by Phoebe Conn
“I doubt Mr. Calderon expects you to do any of the actual work yourself.”
“No, he doesn’t, but I should be able to recognize what’s a wise investment and what isn’t.”
Rafael stood and pulled her to her feet. “If profits on stocks were easily predictable, then everyone would be wealthy.”
“I suppose, but I’m way out of my depth here.”
He swept her with an appreciative glance. “You look fine to me.”
She smiled and took a step toward the door. “Thank you. I need to change my clothes while Refugio makes our lunch.”
He shook his head. “No, the path isn’t difficult. Stay in your skirt.”
The sly look in his eye made it plain what he was thinking, and it would be easier to hike up her skirt and climb onto his lap than to have to shimmy out of her jeans first.
“I’d no idea you’d be so interested in exploring the countryside.”
He looked off toward Santos and Fox. “I’m into the environment. There’s a lot about me you don’t know.”
That was an understatement, and there was an enormous amount he didn’t know about her. “I’m sure that’s true. What’s your blood type?”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
He frowned at the unexpected question. “A positive, like most people in Spain, so there were plenty of us to donate blood if the prison hospital needed it.”
A chill of horror shot clear to her toes. She’d grasped for the hope he’d had some rare Gypsy blood type that would have protected him from being a heart donor for her father. She walked on into the house thinking she really needed to talk to Dr. Moreno. Santos had his telephone number, but even if Moreno had discussed a transplant with her father, she doubted the physician would know, or admit, what her father had really wanted. Right now, she needed to stop thinking and let a simple picnic brighten her dangerously dark mood while she could still hide it.
Rafael carried the basket and a folded blanket as they walked along the trail. “I’ve never been on a picnic, unless you count foraging out of trash cans.”
“No, that’s a survival technique. Picnics are pleasure outings.” She bit her lip rather than ask how his mother could have left her children in such dire straits while she’d occupied herself as a serial mistress to the rich.
“I’d not thought of it as survival training, maybe part of military special ops. I was just born desperately poor.”
He didn’t speak of other women, thank God, but she wondered how old he’d been when he’d lost his virginity and who the woman had been. An older woman, she thought, someone who’d tucked a hundred dollar bill in his jeans. “I’m sorry you had such a difficult childhood.”
“It was all we knew, so it didn’t seem difficult to us then. Now I’m surprised I lived through it without being run over by a truck in some narrow alley.”
With his height and build, it was difficult to imagine anything getting the better of him. Maybe with what he’d already survived, a bull didn’t strike him as a deadly threat.
When they reached the majestic oak, he handed her the basket, spread out the blanket and pulled her down beside him. He unpacked the basket and handed her a roast beef sandwich on freshly baked bread and a can of soda. He’d brought beer for himself.
She opened the soda and took a long drink. Refugio had chilled the soda for her. The can was icy cold, and she rolled it against her cheek. “This is such a peaceful spot.”
“Indeed it is.” He leaned back on an elbow and regarded her with a lazy smile. “I wish I could have talked you into spending the night on the beach.”
She hadn’t been sure of him then. “That seems like such a long time ago.”
“It was last week.”
A bee flew around her soda can and buzzed away. “I’ve lost track of the days, of everything, really.”
“Eat, so you can keep up with me.”
She took a bite of her sandwich. “I doubt many people are able to keep up with you.”
“You do.” He grabbed her ankle and pulled her closer. “Maybe we should eat later.”
“We need food for stamina,” she cautioned. She took another bite of sandwich and sorted through the food left in the basket. “Apple tarts! Do you want one?”
“I could call you a tart, couldn’t I?”
She laughed. “Not really. It’s an old name for a prostitute.”
“Forgive me.”
There wasn’t the slightest trace of remorse in his expression. “You’re used to charming your way out of trouble, aren’t you?”
“Of course. It’s how Gypsies survive. Save the tarts for later.”
She rewrapped her sandwich and put it back in the basket. This was too beautiful an afternoon to think past the next moment. She moved across his lap, let her skirt drift around them and wrapped her arms around his neck. “I’m afraid I’m sadly lacking in charm.”
He set his sandwich aside, slid his hands under her skirt and inched them up her thighs. When all he found was warm, bare skin, he laughed. “What happened to your lacy bikini panties?”
“I must have forgotten to put them on this morning.”
“I wish I’d known that earlier.” He pulled her into a slow, devouring kiss. “Are you often that forgetful?”
“I could be,” she breathed against his lips. “Or maybe not. I’ll let you wonder.”
“No one would know in your long flamenco dress.”
She nuzzled his ear and pulled his earlobe through her teeth. “You’d know, but I won’t do you in the alley behind the club.”
“What about on the tables inside?”
She rubbed her cheek against his. “Is it part of the show?”
“The encore?” He unhooked her bra, cupped her freed breasts and tugged her rosy nipples.
She leaned back to unbuckle his belt. “No, there’s too great a risk of fights breaking out, and we wouldn’t be invited back to the club.”
He slid his hand under her skirt to rub her with his thumb, sliding on her wetness. “It would be worth it, and we could always find another club.”
She closed her eyes and savored his loving all the way to her toes. “No, it could only happen once, so people would never be sure it really had happened.”
“We’d know.”
She rocked on his thighs to give him more room to dip into her. “We’ll have to be satisfied with this, even without an applauding audience.” His knowing touch drew her closer to bliss with every tender stroke. When she heard a man’s deep laughter, she was so badly startled she nearly leapt off his lap in a desperate move to put some space between them.
“Someone’s coming!” She fumbled with her bra but hooked it and smoothed out her top before anyone came into view.
A horse whinnied nearby, and Rafael quickly buckled his belt. He picked up his sandwich and took a swig of beer. “Try not to look so guilty,” he teased. “We have every right to be here together.”
She had no idea how to fade the bright blush from her cheeks and doubted the men would believe they’d happened upon an innocent outing. She held her breath hoping they would pass by without noticing them, but when the two riders came into view, one raised his hand to wave.
“Matador! Señorita!”
Rafael waved to them, and the pair continued on toward the stable but looked back over their shoulders with big grins.
“Well, clearly the encore on the table is definitely out,” she said. “Sitting out here, I’m too shaky to think. With a roomful of clapping people, I’d be no good at all.”
“Don’t worry. I’d handle the action.”
She hoped he was teasing her, but her hands shook as she unwrapped an apple tart. “You’re not into sex in public, are you?”
He chuckled. “You’re the one who forgot her underwear.”
“What do you mean? You never wear any.”
“I’ll admit it.” He took her hand. “Relax. I can wait until we get back to the house. Let’s just si
t here and talk. I don’t want you to worry someone else will ride by.”
She pulled her hand from his. Her heart was beating too fast, racing as it had last Sunday, tumbling her fears and stealing her breath. He’d soothed her with kisses yesterday, but it had been a brief reprieve. She crumbled the apple tart into gooey bits, and he caressed her arm to catch her wrist and licked the sweet apple filling from her fingertips.
His tongue tickled. A ray of sunlight caught the trace of brown in his amused gaze. