by Ann Major
Roger squinted at him over the top of his glass. “You met someone else?”
“I don’t want to talk about her…er…it.” When he stopped petting Spot, the animal whined and licked his fingers.
“You let her go. Someone—inappropriate?”
“I said I don’t—”
“You’re still in love with her!” Roger observed.
“Finish your drink and get the hell out of here.”
“Aren’t you going to do something about her?”
“Roger!” Cash rubbed his temples. “I have a raging headache. It’s late, and I’m tired.” Cash went to the door and opened it.
Spot barked joyously and bounded outside. He ran up the hill and disappeared.
“Oh god. You were supposed to run—not him!”
“Will he come back?”
“More likely a few neighbors will show up complaining about his crimes first. He likes to turn trash cans over and send them rolling down the hills. Just go.”
Roger set his glass down on the burlwood table, shot him a wry smile, and walked out. But as soon as he was gone, Cash wished him back because without Spot or him, the house felt unbearably hollow.
Vivian didn’t want him. How long would it take, how many women would it take, before he could forget her?
Eventually Spot would come back and bark when he wanted in, so it was no use going after him. Grabbing his tie and jacket, Cash slung them over his shoulder and headed up the staircase toward his bedroom. His five-story house had magnificent views of the Bay Bridge and Oakland. He’d bought the place for the views. Not that he cared about them now.
The phone rang, and his idiotic heart leaped at the memory of a naked redhead reflected in seven mirrors. Maybe… He raced up the stairs into his bedroom and lunged across his bed, knocking the phone to the floor as he grabbed the receiver.
“Has she called you yet?” whispered a surly, heavily accented male voice that sounded unpleasantly familiar despite a lousy connection.
“Who is this? Where are you?”
“Julio.”
A vise clamped around Cash’s chest.
“Vivian’s husband.”
“Ex-husband.”
“I told her to call you. Did she?”
“You sound drunk.”
Julio laughed bitterly. “So what if I am? Soy em-bo-ra-chado. So what?”
Cash rubbed his brow. “It’s late.”
“Just call her, bastardo.”
“Is she in some kind of—”
Julio spit out her phone number. Not that Cash needed it. He’d called Isabela and endured an awkward conversation weeks earlier to get it.
The line went dead.
Cash told himself to ignore Julio’s drunken gibes, but his caller ID revealed an unidentified caller had called him ten times today, and Julio’s had come in as that of an unidentified caller.
Cash was in a panic as he dialed Vivian. Not that she answered. At this hour surely she was there. Like the other times when he’d called, her machine picked up, and he was forced to leave a message.
The French Quarter
New Orleans, Louisiana
Vivian was lying awake in the dark watching the oak branch scratch at the window and counting cracks in her ceiling. A friend of her uncle’s had found her this charming one-bedroom apartment in a French colonial, one-story cottage. Not that it felt like home yet.
But it would. She just had to give it time. The windows reached the ground, and its front door opened directly onto a noisy sidewalk. A loud jazz band was playing at the corner bar. Revelers shouted at each other in the street. Not that the music was bothering her. She had much too much on her mind.
When the ringing of the phone shattered the early morning stillness of her bedroom, Vivian sprang up and jammed a pillow over it, so it wouldn’t wake Miguelito.
“Julio—I told you not to keep calling me—” When it rang again and she could still hear it, she stuffed another pillow on top of the other one.
Julio was driving her crazy with his calls at all hours. Somehow she had to make him understand he had no right to make her decisions. Finally, on the fourth ring her machine picked up.
When Cash’s voice came on instead, she shuddered. Before she thought, she’d reached for the phone. Just touching the cool plastic receiver while he talked sent a tremor through her and made her feel connected to him.
She no longer noticed the trailing branch of the oak tree scratching the window or heard the strains of the jazz band. All she could do was strain to listen to Cash’s huskily drawling voice.
