by Niki Turner
When the song changed, his hands dropped and he opened his eyes, self-conscious, but the peace remained.
Tansy stood beside him, her hands raised, her eyes closed. Though she didn’t know the Spanish words, she sang along in English, oblivious to anything around her except the atmosphere of worship.
Sebastian felt something break loose in his chest, and he knew. This was the woman he’d been waiting for. This was the woman with whom he wanted to spend his life. He shook his head, but the awareness just settled deeper.
She was his.
When the music ended and they took their seats again, the sense of...rightness...stayed with him through the announcements, offerings, and all the usual church business—even the pastor’s message about love and forgiveness and God’s divine plan.
At the end of the service, the two people Sebastian assumed were homeless went forward for prayer. When they turned to face the congregation, their faces were shining. Sebastian joined in the applause.
When the service concluded, Sebastian remained in his seat, immobile.
“Are you ready?” Tansy asked him, touching his arm.
“I’d like to speak with the pastor,” he replied.
“I’m sure that would be all right.”
They waited until the minister had said goodbye to most of the congregation, leaving the helpers and volunteers in the room. When the pastor spotted them, he approached.
“Can I help you with something?”
“Is there anything you need, for the church, I mean?” Sebastian said.
Tansy gave a soft intake of breath.
The pastor smiled. “Things are going well, but we can always do more for outreach.”
Sebastian shook his head, gestured toward the exposed pipes overhead. “For a new building, or for your sanctuary?”
To his shock, the pastor laughed. “You mean because we’re meeting in a section of a warehouse in one of the worst parts of the city?”
Sebastian nodded.
The pastor extended his hand. “Please, let me show you something.”
Sebastian and Tansy followed the minister through a plain door behind the platform where he flipped a switch. Industrial overhead lights buzzed to life, and Sebastian’s brows rose.
A forklift, loaded with shrink-wrapped crates, crossed in front of them. On both sides and as far as the eye could see, scaffolds, loaded with boxes and crates, rose from floor to ceiling.
“What is this?” Sebastian asked.
“We own the building. The vision of the church’s founders was for the poor and the lost, not to build a kingdom with their name on it. We keep the sanctuary small and unassuming, so that we can pour those funds into this.” He gestured toward the endless rows of boxes.
“What’s in them?” Tansy asked.
“Non-perishable food, mostly, and baby supplies. The owner of a South American furniture store chain donates mattresses and slightly damaged furniture. We have a partner in the U.S. who ships in small kitchen appliances and office equipment. The other side of the warehouse is full of building materials, everything from lumber to bathroom fixtures.”
“That’s impressive,” Tansy said.
“It’s what the founders of the ministry wanted. Their vision, and their bylaws, were very clear. I’m privileged to be a part of what they put in place,” the pastor said. “I didn’t catch your names.”
Tansy stuck out her hand. “Tansy Chastain, and this is my friend Sebastian.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you both. I hope you’ll come back to fellowship with our church family,” the pastor said. “Shall we?” He pointed toward the door they had come through.
Tansy led the way back into the now-empty sanctuary.
They said good-bye to the minister and stepped out onto the sidewalk.
Sebastian was relieved to see his car still parked outside, and still in one piece.
“Why did you do that?” Tansy demanded once they were on the road again. “Why did you ask what they need?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
She turned those changeable eyes on him. “You really would like to help?”
He sighed. “I think what they are doing is admirable. I’d like to see their distribution reports, of course, to know how they manage what comes in, but they seem to be doing a good work, and it’s worthy of support.”
“Something your friend would be proud of,” she murmured.
He shifted into a higher gear as they merged onto the highway. It was a full minute before he responded. “The good that is being done is something you should include in Eva’s memoir,” he said. “A high price was paid for this ministry to be established.” He fell silent.
The service had moved him, and not just because of his familial connection. He would see to it that the church’s outreach was added to his charitable contributions before he lost his right to have a say in how the Sandoval family monies were dispensed.
“So where are we off to?” Tansy asked.
Sebastian shook his head to clear his thoughts. “What would you like to do?”
“You’re the tour guide, Señor MacKenna.”
Sebastian glanced around, made a last-minute decision, and took the next exit. It was time for Tansy to meet his abuelo. And time to tell her the truth about his identity.
“Los Dominicos for lunch and shopping.”
9
Tansy had read about Los Dominicos online. The former monastery was now a kind of open-air shopping mall, filled with the wares of local artisans. The size of the place surprised her. It was more like a college campus than a monastery.
Sebastian parked the car and was at her door before she had time to gather her bag and reach for the handle. He offered his hand as she exited the vehicle, then wove his long fingers through hers as they walked toward the entrance. Warmth curled in her belly.
The whitewashed adobe walls framed a veritable rabbit warren of rooms, outdoor walkways and three-sided chambers. Where Dominican monks had once lived and worked and worshiped, artisans of every kind now created and sold their wares. Behind a window, a man with a graying goatee carved a matchstick into a miniature sculpture of a painter standing at an easel. In another chamber, a woman seated behind a spinning wheel transformed a fluffy mound of alpaca wool into yarn. A huge wooden loom filled the space behind her. The fruits of her labor lined shelves along one wall.
