Fierce Love

by Phoebe Conn

  They were on the edge of the crowd pressing in toward the wide-open doors of the cathedral. Three mobile news vans were parked on the opposite side of the plaza. Maggie knew Santos was prepared to deal with reporters and television cameras, but she felt completely out of place. There were seventeen hundred students at Catalina Foothills High School, and while she’d seen them all gathered for pep rallies and football games, there were many more people waiting here to enter the basilica. She sent Rafael a frantic glance, but he misread the cause of her concern.

  He pressed close. “I’m not Catholic either, but they won’t ask for a password. Like most Gypsies, my grandmother held a different view of virtue than the church holds, and she refused to allow religion to confuse us. Many matadors travel with their own small altars and pray before a bullfight. It would make more sense just to stay out of the ring.”

  Maggie laughed but quickly caught herself when the people nearby responded with hostile frowns. Someone recognized Rafael and Santos coming up behind him and shouted their names. The crowd then parted and swept them forward on a wave of helpful hands. It was like swimming through thick seaweed, and Maggie clung to Rafael’s arm to keep from falling. Santos used his crutches to good effect, while Fox and Ana grabbed his coattails and hung on.

  The crowd’s final rolling shove landed them at the entrance. Ana pulled a scarf from her purse, and Maggie paused to don the lacy mantilla. Going from the bright morning sunlight to the dimly lit basilica left her feeling dizzy and disoriented. Rafael hugged her shoulders to keep her by his side. Seats had been saved for them in a front pew, and she was relieved they wouldn’t have to stand. She hoped Mrs. Lujan, Refugio and the ranch hands weren’t lost in the crush, but she recognized no one seated near them.

  The basilica’s high vaulted ceiling lent the air an ancient chill, while it was too warm in the closely packed pews. Maggie leaned against Rafael. “Do you dream of a crowded funeral?”

  He responded with the harshly disapproving glance he’d turn on a naughty child, but she was way past mere misbehavior. The incense-scented air made her nauseous, but she hadn’t eaten enough to become ill. She closed her eyes, which only intensified her discomfort. Too anxious to sit still, she crossed and uncrossed her legs. She might usually be as detached as Craig claimed, but she’d never harbored such a damning secret as she carried today.

  Santos had called ahead to confirm the funeral mass he had planned on Monday, but Maggie wished they’d been able to attend the earlier, far more intimate service. She left her hand in Rafael’s and attempted to follow the mass, but her heart was too heavy to be soothed by the soft rumble of spoken prayers or the beautiful organ music. Trapped where she sat, she checked her watch often.

  When the mass came to an end, they remained seated while the basilica cleared. As the crowd thinned, Santos stood to stretch. “There’s no way to escape the reporters, but I’ll handle them.”

  Maggie rose and took a step to follow her brother, but Rafael held her back. “Do you really think I’d want a funeral crowded with strangers?”

  “Isn’t that what all matadors have?”

  He took her hand. “Let’s go rather than argue here.”

  “How can you argue with the fact Spaniards worship their matadors?”

  “That isn’t the issue,” he hissed.

  Maggie was uncertain what the issue was. She’d merely made an observation, and he’d objected. It had been a question, not an accusation, but once a matador grew used to fame and adoring crowds, it had to be difficult to walk away. Some stayed in the ring until they died.

  When they reached the small area left open at the church steps, there were more than a dozen reporters waving microphones and yelling predictable questions. Santos repeated the lines they’d written yesterday at lunch and refused to say anything more. Dissatisfied, the reporters called to Rafael, who ignored them. Fox was mistaken for one of the crowd. A woman recognized Ana Santillan and asked if she and Santos were engaged.

  Used to the inane chatter at fashion shows, she shook her head and held up a bare left hand. Santos took her arm and headed toward the hotel. “Let’s go.”

  There were still so many people milling around, they lost track of Fox for a moment, but he caught hold of Rafael’s coattail and made it into the Hotel Tibur. “I hope I never have to go through that again,” he said. “People had no idea who I was and still pawed me.”

