by Phoebe Conn
Mrs. Lujan’s description of Augustín’s memoirs had sounded as though he’d been working on an assortment of materials rather than simply journals. If so, what had become of his personal papers and reflections? Had Carmen taken them or destroyed them? Hoping to find personal albums on the shelves, she began searching close to the desk. When she heard Santos and Rafael come through the front door, she walked out into the hall. They were all sweaty and dusted with dirt and still so handsome she thought it awfully unfair women had to go to so much trouble to look good.
“Have you ever read Augustín’s journals?” she asked Santos. “They’re carefully detailed descriptions of bullfights and might be of interest to you.”
Santos looked down at his clothes. “I need to shower first, but I’d like to see them.”
Rafael folded the cape he’d brought for practice and waited while Santos started up the stairs. “You’ve been reading Augustín’s journals?”
“Yes, that’s why I came here. I was hoping to discover something about him and the family. They’re all strangers to me.”
He moved close to brush her lips with a light kiss. “I thought you’d come to be with me.”
She’d hoped to get away from him for a few days rather than overdose on his charm. She attempted to look contrite. “I’m so sorry to disappoint you.”
He flashed a quick smile. “No, not at all. Tonight you won’t have to go home.”
He ran up the stairs, and Maggie leaned back against the den’s doorjamb. Fox came in and pulled the front door closed. “You should have come out to see them. They argued over which one is the best, but they’re both good. Different, but equally good.”
“How are they different?”
“If Santos shows the video later, you’ll see. They just worked the bull with their capes. They didn’t kill him. They’ll choose a fresh bull tomorrow.”
“Wonderful.” She stifled a groan.
They heard a car drive up, and Fox went to the door and looked out. “Is that who I think it is?” he asked.
Maggie came up behind him. “Yes, it’s Ana Santillan.”
“Which one of them is screwing her?” he whispered.
“Fox, don’t be crude. She’s Santos’s friend.”
Fox was out the door like a shot to carry her bag. Ana was dressed in tight jeans and a coppery knit top. Her hair flowed over her shoulders in bouncy waves. She looked as though she’d just stepped away from a fashion shoot. Relieved to have another woman there, Maggie smiled warmly. She hoped neither of them would be caught up in Rafael and Santos’s endlessly rivalry. They thrived on competition, but she’d gladly avoid it.
“Magdalena,” Ana called. “It’s nice to see you again. Where’s Santos?”
“In the shower. Fox, why don’t you carry Ms. Santillan’s bag upstairs?”
“Sure.” He started up the stairs. “Do you know which room is yours?”
She laughed as though his question were absurd. “I’m staying with Santos.”
Fox’s fair complexion filled with a bright blush, and he turned away to dash up the stairs.
“Isn’t he a little old to think we’d have separate rooms?” she whispered.
“I don’t know him well enough to say,” Maggie replied. Ana followed Fox upstairs, and Maggie returned to the den to continue her search of the bookshelves and found a row of albums similar to the one at the beach house on a bottom shelf. She grabbed the first one and sat down at the desk to study the faded photographs. Some were dated from the late 1800s, but many of the inked comments identifying her relatives had faded away.
Fox ran down the stairs and barely paused at the door. “I’ll take my sandwich outdoors.”
Teenagers couldn’t bear to be laughed at, and she thought he was probably too embarrassed to eat lunch with Santos and Ana. “Don’t go too far.”
“Are you my mother now?” He left without waiting for a reply.
Rafael came in seconds after Fox had left. He leaned a hip against the desk. His hair was wet, and he was dressed in a clean pair of jeans and a black T-shirt. “Answer a question for me. How did you know what’s in Augustín’s journals? Were they written in English?”
He was so damn good-looking without any effort. Her body’s coiling heat reminded her all too vividly of last night’s passion. How could she have thought she needed time away from him? For a moment, she couldn’t recall his question. She moved back to open the drawer and pulled out the tin box. “No. I teach Spanish in high school back home, and his writing is easy to read.”