When he finally slammed the phone down, she picked up the receiver and cradled it to her chest. Then she played his message again.
“Vivian? If you’re there… Oh, hell… Julio said I should call.”
Julio—
“I know you’re there. Pick up. Is there something I should know? Is something wrong? You don’t need to send me those damn checks, you know. I’m worried about you. Call me.”
She pressed her fingertips against her mouth.
“Please call. I’m worried about you…and Miguelito.”
There was a long silence. Then he left several phone numbers before hanging up.
Wondering what to do, she wadded up her pillow and buried her face in it. It seemed hours before dawn.
The morning was a soft gray and smelled of rain. As soon as Miguelito went out into the courtyard to play underneath the oak trees dripping with Spanish moss, Vivian called Julio.
“Did he call you?” Julio demanded.
“Yes. I didn’t answer.”
Julio cursed vividly.
“You shouldn’t have called him,” she said. “I don’t need a man to rescue me!”
“You’re scared and pregnant.”
As if she didn’t know.
She drew a deep breath. Okay, so she was scared. “I can do this, Julio. Smart, independent women aren’t controlled by what they do in bed.”
“Then be run by this. If you don’t tell Cash about the baby, I’ll find a way to take Miguelito back to Mexico.”
Vivian caught her breath. “Just because I walked down the aisle with you, doesn’t mean you can run my life forever.”
“Not forever, querida. Until you marry again and have a husband to take care of you and Miguelito…and the baby.”
“Women don’t need men.”
“You damn sure got pregnant, didn’t you? Twice. You didn’t do that without a man.”
She lapsed into silence, pondering the mysteries of the body. The female body was powerful. It led a woman places that she wasn’t sure she belonged. Why did she always have to suffer life-changing consequences for her impulsive behavior? Why could other people get away with things while her life had to take these crazy, unexpected turns? Cash had used a condom. He hadn’t wanted a baby.
“Isabela shouldn’t have told you, Julio. You had no right to call Cash. Why did you do that? You don’t even like him.”
“You’ve got two days before I call him back and spell it out! Now, put Miguelito on the phone—”
“Don’t you dare call Cash back.”
“Just get Miguelito. I don’t want to talk to a crazy woman.”
“When you two are done, I want to talk to Isabela.”
“Claro, mi amor,” he said huskily, blowing her a kiss.
When she gave Miguelito the phone, he said only a few words before ducking his head shyly and running out into the courtyard, where he crouched behind the thick trunk of an oak and spoke to his father in a secretive, whispery voice. Watching him from the window, she grew edgier by the minute.
What was Julio telling the boy? Finally, he darted back inside, stared at her belly with big scared eyes and mumbled that Tía wanted to talk to her.
“What did your father tell you?”
“Nada. Tía wants to talk to you. Can I go?”
Though furious at Julio, Vivian smiled at her son. Her hands shook when she nodded and took the receiver
.
“Isabela! For this, I forgave you for sending me and Miguelito away? For this I welcomed you into my little apartment when you stood at my door holding all those roses and weeping and begging my forgiveness? Guess what your brother did? He called Cash, and I think he just told Miguelito.”
“No, I forgave you, Vivi. I flew to New Orleans and found you. But only because the minute you left, the servants sulked so much that living in my own house was a new kind of hell.”
“You promised you weren’t going to tell Julio.”
“It was an accident, querida…like your pregnancy. He gave me wine. He is my little brother. He tricked me, okay?”
“Not okay. He called Cash.”
“But, Vivi, Julio has a point. Cash is the father of your baby. We are all family.”
“Cash and I were only together one night.”
“So? You got pregnant. Leaving him was your decision, not his. I think he loves you.”
“I had my reasons.”
“Crazy gringa reasons.”
“This isn’t Mexico. I want my own identity…an education. Up here women are people too.”
“Down here women are women and men are men. You gringas are too stubborn for your own good. You want to be independent when one of the most fantastic men you’ve ever met wants you?”