  “It’s annoying, isn’t it?” Ana agreed. “Do you suppose anyone is still at the reception?

  “Why don’t you go and look?” Santos suggested. When she walked away, he nodded toward the garage. “Want to make a break for it?”

  “No,” Maggie stressed. “That would be rude.”

  “She has her car here,” Fox reminded her. “She wouldn’t be stranded, and I’d wait for her.”

  “A gentleman doesn’t ditch a woman in a hotel,” Maggie insisted.

  Fox shrugged. “My school must have forgotten that rule.”

  “Well, remember it.” Maggie heard Rafael laugh but didn’t turn to tell him to shut up. She was coming apart in tiny bits, and it just wasn’t worth the energy.

  Ana soon returned. “The room’s already been cleared, and a maid is running a vacuum cleaner. Does anyone want to have lunch here before we go?”

  “No, thank you,” Santos answered. “We need to get back to the ranch. Fox, you ride with us this time.”

  “No, I’d rather stay here and eat with Ana. I’m starving, even if you aren’t.”

  Santos opened his mouth to argue, but Maggie stepped in front of him. “I’m sure it’s all right to allow Fox to stay if you don’t mind driving him back to the ranch, Ana.”

  “Of course not,” she replied, and Ana and Fox walked toward the restaurant entrance.

  “I hope she won’t try to seduce him,” Santos murmured.

  “She wouldn’t have to try very hard,” Rafael mused.

  “Stop it!” Maggie cried. “That’s not in the least bit funny. Let’s just go.”

  “Wait a minute,” Santos asked. “There’s a bar on the top floor with a great view of the basilica, and you can see Augustín’s memorial statue from there. This might be your only chance to see it.”

  Maggie looked up at Rafael, who gave her a thin-lipped warning glance not to ask what he’d prefer for a headstone. “Yes, I would love to see it.”

  The bar was open only in the evenings, but Santos walked through the dark room and drew them to the large windows overlooking the plaza. “We can’t get any closer than this with today’s crowd, but you can see it’s a magnificent work in bronze.”

  It was a life-sized statue of Augustín, dressed in his suit of lights. While there was no bull following him, he was shown defiantly turning away and trailing his cape. It was a classic gesture of a brave matador, and even when viewed from a distance, clearly a masterpiece. It was only the fantasy of what Augustín created in the bullring, however, not the man who’d written poems to a woman he couldn’t forget. Reality was what truly mattered, but when she looked at her own life, the truth was too sad to bear.

  “Where are they burying Father?” she asked.

  “Augustín’s monument is in the family plot, and while Father will be buried there, the city plans to create a monument for him elsewhere.”

  “Something modern perhaps?” she asked.

  “We’ll be able to select the design. I’ll send you copies of the proposals when they’re ready.”

  “I’m surprised Father didn’t design one himself.”

  Santos gestured toward the exit. “He wasn’t much of an artist, but we talked about it. He saw death coming and left little unplanned.”

  A shiver shot down Maggie’s spine. Her father might have known death was lurking nearby, but he couldn’t have known it would wear her face.

  They returned to the ranch before Mrs. Lujan and Refugio and their footsteps echoed in the empty hallway. Maggie carried the envelope of photos up to her room and looked longingly at th
e bed, but she’d never be able to sleep. Rafael came up behind her and rubbed her shoulders.

  “I found a good trail for a walk yesterday. We need to be outside where we won’t suffocate on our own thoughts. Change your clothes and come with me.”

  “Give me a minute.”

  She waited until he’d walked into his room before peeling off her black dress. She hung it in the closet and doubted she’d ever wear it again. She pulled on jeans, a shirt and shoes good for walking. She didn’t dare sit, because she wouldn’t have been able to stand up again, but she wanted out of the confines of the house as badly as he did.

  He led her down the path angling off from the stable. It bordered the fence for a hundred yards before being blocked by a gate secured with twisted wire. It was easily opened, and they continued down the overgrown path.