Tansy couldn’t resist fingering the material, soft as a cloud.
“Those shawls are very popular,” Sebastian said. “Would you like one?”
Belatedly, she remembered she still hadn’t heard from Eva’s attorney. “I still have to get my traveler’s checks back. I should have said something. I can’t really do anything but window shop today.”
“I’ll buy it for you—” he started, but she reached up and touched her fingers to his lips, then jerked her hand back as if she’d been scorched.
“No. You’ve already covered enough.”
His lips burned with sultry heat where she’d touched him. “You are a stubborn woman.” His voice lacked his customary control.
“And you are a rich man.”
He grinned at her, and relaxed. "You’re right, I am." Then he tugged her hand to draw her deeper into the maze that was Los Dominicos. Children played at a fountain while their parents ate and socialized at nearby tables and benches. As Café Melba had been full of lively energy, this place was infused with peace, as if the lifestyle of the monks who’d lived here before still affected the atmosphere.
Sebastian led her past booths of handcrafted jewelry fashioned from the silver and copper and lapis lazuli for which Chile was famous.
Tansy paused at a display of children’s games and toys. The proprietor challenged her to solve a wooden puzzle. She tried, after watching his demonstration, and failed. She smiled at the proprietor, refused his offer of a sale on the piece, and ambled away to admire a selection of copper kitchen utensils.
Moments later, Sebastian’s hand settled
on the small of her back with gentle pressure. “Come this way,” he urged, leading her along the cobblestone path.
The unmistakable smell of tanned leather goods wafted out of an open-air booth. The walls were laden with purses, briefcases, and bags in every conceivable shape, size, and color. A selection of wallets, coin purses, leather-bound planners, journals, and books graced a see-through cabinet.
Tansy placed her palms on the glass counter.
“Do you see anything you like?” Sebastian asked. He’d come up behind her, standing close enough she could feel the warmth of his body and smell his aftershave.
Before she could answer, an elderly man wearing a stained canvas apron tottered out of the back room on bowed legs.
“Can I help you find something?”
“Oh, no. I’m just admiring everything. Do you make it all yourself?”
The old man’s smile, a bright flash of surprisingly white teeth, transformed every line and crease in his leathery face into an aged version of Sebastian.
Tansy snapped her head around to look at Sebastian, and then turned back again. But whatever resemblance she thought she’d seen between the two men had disappeared.
“No, Señorita. I hire many craftsmen to fill my small shop. These are my only personal contribution...” He opened the back of the cabinet, withdrew one of the journals and placed it before her.
She slid gentle fingers over the embossed cover then flipped it open and exposed creamy pages of handmade paper. “You do beautiful work, Señor.” She stroked the soft leather cover, marveling at the skill with which the item had been crafted.
The old man pushed the journal toward her. “For you, Señorita.”
Tansy gasped, one hand moving to her throat. “Oh, I couldn’t, but thank you!”
“You can, and you will, or you’ll offend him,” Sebastian growled close to her ear, silencing her. “The Señorita is in desperate need of a new bag,” he said, lifting Tansy’s tattered messenger bag between two fingers above the counter where the old man could see it.
“I don’t...” She started to say, but Sebastian’s hand tightened on her arm.
The man pulled a pair of silver spectacles out of his shirt pocket and slipped them on his nose, then tapped them into place with one finger. “Oh, Señorita, a woman as lovely as you should carry something worthy of your beauty. This”—he dismissed her bag with a gesture—“this is not worthy of you.” His voice, rough with age, charmed her. Perhaps it wasn’t just the Sandoval men as Eva had noted. Perhaps it was a Chilean thing.
He turned and disappeared into the recesses of the small shop.
Tansy looked up at Sebastian. “You can’t buy me a new bag.”
“I’m buying you a new bag. And if you can’t accept it for yourself, then consider the blessing it will be to that poor old man.”
Tansy’s lips tightened. “I’ll pay you back.”
“Then you will insult me.” He tapped her under her chin with one finger.
She hissed and punched him lightly in the center of his broad chest. “You’re impossible!”
“So I’ve been told,” he replied, catching her fist before it connected with his breastbone again and using it to pull her into his arms.
****
Sebastian’s head dipped, and he kissed her.
Tansy’s world exploded. She had been kissed before, but not like this. A virtual galaxy of stars rotated behind her eyes. Her stomach fluttered, and her equilibrium faltered. She leaned into him, drawn like an orbiting moon to its home planet.
He tilted his head, silently asking her to open her mouth to him.
Tansy regained her faculties all at once and pushed away from him. He released her. She refused to meet his eyes, though she noted with primitive female satisfaction that he was breathing hard and his hands were clenched into fists at his sides. Tansy braced her hands on the counter, attempting to regain her balance. Sure, he’d kissed her, but that just reminded her that she had almost succumbed to the same kind of thoughtless passion that had driven Darcy St. John to her death.
The sound of laughter interrupted Tansy’s thoughts. She swiveled to meet the smiling gaze of the shop’s proprietor.