“He’s too fantastic. I don’t deserve him.”
“That is stupid. Down here, women tell the fathers of their children they are expecting.”
“If he had a choice, he would never marry a woman like me.”
“Why did you steal him from me…and then throw him away?”
“Look, I read about him in the major gossip magazines. I’ve seen dozens of shots of him at openings and galas with beautiful women on his arm, each girl lovelier and younger than the last.”
“See, you’re jealous. Because you love him.”
“I don’t want to drag him down, when one of those other women could make him happy.
“Don’t be such a little fool. Call him. Let him decide.”
“Trust me on this. It’s better this way.”
“What idiot is it better for? You? The baby? Miguelito? Cash?”
For moments the air was charged. Then Isabela said, “I’m dating someone you know. An American. Aaron. You were teaching him Spanish. He came by looking for you. We started talking and we couldn’t stop. He’s too old, but we’ve been having lots of fun together. He’s teaching me how to sail.”
“Isabela, I miss you. I miss you so much.”
“You can come home anytime you want, you know.”
When they hung up, Vivian felt very very alone.
Dear Isabela. Even though Vivian had stolen Cash from her, she’d surprised Vivian by how quickly she’d put Vivian’s and Miguelito’s welfare before her own. Vivian’s plane had hardly landed in the Big Easy before Isabela flew up to Louisiana and begged her forgiveness. Once Vivian had let her inside her apartment, they’d both collapsed in each other’s arms in tears and laughter.
Then Isabela, who’d seen how bare her tiny apartment was, had taken her shopping and been more generous than ever before. She’d bought new clothes for Miguelito and darling knickknacks for the apartment.
Maybe with time, Vivian would accept her condition, would get on her feet and turn the apartment into a real home. Maybe with time, she’d become independent. But first she had to find a way to remove Cash McRay from her heart and mind.
No way could she call him and tell him about the baby.
Fourteen
San Francisco
Cash was sprawled behind his mammoth desk in his airy office with its dazzling views of the bay. He was feeling nuts after a long day. Not that he wanted to go home or to any of the parties penciled under today’s date on his calendar.
One minute, Cash was idly sifting through his personal mail and listening to Roger flirt with Leah, Cash’s secretary, beyond his open door. The next, his hand shook when he slid a long, pale blue envelope from the bottom of his mail. His eyes narrowed on the return address of the classy antique shop in the French Quarter printed in precise, small letters.
Vivian worked at the shop. He’d learned this from Marco, whom Isabela kept informed. Thank God Isabela’s jealousy was like a hot fire that burned like unholy hell but went out quickly. She’d called him. They’d had a friendly chat about a party they were both going to. But mostly they’d talked about Vivian.
It was the first of the month, so Cash should have been expecting Vivian’s check. She hadn’t returned his calls. As a result Cash had been hell on wheels for the last few days. His staff, even the usually unfazable Roger, had taken to walking out of rooms when he entered.
Not that Cash blamed them. He didn’t like himself much either most of the time these days. The trouble with a bad mood was how everybody bounced it back in your face.
Cash slashed the envelope open, hoping for a note, but as always, a single green slip of paper, her check—for one hundred dollars—fluttered onto his desk. He grabbed it and wadded it up, only to look up and see Leah and Roger standing together in the doorway, watching him.
Carefully, Cash unwadded the check.
“That bad, huh?” Leah said.
He waved the crumpled check at them. “Deposit this before it bounces,” he growled. “The woman who wrote it is not to be trusted.”
“You must have met her in Mexico,” Roger said.
“I like her already,” Leah added.
Leah was in her forties and had lots of self-confidence. She was tall and long-waisted, with short wiry brown curls. She could be beautiful or not, depending on her clothes or her mood or her hairdo. She was smart and efficient, and when she smiled and meant it, she could brighten a man’s worst day.