  “Santos told me he used to go riding with Miguel. I’ll bet this was the trail they followed, but it doesn’t look as though anyone has passed this way in a long while.”

  He took her hand so they could walk side-by-side along the groove worn into the dirt. An oak tree with wide branches provided a shady spot to rest, and using it for a backrest, he sat and pulled her down between his outstretched legs. “Lean back against me.”

  It was so easy to relax with him, and she rested her head on his shoulder. “This is a pretty spot. I wonder if the family used to come here for picnics.”

  “Maybe. I didn’t think to bring food. Are you hungry?”

  “No, not at all. Sitting here and doing absolutely nothing is perfect.”

  “Good, then just listen and let me talk. There hasn’t been time for me to really show you Barcelona. As long as you’re in Spain, we ought to visit Madrid too, and Toledo is on all the tourists’ itineraries. We have to spend more time dancing. I don’t want you to go home with nothing but sad memories of your father. I don’t want you to go home at all. Will you at least consider staying here with me?”

  She licked her lips. “I’m sorry, but I can’t make any serious plans today. Please don’t be angry with me.”

  “I couldn’t be angry with you even if I tried.”

  “Thank you. I just feel numb, but I love listening to you talk. You have the most wonderful voice. You ought to do recordings for audio books.”

  “Do I sound different than any other man?”

  “Yes, there’s a deep richness to your voice, but I don’t suppose you can appreciate it yourself. You said something about dancing?”

  “Yes, we need to spend a lot more time dancing, but if we went out tonight, all the tabloids would criticize us for partying so soon after your father’s funeral.”

  “Before coming here, I’ve never had to worry about how my actions would look to others.”

  “You won’t have to for long. There will be a new story to grab the tabloids’ attention tomorrow or the next day.”

  “I suppose. Matadors travel. Is there somewhere you’ll have to be this weekend?”

  He wrapped his arms around her and gave her a loving squeeze. “No, I’m not returning agent’s calls, and I haven’t signed any new contracts. This is no time to negotiate deals, and I’ve enough money saved to last me awhile.”

  “No one will forget you.”

  “Let’s hope not, but the more often I fight, the more money I’ll be offered. It’s hundreds of thousands of dollars, Magdalena, not minimum wage.”

  She scooted forward and turned to kneel in front of him. “It doesn’t matter how much money it is if you don’t live to enjoy it.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Don’t tell me what money’s worth until after you’ve begged on street corners.” He stood, took several steps away and jammed his hands into his hip pockets. “I’m lucky to be alive, so I don’t worry over dying before my time.”

  Maggie rose and brushed the leaves off her knees. “I’m sorry. I should keep my mouth shut. You were doing fine before we met, and you’ll do well after I’ve gone home.”

  He turned back to face her. “Why do you give up so easily? Why don’t you scream and punch me in the stomach and make me listen to you?”

  She laughed and realized too late that he was serious. “I’m sorry, I thought you were joking. You’ve got to remember I’m not a Gypsy girl who’d shriek and beg you to quit something you love. Throwing tantrums won’t solve problems anyway.”

  He stared at her a long moment. “I don’t mean enough to you, do I?”

  She took a step toward him, and he took a step back. “You mean a great deal to me. That’s why I respect your stance. Can’t you appreciate mine?”

  “You care so much about me, you won’t mind if I’m killed?”

  “Now I am tempted to punch you in the stomach. We can go around and around with this forever. What’s the point when neither of us will change their mind?”

  “You won’t even try to win me to your side?”

  “Why, to build your already inflated ego? No, I’m going back to the house.” She started down the trail, but he called after her.

  “If you run across a stray bull, mention my name.”

  “Hell, I’m a matador’s daughter. I’ll whip off my blouse and fight him myself.”

  He laughed and overtook her before she’d taken another step. He picked her up and spun with her in his arms. “The next time I see a woman on the stairs, I’m running the other way!”