The wizened man held a beautiful leather bag the color of warm mahogany. He shuffled forward, still chuckling, and held out the bag. “I think this one would suit you, Señorita.”
“I... I couldn’t—”
“Couldn’t refuse,” Sebastian cut in. He reached around her and took the bag, then slipped her old bag over her shoulder. Before she could react, he was transferring the contents of her old bag to the new one.
“Hey!” she protested.
“I am honored that you will accept my gift, Señorita.” Sebastian said.
The old man handed Sebastian the small journal Tansy had admired. “A gift from me, as well.”
Sebastian took the journal and slipped it into Tansy’s new bag.
“Thank you, Señor,” Tansy said to the old gentleman, feeling awkward.
“It is my pleasure.” He inclined his head toward her, and then reached across the counter and clapped a sun-stained hand on Sebastian’s shoulder.
To Tansy’s surprise, Sebastian covered the hand with his own in a familiar gesture before stepping back.
Then the shopkeeper turned toward a group of approaching tourists and left Tansy and Sebastian alone.
Sebastian tossed her old bag into a nearby trash can.
“I might have wanted to keep that,” Tansy protested.
“Why?” He draped the strap of the new purse over her head and pulled her arm through, then adjusted the buckle so it was the right length.
Tansy sighed, conceded defeat, and admired the gift. The leather, imported from Argentina, according to Sebastian, was sturdy but flexible. The clasps and buckles were weighty and strong. It was the kind of handbag that might last a lifetime. She cuddled it against her side. It would provide a memory of her time in Chile—her days with Sebastian—when she returned home.
They walked together, side-by-side, past children clustered around the cages of rabbits and guinea pigs and birds in the pet store, past another fountain where a large white peacock strutted. She refused Sebastian’s multiple offers to buy more things. Guilt about the walking stick prickled her conscience. He might be flirting with her now, she thought, but when he knew she had deceived him, he would hate her.
****
He was falling in love with her.
They shared fresh empanadas, baked in a huge stone oven over a wood fire.
Tansy pronounced the pockets of dough wrapped around meat and vegetables her new favorite food and made him laugh when she insisted on taking a picture of the oven.
He asked her questions about her writing, carefully avoiding the subject of the St. Johns and the Sandovals.
She asked him, not about his business ventures, but about his childhood. He told her about the villa, about harvesting grapes off the vine alongside his abuelo, and about the games he’d played in the kitchen with his abuela. As easy as it was to leave out the names, he found himself wanting to tell her who he was, and that inner voice kept insisting he do so.
When she excused herself to visit the restroom, he considered the best way to tell her the truth. Hoping to ease the blow of his deception, he opted for gifts, and bought a pair of lapis and silver earrings and an alpaca wrap in an unusual shade of turquoise that would highlight her eyes. He checked his watch and realized she’d been gone more than ten minutes. Panic wrapped icy tentacles around his chest as he turned toward the small building that housed the restrooms.
****
“I don’t want to harm you, but you must cooperate.” Diego’s voice was cool and smooth behind Tansy’s left ear, and something sharp poked her in the side just below her ribs.
His friend, or accomplice, or whoever the man was, gripped both her arms and pushed her forward, away from Los Dominicos. Away from Sebastian.
The awkward threesome, with Tansy between the
m, wove a crooked path through the parking lot. They stopped at a small silver hatchback and opened the door.
“Get inside.” The larger man, the one she’d seen smoking the cigarette outside the restaurant, prodded her with thick, stubby fingers.
“What do you want from me?” she demanded, trying to turn to face her captors.
“Get in the car,” Diego reiterated.
Oily, she thought. It was the sole word she could think of to describe him. His features resembled Sebastian’s, but with an ugly, dark overtone. The sheer terror that had compelled her to run from the restaurant returned with a vengeance. She tamped it down and let anger take its place.
“If you’re planning to kill me you better do it here and now,” she said. “Because I’m not getting in that car unless you give me a reason to think it might save my life, not just delay my death.” She struggled against the arms that pushed her toward the open car door.
Diego muttered something in Spanish and shoved her into the backseat before she could manage more than a few misdirected punches and some futile kicks. She struggled to right herself in the seat. So much for all those kickboxing classes.
Diego leaned toward her, a menacing glare on his face. “Unless you wish me to give you to my friend when I’m through with you, I suggest you act more ladylike.”
The bigger man went around to the driver’s side and climbed in. Diego took the passenger seat, and the little car screeched out of the parking lot, away from Los Dominicos, and Sebastian.
****
When Sebastian reached the restrooms, he nodded to the woman who sold squares of toilet tissue for a few pesos. Had Tansy had any coins with her?
His mind flashed back to their evening at the pizza place, standing outside the ladies’ room waiting for her to emerge after she’d disappeared from the table. She’d taken care of herself then, despite her fear of Diego and unfamiliarity with Chile. Sebastian checked his watch after another five minutes passed. Dread began to coil around him like a python. He approached the woman outside, now chatting with a girl of thirteen or fourteen.