He straightened up. “So here we are in Spain, and you didn’t bother to mention you’re fluent in Spanish?”
There was a testy edge to his voice, and she wondered if any woman stuck around long enough to develop a fondness for him that went past his extraordinary good looks and stamina in bed. “You were looking for a dancer, not a linguist,” she reminded him softly.
“True, but I’m interested in everything about you.”
Ana came in the door several steps ahead of Santos. When Rafael turned to face her, she broke into a delighted smile and moved toward him with the sassy hip-swinging gait she’d use on a haute couture runway. In platform heels, she was nearly his equal in height. “I didn’t expect to find El Gitano here. Aren’t you afraid Santos will poison your food?”
“I’ll thank you not to give him ideas,” Rafael responded, no hint of a smile in his voice or expression.
Maggie was surprised he hadn’t been drawn to Ana the way Fox had been. Tall, slim and blonde, Ana Santillan had to be most men’s dream date. Rafael merely looked annoyed they’d been interrupted. “I doubt the cook’s in on the plot, and aren’t you hungry?” she asked.
“I am.” Ana turned with an arm-swinging spin. “I hope there’s some soup. Refugio makes the most incredibly good soup.”
“There is,” Maggie assured her, and the model and Santos left the room while Rafael hung back.
“Wait. Is there anything else I ought to know?” he asked.
Clearly he suspected she must have hidden some dire secret. “I’m sorry to disappoint you again, but no. Tonight when we’re too tired to sleep, I’ll tell you my life story, but there’s nothing scandalous in my past. I’ve lived quite an ordinary life.”
“For a bullfighter’s daughter, perhaps, but everything is different now that you’ve come to Spain.” He turned in a circle slowly and raised his hands. “You can see I’m unharmed, so later will you watch the video Santos shot of me?”
He smelled like soap rather than cologne, which was a nice change. She wasn’t good at compromise, and she doubted he even came close to it, but this was an easy thing to give. “Yes, I’m sure it’s worth seeing.” She wondered if he planned to get her used to watching him in videos and then entice her into the arena stands. She doubted he ever made a move without a strategy, but she’d be home before she came close to being able to watch him fight a bull live.
She took his hand. “I’ll keep you company while you eat.”
He pulled her to a stop. “Ignore Ana. She doesn’t really like me; she wants to make Santos jealous.”
“Don’t underestimate your appeal, Rafael. She might like you quite a bit.”
His brows dipped in a confused line. “Wouldn’t that bother you?”
“We’ve no control over how someone else feels, so there’s no point in being jealous.”
“You don’t think like a woman.”
Clearly he thought himself an expert. “Because I’m rational? I’m not unique.”
“Maybe not, but a Gypsy woman wouldn’t allow another woman to flirt with her man.”
“Are you my man?” The question slipped out before she could catch it.
He pulled her hand to his lips and gave her knuckle a playful bite. “What do you think?”
“I think we’re very late for lunch.” She gave him a forceful tug, and he followed her into the dining room. Ana and Santos were seated side by side and Maggie and Rafael sat down oppo
site them. One of Refugio’s helpers brought Rafael a roast beef sandwich and a beer, but she didn’t ask for anything more.
“Aren’t you going to ask me for an opinion on Rafael?” Santos asked her.
“I thought our father was making the decision.”
“Yes, but I have an opinion too.” He took another bite of his sandwich. The meat was sliced so thin pieces kept sliding out, and he pushed them back between the thick slices of bread. “For today I have one; tomorrow I might have another.”
“Tell me what you think tomorrow, then,” Maggie asked.
“You two really look alike,” Ana mused thoughtfully. “Don’t they, Rafael?”
Rafael set his sandwich on his plate and wiped his mouth on his napkin before replying. “Maggie is much prettier.”
“Yes, she is, but the family resemblance is strong. Anyone could see you’re Miguel’s children. I’d like to photograph you together. I plan to work as a photographer when I retire from modeling and am always looking for an appealing subject. I have to go into Zaragoza this afternoon, so we can do it later. Do you want to come along, Magdalena?”