  She silenced his laughter with a hungry kiss. She wanted him to let her go without a single regret, but please, not yet.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “My room this time,” Rafael whispered as they climbed the stairs. He kept hold of Maggie’s hand until he’d drawn her through his door and locked it behind them. He opened the balcony doors to air the room and ripped the spread off the bed. He unbuttoned his shirt, but she stared at him rather than begin to undress.

  “What?” he asked.

  The walk back to the house had left her in a melancholy mood. She’d forced herself not to think during the funeral, but now, in her father’s childhood home, guilt weighed heavily on her shoulders. “We wouldn’t have met if it weren’t for my father, but he tangled a lot of lives.”

  He yanked off his shirt and threw it aside. “We’re not tangled.”

  Even with a horrible scar, he had a powerful, masculine body, one she loved to touch. “Aren’t we?”

  “Every minute I’ve spent with you has been my choice, and you’re too strong-willed to be with me if you didn’t wish to be.”

  Lately, she’d been strong-willed only in fits and spurts, measuring time in days rather than by semesters. “I’m sorry; we left the house to escape suffocating thoughts, and I’ve brought them all back with me.”

  He scooped her up, set her on the side of the bed and sat beside her. He laced his fingers in hers. “We’re not going to get over losing Miguel for a long time, but we can’t stop living our lives. I worry about your going home and being alone. I’d come to see you, but the United States doesn’t welcome convicted felons. It will be much easier for you to stay in Spain. It’s a beautiful country. You could be happy here with me.”

  She leaned against him and wished she could be. “It’s impossible, Rafael. How would I live through the weekends? With drugs or booze until I was a person neither of us could stand? I don’t want to live that way or have that black dress hanging in my closet like an evil shadow, waiting for the Sunday you…”

  “Look how many men you met this morning who survived their careers in a bullring. Why would I be any different?”

  She raised her hand to his smooth, warm cheek, and he kissed her palm. “Maybe I’m the one who’s cursed, not you,” she whispered.

  “I may not know how to cast spells, but I do know how to break curses.” He pulled her onto his lap and kissed her until they were both breathless.

  “Does it involve killing chickens?” she asked.

  “All it involves is this.” He pulled her down across the bed and covered her face with teasing kisses until she gasped through giggles. �
��Forget about where you’ll live. There’s only now,” he swore, “this minute, no tomorrow, no yesterday. We create our own world. Don’t let it slip away.”

  She’d grabbed hold of the moment the first time they’d slept together, but time poured through her fingers now. There had always been magic in his dark eyes, but she could only glimpse the happiness he saw in his mind. She slipped her fingers through his silken hair and snuggled close to his bare chest. He peeled away her clothes, barely taking time with the buttons. He kissed her breasts and blew across the damp nipples until she shivered.

  How could she ever want another man when he was so loving? But she couldn’t still her anguished mind, even as her body grew sensitive to the point of pain. She sighed as the world dissolved around them, but she still longed for promises that would last more than a single sunny afternoon.

  He brought her to the edge with his mouth, then entered her with a slow, teasing thrust. He lay still within her, his smile the rakish grin she adored. “I do love you,” she whispered, without confessing how badly it hurt.

  He kissed her with a lazy perfection and smoothed her hair from her brow. “I know you do, and you feel far too good to be a curse.”

  She rolled her hips to urge him to move, and he withdrew and entered her again. Her body stretched to lure him deep, but rather than his magical scent, she caught a whiff of the incense from the basilica, an unwelcome reminder of how often he taunted death.

  Ana entered the ranch house with Fox. Santos heard them and hobbled from the den to the entryway. “Thank you for bringing Fox home.”

  “You’re welcome. I have a favor to ask.”

  Santos leaned against the wall. “I don’t care what it is. The answer’s no.”

  She slid her tongue over her lips to make her bright red lipstick glisten. “Your father’s attorney told me I’m mentioned in your father’s will, so I’ll have to stay until tomorrow, but there isn’t a single room available at any of the hotels in Zaragoza.”