by LAURA GALE
She sipped her tea in silence while Lucas began pacing. He had no idea how to respond. It wasn’t like Rachel to be so indifferent. She was a serene person, able to deal calmly with whatever life threw her way. But still. Things were coming to a head, that was obvious. Under the circumstances, he might have expected anger. He would have known how to deal with anger, even if it had taken the form of an icy-cold shoulder. But this—this was resignation and he had no idea how to fight it.
And he had no idea what to say to break the silence.
Eventually Rachel turned to him. “Why did you marry me, Lucas?”
“What do you mean? What kind of question is that?” He was annoyed to hear himself snort. “Why do you think?”
“At the time, I thought you loved me. Any more I couldn’t tell you.” She shook her head sadly, turning her gaze back to the window, placing her empty mug on the end table. “Well, why, Lucas?”
“Because I loved you and wanted to spend my life with you! Is that what I’m supposed to say?”
“Only if it’s the truth.” She shrugged. Meeting his gaze as he stood paralyzed in front of her, she murmured, “Past tense, huh, Lucas? So, if you did feel that way once, when do you suppose it changed?”
She answered her own question. “It changed when you finished school, when you went on to bigger and better things in the business world and I was still a student. It changed with that damn graduation party, Lucas, when you came to me three days before the party I’d planned for you and casually informed me that I would have to cancel it. Why? Well, because Mother and Daddy had planned a party for you and you simply had to go. To Cancún. ‘Oh, yeah, Rachel, by the way, you can’t come.’ The event, after all, wasn’t intended for me. It was for you and other…important people.”
She shook her head, sad at the memory, disheartened by what it had meant, repeating how Lucas had explained himself. “‘You understand how it is, Rachel. I’ve grown up with Alana. We’ve known each other all our lives. It’s natural that she and I would celebrate something like this together.’ Can you believe you actually said that? I was your wife, Lucas, not a nosy neighbor or something.”
She took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “Yes, Lucas, that was the turning point.” She gave a sad smile, nodding her head. “Tonight is the end. I give up. I get your point. You win.” She held both hands up in the air, palms toward him, in the traditional gesture of surrender. “It’s over.”
Finally she stood, walking to the kitchen and rinsing her mug. “I’m going to brush my teeth, Lucas. You take the bed. I’ll sleep out here on the couch.”
She’d come to his office for the first and only time the following morning. He had been stunned by her presence, shocked even further by her reason for being there.
“I’ve been to see a lawyer this morning, Lucas. I have papers for you to sign.” She’d been cool and understated—but very, very clear. She wanted a legal separation, effective as soon as they could deliver the signed papers to the courthouse. One that would last a year before either of them initiated divorce proceedings.
Looking back, which Rachel rarely allowed herself to do, she marveled at the profound calm that had descended upon her that night. The acceptance. She had never felt surprised, really. Only disappointed and sad. She wondered about that, had finally decided that she’d been preparing for that moment during the entire previous year.
That profound calm had stayed with her. It had been a defense mechanism then; probably it still was. It helped her survive, rebuild, cope. First in dealing with Lucas, then with Michaela’s illness. And everything else that she had experienced in these past five years.
She did occasionally wonder what had happened to the love he had felt for her. She believed he had loved her, once. She had certainly loved him.
“What is that expression?” she asked aloud, suddenly back in the present. “‘If you love something, set it free. If it comes back to you, it is yours. If it doesn’t, it never was.’ That’s the way it goes. I guess we weren’t meant to be.” But it had felt as if it was meant to be. It still did.
At least to her.
She’d told Lucas she couldn’t do casual sex—that she needed more. She’d been perfectly honest when she’d said that.
What she hadn’t said was that she couldn’t sleep with Lucas precisely because for her much more was involved. For Rachel, sex with Lucas could never be casual. And she couldn’t handle what it would be.
She closed her eyes, only to feel hot, wet tears squeeze through her lashes and burn their paths down her cheeks.
“Damn,” she whispered, getting up and going to the sink, splashing cold water on her face. She returned to her bed, trying to convince herself she would sleep now.
Lying on her back, she stared at the ceiling. She wished Lucas’s face would quit dancing in front of her. And for all the reflecting she did—questioning what had gone wrong, remembering what had been good, debating her present life—she never addressed the one thing she had been avoiding all these years.
How did she feel about what Lucas had done? How had she felt at the time? How did she feel about it now?
She had locked away her feelings, cultivated an internal armor that housed emotions she had never been able to face. But these emotions were beginning to struggle for recognition now. She just hoped they didn’t overwhelm her.
A bouquet of silk flowers appeared before Rachel. She started at its arrival, given that it had come from behind her, over her shoulder. She did, however, recognize the arm attached to the bouquet. Warm breath spread against the back of her neck, lips whispered against her ear. “For you, my lady.”
Rachel inhaled sharply, attempting to step away from Lucas, only to find his arms closing around her waist. “Lucas, please,” she hissed, her panic rising even as something in her responded to the familiarity of those lips caressing her neck. Her heart skipped a beat, its rhythm thrown, as he pulled her close.
“Gladly, my dear,” he answered softly, nuzzling against her. “I wanted to bring you something pretty, but I remembered that real flowers aren’t allowed in here.” Lucas hoped she would appreciate that he had noticed the prohibition, that he understood that weak immune systems and natural plants didn’t mix well.
“Yes, that’s very nice, Lucas,” Rachel whispered, struggling for composure, “and they’re lovely, but please let me go.” She was polite but firm.
In his plan Lucas had viewed the flowers as a distraction that would help Rachel relax—relax enough that he could break the ice that separated them physically. Her reactions reminded him all too well of the black cat in the cartoons who was always squirming away from the amorous skunk. Surely, he thought, I’m not so repugnant as a skunk.
But his strategy was failing. They were in the reception area, a very public venue, so she wasn’t yelling at him. She wasn’t running away the way she had when he’d announced the blood test results. He could, however, feel the hammering of her heart and knew it was related to resistance, not acquiescence.
“Rachel, come on. We’ve got to get past this. I’m not going to hurt you. You must know better than that.” He stroked her cheek, continuing to whisper in measured tones. “I wouldn’t hurt you.”
Her body stiffened. She drew in a deep breath. “Why should I believe that?”
“Rachel, you’re special to me—”
“Is that so, Lucas? Am I really? Or is this just a line you use?” She plucked at his hands, unable to release herself and not willing to drop her flowers in the effort. “Does it work?”
She didn’t want to draw attention to themselves, but she was beginning to feel claustrophobic. She was beginning to need escape.
“Rachel, come on. Really, this isn’t necessary.”
“Does my lack of cooperation interfere with your goal, Lucas? And what exactly would that goal be?” She was angry. It couldn’t be interpreted any other way. “I am not the type of woman who gets picked up in a bar. And this—” she waved her arm around s
omewhat discreetly, emphasizing their location “—this is not a bar.”
Lucas recoiled at the venom in her voice. “Rachel, honey—”
“Don’t do that, Lucas.” She spun this time, breaking his hold. She’d had a bad night and she was touchy. She knew it, but she couldn’t help it. “I am not the sort of woman you’re used to. What can I do to make you understand that? I’m not trying to play hard to get, I’m not saying no when I mean yes. You live a different kind of life from mine, Lucas. I’m not judging it, but I can’t live it. You had Alana—and whoever else was convenient and willing. I won’t be put on that list just because I happen to be around. Get it through your head!”
She glared at him a moment longer, unwittingly punctuating her words with her eyes. Because Lucas saw them—wild and frightened—so unlike Rachel, he dropped his arms away from her and stepped back. This time he’d heard it. He’d seen it, too. The anger, yes. But something else. He finally got it: Rachel was wounded. Deeply. And that was his fault.
“Okay, Rachel,” he said to her retreating back.
This time, pieces were starting to shift. He was finally beginning to understand.
But how to help her was another question.
It would take more than providing her with a distraction to get her through this. He knew that much…now.
Chapter 10
Lucas stepped back, watching his golf ball soar against the intensely blue Arizona sky. He’d become an avid golfer over the years, usually going out with people his father selected. Diego Fuentes, the man he was with today, had never been one of those people.
However, Lucas and Diego had golfed together many times back when they had been in school, usually at the university course during summer when the hundred-degree temperatures had sent the greens fees plummeting. Still, Lucas acknowledged, many years had passed since he had spent any time with Diego. Lucas quickly surmised that Diego had continued to play golf, as his improved skill was notable.
At first the two friends golfed amid a strained silence. Truthfully, it had always been their habit to begin golfing in silence, setting their concentration for the game that way. Today, however, the silence was not companionable.
“So, amigo,” Diego finally said, “why are we together again? Did you miss me suddenly?”
Lucas laughed, appreciating Diego’s directness but unsure how to begin the conversation even with such an obvious invitation. He could sense Diego’s reticence, a withholding of the warmth that had always colored their friendship, and Lucas couldn’t really blame him.
“Not exactly,” Lucas chuckled.
They continued to play, in silence, until Lucas finally spoke again. “How would you feel about taking me on at your firm?”
Diego’s eyebrows shot up, nearly disappearing into the black darkness of his hairline. “Bueno, amigo, you have surprised me.”
“Yes, well, I suppose so. Maybe I even surprised myself. That wasn’t exactly what I expected to hear coming out of my mouth.” Lately Lucas had been unsettled, confused on many fronts. It wasn’t surprising that his subconscious thoughts would work their way to the surface, even without his permission.
“Did you mean it?” Diego asked, pocketing his golf ball after sinking his putt.
“Yeah, I guess I did. I haven’t been happy working with Dad lately—damn, I’m not sure I’ve ever been happy there.” Lucas removed his cap, running his fingers through his hair, then replacing the cap. “I’ve never been able to do the kinds of things I wanted, you know, things we talked about in school. I kept thinking I’d get a chance, once I’d learned the ropes. But I’ve learned the ropes and now I realize that Dad will never fund the kind of work I envisioned.”
“So Lucas Neuman is disillusioned with his life?”
“Hell, yes, I’m disillusioned.”
Silence returned as each man took his turn at the next hole. Getting back into the golf cart, Diego spoke. “You know, if you are disillusioned, maybe you have yourself to blame.”
“What do you mean?”
Diego shrugged. “Just what I said. Bad choices don’t lead to happiness. Because something is easy doesn’t mean it’s the best choice. In fact, it probably isn’t. Sometimes a little risk is necessary to achieve something, and if you never take a risk…” He shrugged again. “You can only blame yourself for your choices, amigo. If you suffer now, well, it’s what you deserve. You have earned it.”
“Thanks, Diego. That’s damn philosophical of you.”
Diego smiled, not the least bit repentant at having made Lucas squirm. “It is how I live my life, my friend. Take today. I haven’t heard from you in years. You don’t associate with my kind anymore.” He paused, raising his eyebrows. The simple action told Lucas exactly what Diego meant by his “kind.” Lucas recognized the dare Diego had issued—the dare to deny the truth of his statement.
Diego continued. “But did I ignore your phone call? Did I turn you down when you told me you wanted to get together, go golfing again? No, I did not. That was my first impulse, though. I thought if I wasn’t good enough for you all this time, why should I suddenly care about why you wanted to see me? But I didn’t follow that, amigo. That would not have made me happy. I would have still wondered. So I followed through on my responsibility to an old friendship.” He smiled again. “Of course, I was curious, too.”
Concentration on their putts was called for now, so silence resumed.