Today she wore a stretchy black sheath. She looked so good Roger couldn’t stop looking at her.
She picked up the check and purred the last name, rolling the final r in an infuriating way. “Escobar-r-r-r? Any kin to Isabela and Marco Escobar-r-r-r?”
Roger’s permanent smile was way too bright. “Escobar,” he repeated, pronouncing it correctly.
Leah lifted her thick, penciled auburn brows when Cash didn’t look up. “Does she have anything to do with what’s been eating you lately?”
Bingo.
“You’re supposed to be my secretary, not my therapist,” Cash snapped.
“You don’t have a therapist, so I’m pinch-hitting.”
“Well, stop it, Leah.”
“You should take a day off,” Roger said.
“You’re driving all of us crazy,” Leah began. “Ever since Mexico, when you visited the Escobar-r-r-rs. Which reminds me, Isabela Escobar-r-r called while you were at lunch.”
“The plot thickens,” Roger said, grinning.
“The r-trilling is getting on my nerves,” Cash growled.
“I’m taking Spanish in night school,” Leah said. “Just practicing, sir.”
Roger laughed. Cash didn’t.
“Well, your Miss Escobar-r, oops, well, she said her plane landed safely, and she and her father would meet you at the gala tonight for the opening of the hospital wing you designed.”
“Wilhelm Meredith also called about the Berlin project,” Roger began.
The huge project his firm had bid on for Meredith had been rejected last week. “I’ve got his number.” Cash’s voice was grim.
“Maybe when you see Isabel Escobar-r—”
Cash glared, and she quit trilling instantly. Roger had to cover his mouth to keep from laughing.
“Out! Both of you!” When neither of them budged, Cash got up and slammed the door. Then he began to pace.
His love life was the problem and he knew it. Knowing that didn’t make him any happier with them or himself. They shouldn’t joke or tease. This wasn’t funny.
He was behaving like a fool. He needed to move on. But how?
He’d called Vivian after the first check arrived. She’d hung up on him. He’d called her
the next month. She’d hung up on him. The next time he’d called, she’d had an answering machine—and it had been on ever since. Ever since Julio’s call, he hadn’t been able to concentrate on anything. His designs were off. Hell, his whole damn life felt off.
He broke his pencil and pitched it into the trash. Then he opened his door and stormed out past Leah and Roger, knocking a trash can into the blinds. The can rolled, banging against a long window beside her desk.
“Have a nice evening,” she called after him cheerily.
Cash was too afraid of Roger’s big, annoying grin to turn around.
When he reached the exit, it was all he could do to resist slamming the door closed behind him.
It was a beautiful night, clear and cool. The hospital wing was beautifully landscaped, with a long bar set up near some high hedges. Tables and chairs were scattered beneath small blue and white party tents. Hundreds of people were clustered together, talking loudly.
Isabela was beautiful in black silk and gold jewelry. She stood out like the brightest jewel in a sumptuous crown, even in that dazzling crowd. Even though she was at the bar surrounded by at least a dozen admiring men, she beamed when she saw him. He went up to her, and she kissed him.
“You look wonderful,” he murmured, inhaling her perfume.
“You look like you’re working too hard,” she replied. “You have terrible circles under your eyes.”
He frowned.
“You’ve lost weight,” she continued. “You look positively gaunt.”
“Have you seen her lately?” Cash asked, leading her away from the others.
“Oh, yes. As I told you, we made up almost immediately. Imagine—she stole you from me, and my servants took her side. She called them on the phone all the time. They told me Miguelito was crying for Julio and me every night. I couldn’t stand it.”
“Neither the hell can I,” he said woodenly.
“I couldn’t lose you and her and Miguelito. So, one day I just went out to the airport and got on the first plane to New Orleans. The ticket cost a fortune. What can I say? I guess I realized I was marrying you because of who you were, and you were doing the same thing. She honestly fell in love with you. She’s stubborn and opinionated, but she’s very honest.”