“Go,” Rafael encouraged. “You need a dress and shoes for flamenco.”
Maggie had pretty dance clothes at home, but it would be nice to have something new she could boast came from Spain. “Do you know a place that sells those?”
Ana had finished her bowl of soup and set the spoon carefully on her plate. “I know where to buy anything even remotely related to fashion.”
Santos leaned close to kiss Ana. “We’re going to look through Augustín’s journals, probably from opposite ends of the house, so shop as long as you like.”
When they were finished eating, Maggie went upstairs to get her purse and joined Ana and the men out front. The model drove a light blue Porsche that looked brand new. “What a beautiful car.”
“Thank you. It was a gift.”
Santos looked up at the cloudless sky, so clearly the expensive sports car wasn’t from him. Maggie wondered if it could have been from their father and if Miguel was equally generous with all his girlfriends. The possibility brought an ache suspiciously close to jealousy, which she’d never admit to Rafael.
Rafael walked her to the passenger side of the car and bent down to whisper, “Do you need money?”
“No, thank you, I’m fine.”
“Never make a woman ask for money,” Santos scolded. “Do it like this.” He pulled a couple of large bills from a money clip and slipped them into Ana’s hand as he kissed her.
“I thought you just left money on the dresser,” Rafael shot back at him.
Maggie leaped in front of Rafael as Santos came around the front of the Porsche in two long, angry strides. Rafael picked her up and set her out of his way. “Your sister’s afraid I’ll hurt you, because she knows you can’t hurt me.”
“Stop it!” Maggie shouted with the same authoritative tone she’d used to break up fights in the corridors of Catalina Foothills high. “You two have no better manners than the bulls you torture. Give us the video camera, and we’ll take it to Miguel right now. I’m not staying here to watch you scuffle in the dirt, and if that insults you both, I’m glad.”
Rafael raised his hands and moved back while Santos curled his hands into fists and glared at him. “I’ll take you home. You don’t have to ride with him,” her brother promised through clenched teeth.
Fox came around the side of the house, took one look at the men’s hostile stances and hurried to join them. “If there’s going to be a fight, my money’s on the Gypsy.”
“Wise choice,” Rafael answered.
Ana punched Santos in the stomach. “If I’d known you and Rafael were going to fight over Magdalena, I wouldn’t have come. It’s a good thing I didn’t bother to unpack.” She started toward the house, her fair curls flying behind her.
Santos didn’t glance her way. “I mean it, Magdalena. You’re coming with me.”
“No, she isn’t,” Rafael answered.
“I don’t want to ride with either of you. I’d ask Ana for a ride home, but I can’t leave you two here alone. This is like the story of the man trying to cross a river with a fox, a chicken and a sack of grain.”
“What?” Santos asked.
“It’s a math story problem for children,” Rafael explained. “I’m sure you could figure it out in a day or two.”
“That’s it,” Maggie cried. “I’m leaving with Rafael because he hasn’t got the sense to keep his mouth shut. Come on, let’s get our things. Where’s the video camera?”
A sly smile curved Santos’s lips. “Sorry. I wanted to give him a chance to do better tomorrow, and I erased the video.”
Rafael swore a particularly bitter curse under his breath, but Maggie caught every foul word. “We could stay in Zaragoza tonight and come back here tomorrow.”
“No, stay. I promise to be good,” Santos vowed unconvincingly. “I hadn’t used the camera in a while, and the video wasn’t worth saving. Tomorrow I’ll do a better job.”
“I don’t trust you to even point it in the right direction,” Rafael complained.
“Convince Ana to stay,” Maggie suggested, “and she can handle the camera.”
Santos shrugged and turned toward the house. “I’ll try.”
“Just slip more money in her hand,” Rafael called.
Maggie looked up at him and shook her head. “With that mouth, how did you survive a prison sentence?”
