and led the way.
At first, Adriano did appear to be asleep; so much so that Joaquín told Alyssa they wouldn’t disturb him. However, at the sound of Joaquín’s voice, Adriano’s eyelids fluttered and opened.
“We were about to call in the mortician to carry you away,” Joaquín said, addressing the conscious Adriano. He went over to the bed and stood by it. “My friend, you do indeed look like hell! Whatever in the world happened?”
“A mistake,” Adriano said, licking his lips.
Sensing that he wanted a sip of water, Joaquín reached for the nearby glass, filled it with water, and handed it over.
“Obviously, a mistake,” Joaquín echoed. “Thank God, I’m informed that you’re not nearly as bad as you look; so, count your blessings.”
“You will, I hope, verify to Señorita Dunlap that I’m actually a quite respectable character?” Adriano ventured. If he couldn’t smile, his eyes were at least capable of twinkling amusement.
Alyssa marveled how he could retain even a trace of humor, and wondered if she would have had any remaining if she’d been beaten unconscious.
“I’ve already told her as much,” Joaquín assured. “I think she might even believe me.”
Alyssa was glad that neither man turned to her for verification. She wasn’t prepared to make any commitment at this point. As owner of the ranch, with a responsibility to the people who worked for her, she wasn’t about to admit her men had been in the wrong until she was positive they had been—maybe not even then. The sudden revelation by Joaquín that Adriano hated bulls had only enforced her suspicions that Adriano might not be as innocent as the two men would like her to believe.
“Does the good doctor say you’ll be up and around for my fiesta this weekend?” Joaquín asked.
Adriano handed back the glass. “And, if I’m not there, no big deal, yes?” He did sound as if he really wasn’t all that interested in witnessing the planned testing of heifers for bravery by some matador.
“Of course, it would be a great loss!” Joaquín argued, “Fanuco has his heart set on making a good impression on the son of Spain’s once most illustrious matador.”
“Fanuco,” said Adriano, with a coolness that surprised Alyssa, “is an insecure fool!”
CHAPTER THREE
The cook, who Alyssa had just discovered was as very good one, had prepared sopa de guisantes, ensalada de pepinos, and cordero lechal asada.
Alyssa forked the last piece of the juicy roast lamb that remained on her plate and eyed Adriano through the candlelight flickering between them. Over the past three days, most of the swelling in his face had gone down. The discoloration had faded to where it was hardly noticeable against his naturally dark complexion.
In the attractive lighting, she couldn’t even discern the bruised and battered man she had discovered in the barn a few days before. For that matter, having become more and more acquainted with her houseguest, she couldn’t quite believe he could have taken a gun to any of those bulls which had been found dead.
On that same account, Ramón had recently admitted, albeit privately to Alyssa, that the ranch hands had, perhaps, acted a little too spontaneously since a thorough search of the locale where Adriano had been discovered revealed no concealed weapon.
“If it was a mistake, it was a natural one, to be sure,” she had told Ramón. “You tell the men that I’m quite prepared to stand behind them in what they did.” This she said to impress Ramón, since Alyssa was pretty sure he had doubts as to whether he should even have informed her of the continuing absence of any incriminating gun.
As far as Adriano was concerned, Alyssa thought it best not to mention how the search for the weapon had turned up nothing. She didn’t want to give him any ammunition, just in case he should still decide to make some kind of legal fuss. Not that he had indicated he had any such plans. Quite to the contrary, he had magnanimously stated, at one point during his recovery period, that he might well have jumped to the same faulty conclusions had he stumbled upon someone standing over a newly slain bull.
“I think the men are more in control now,” he had said after Alyssa had found he had left his bed one morning to stroll the grounds. “Actually, I had quite a peasant walk without being set upon by even one of your employees.”