“You want to jump ship, is that it, my friend?”
“Dammit, Diego, I’m not sure what I want. I’m just trying to figure out what I don’t want, trying to go from there.”
More silence.
“You know, my company is refurbishing, restoring, the area of Encanto Park. That’s why I wanted you to come here today. This is the Encanto nine-hole course. Over there—” he pointed northeast “—is the municipal course that belongs to Encanto Park. So far, we’ve worked on this course. That one will be next. We’re commissioned to work on the old houses, too. Encanto,” he said a little dreamily. “Enchanted place. That’s what it means, encanto. Hopefully we can bring the enchantment back to Encanto. It’s a grand old area and deserves it.”
Lucas looked around, able to see that the old course did indeed reflect the touches of loving restoration that Fuentes de la Juventud was known for. They kept a gentle hand, worked with what was there. Everyone in the industry knew it.
The game ended, both men calculating their scores and ribbing each other about it, just as they always had done, Diego emerging as the clear winner. This time.
“Come, amigo,” Diego said, placing his hand on Lucas’s back in a gesture of goodwill, “let’s go get some lunch, let you take a look at the clubhouse. We’ve been working on that, also.”
Once inside, out of the heat, they ordered their meals.
When chips and salsa arrived, Diego resumed, “You know, Lucas, my company does many things. We restore older buildings, World Heritage classified, that kind of thing. We do that throughout the American Southwest—Arizona, California, New Mexico, Texas, Nevada. We have offices in San Francisco, in San Antonio and in Santa Fe—and Phoenix, of course. We have an office in Mexico City and many projects in Mexico that we manage from there. My cousins, comprende, mi familia, they are in the business and run the other offices. The Phoenix office, it is the headquarters, and it’s mine. I told you we are working on Encanto Park, trying to return it to what it was like in its glory days and maybe even make it a little better. But we always approach things with the idea of maintaining harmony. We turn down projects where we don’t feel that is possible.”
Lucas nodded, dazzled by this description of Diego’s reality. He’d heard about Fuentes de la Juventud. He suspected Neuman Industries picked up many of the projects Fuentes de la Juventud rejected. It would figure.
“We have also designed and built a number of small housing communities in the inner city. Not just Phoenix, but San Francisco, Oakland, Sacramento, Albuquerque, even Tucson. We want to revitaliz
e the areas that have been abandoned, bring people back from the suburbs. The city governments are usually very happy to help with this. They put up funds for loan programs. They rezone, they listen to the ideas for the whole community. They want to do more than just plunk down stylish houses. They want communities—grocery stores, schools and so on, so these families can live a good quality of life. We restore as much as we can. We try to use what’s there. We design something new if we need to. It’s a very satisfying arrangement. And it works because we’ve established a good reputation and we are committed to do our best.”
Their food arrived and Diego paused as the items were arranged on the table. It had been a long time since Lucas had eaten real Mexican food, but he knew undoubtedly that the chimichanga that sat before him was as authentic as they came. Just as he knew that the green chili burro, enchilada style, that Diego had ordered would be on a different scale of heat than what Lucas had ordered. There was a reason chili peppers were categorized as mild, medium and hot. Hot took some getting used to. Lucas had managed it once.
As he ate, Diego continued talking. “We also do new projects—some shopping centers, business parks, some government work, the occasional private home. But integrity is important to us, amigo, in our final product and in the way we do business. Money is never our final consideration. We have to believe in the integrity of the project, or we don’t do it. If that makes us less wealthy than many counterparts in the industry—” he shrugged “—then we are less wealthy. But our consciences are clear. Una buena conciencia es una buena almohada, eh? A good conscience is the best pillow. You can sleep soundly that way. We believe that, amigo.”
Diego focused his attention on eating, as did Lucas. Because he knew Diego so well, Lucas knew that this silence meant he was thinking, mulling something over. He definitely had more to say, but attempting to rush him would not hasten the words.