Fox thought the whole confrontation funny. “You can tell he wouldn’t be anyone’s bitch.”
Maggie looked around, but there was no place to go. Her heart was pounding, and, feeling shaky, she leaned back against the Porsche. “You pick fights for fun, and I absolutely abhor conflict. Do you see something wrong with this picture?”
“I don’t think she’s asking me,” Fox said.
Rafael gritted his teeth. “Santos and I have never liked each other. I’ll not insult him within your hearing. Is that good enough?”
Maggie thought it a lame promise, but it was probably the best he would do. “When Santos’s mother learned Miguel had married my mother, she hanged herself in the stable here. He was only a baby. Try and remember that the next time he’s rude to you. Don’t tell him I told you that story either. He wouldn’t want your sympathy, but if he can be nice to me, when his mother is dead because of mine, then you should be able to be civil to him.”
“Do you suppose the stable is haunted?” Fox wondered aloud.
Rafael leaned back against the Porsche and draped his arm around Maggie’s shoulders. “I only knew he’s Miguel’s son, but he hasn’t been kind to me either. If you want to compare pitiful stories, I have them too.”
He was no more self-centered than most men, but it was incredibly annoying. “True, but will you work on being kinder yourself just because he’s my brother?”
Ana came out of the house alone carrying only her purse. “Do you still want to go to Zaragoza, Magdalena?”
“No, thank you. I think I better stay here.” She and Rafael moved away from her car.
“What about you, Fox?”
“I’ll go, sure.” He slid into the Porsche and hurriedly fastened his seatbelt as though he feared he might be left behind.
Maggie and Rafael watched them drive away. She’d driven across Arizona several times, and the scenery between Tucson and Phoenix was equally barren and wild, but she’d always been on her way somewhere, not stuck in the middle of it. “It’s lonely out here. Is it your dream to own a ranch?”
“No, but I only plan a week ahead.”
That was all she needed, another reminder he might not be with them after Sunday. “We’re definitely going to have to stick to dancing, because I absolutely refuse to fall for a reckless fool.”
Rafael leaned down to kiss her. “Too late.”
Chapter Eleven
Leaving the den to Santos, Maggie and Rafael sat outside on the front porch. He wore a thoughtful expression as he re
ad one of Augustín’s journals, but she found the family album more troubling than helpful. Some of the photos had come loose from their pages, but there was no legible information on the back. She wondered if there was any glue in the desk but lacked the energy to go look. She closed the album and sat back. The wicker chair was thickly padded, and she was content to sit for the moment.
“Find anything?” Rafael asked.
She shrugged. “I don’t know what I was looking for, maybe just a familiar face so I’d feel as though I fit among them. You’re so sure of who you are, but I’ve never felt as though I belonged anywhere.”
“You fake it very well, then.”
“I’m not a fake.” She clutched the album tightly to her chest.
He eased out of his chair to face her. “Perhaps I used the wrong word, but you’re such a confident woman, not shy or lost.”
“Self-confidence is another thing entirely.”
“Is it?”
She stood and remained close to him. “Yes, and please let’s not argue.”
He ran his fingertips down her cheek in a gentle caress. “Some things are worth arguing over.”
“True, but this isn’t one of them. Have you found anything useful?”
He regarded her with a sad smile, as though she were missing his whole point. “Yes, I thought I was observant, but Augustín could read the ring without missing a single detail while still keeping his focus on the bull. Death should take the bull by surprise. Augustín knew how to keep the bull from surprising him. Thank you for finding these. There’s much more advice in them than what Miguel taught me.”
She wondered if Santos would find the journals equally helpful or if he already knew everything their grandfather had to teach. “I want to look at another album. Do you need anything?”
“No, I’m fine, and I’m staying out here to keep your brother safe.”
He might be doing as she’d asked, but a steely defiance ran through him head to toe, and she’d been the fool to think she could rein it in. She found Santos seated at the desk with his boot heels resting on the corner.