Yes, time had done wonders to repair the damage done during the fisticuffs. He looked even more handsome than ever. Alyssa couldn’t help but be somewhat affected by the decidedly romantic qualities of the evening in progress. Not that she was romantically inclined toward Adriano, or he toward her. Heavens, but that would have been carrying her illusion way too far! But, she had always been susceptible to the notion that candlelight, good food, excellent wine, and an exceptionally handsome man were all the ingredients from which good romance was made. If she didn’t love Adriano, then there was certainly no harm in at least relaxing enough to enjoy the moment, and, perhaps, spice it up with a bit of harmless flirting.
“Delicious meal, delicious company,” he said. His slight smile revealed an attractive dimpling of his left cheek.
“Wait until you taste dessert,” she said. “I’ve been assured it’s the cook’s specialty.”
“Ah, that would be Destina’s renown flan,” he said. “It is, indeed, a treat for which to look forward.”
And, Alyssa was shocked back to the reality that, of course, he would know that the cook was known for her caramel custard. After all, Adriano had eaten it how many times in his life? This hacienda had been his home for most of his life, hadn’t it? If anyone was the stranger here, it was Alyssa, not he. Traces of his residency still remained on the premises, even without the man’s physical presence. He had some of his things packed away in the attic. His clothes still hung in several of the closets. In fact, what he was now wearing had been produced from one such closet to replace what had been torn and dirtied beyond repair during his beating.
“Suddenly, you seem a million miles away,” he observed, bringing Alyssa’s meandering thoughts back into focus on the reality before her.
“Yes, I suppose I was,” she admitted, without bothering to go into any detail. Simultaneously, she wondered how she would have felt had Lalo Montego been her father and left the family estate to a complete stranger. Wouldn’t she have harbored some kind of resentment toward the interloper? “You must forgive me. I’m afraid I still have to pinch myself occasionally to bring home the fact that I’m in Spain, sitting at a table with the son of Spain’s illustrious Lalo Montego.”
Adriano smiled, his dimple concaving more deeply than before. He had a very pleasant smile that only made his handsome features even more striking.
“Where are you staying?” she asked. “I mean, I know you’re staying here, at the moment, but you weren’t anywhere in residence when I arrived.”
“No,” he admitted. “Somehow, I thought you might be ill at ease to find me here. I took a few of my things over to Joaquín’s. He’s kindly agreed to put me up until I can decide where to go from there.”
“I’m a little confused abo
ut Joaquín Hidalgo,” she said, hoping finally to get that little mystery cleared up.
“How so?”
“I understood your father and he had a falling out.”
“Dad and Joaquín?” He made it sound ludicrous.
“You mean, they didn’t?”
“Not as far as I know. Where did you hear that they did?”
“From my mother.”
“Hmm.” Adriano shook his head in apparent confusion. “I can’t imagine how she came to that conclusion. Certainly, Dad and Joaquín maintained a chummy relationship all of the time I was around. Dad was saying up until the very day he died, that Joaquín was the one person he had hoped never to hurt. They grew up together, you know?”
“Maybe my mother got her wires crossed,” Alyssa suggested. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”
Adriano looked as if he were giving the subject additional thought.
“Although, I never could quite figure out why he was against.…” He let the sentence hang as if genuinely sorry he had shifted the conversation.
“Against what?” she pressed.
“Ladonna’s engagement,” he admitted finally.
“Ladonna?”
“Ladonna Hidalgo. Joaquín’s daughter.”
“Your father was against her engagement?” She was more curious than ever.
“I wouldn’t quote me on that.” He gave a nervous little laugh. “Dad never did come right out and say as much. It was just a feeling I eventually came around to having at the time. Even if true, it could hardly have had anything to bear on this supposed blowup to which your mother referred, could it?”
If it had no bearing on anything, she wondered what had made him bring it up. Diplomatically, though, she chose to take their conversation elsewhere.
“As I said, my mother probably heard something and then blew it all out of proportion.”
“Most likely that’s what happened,” he said, by now ready to prescribe to that particular theory.
“So, back we go to your present living situation. Do you plan to stay on at Joaquín’s indefinitely?”
Matador, Mi Amor Page 4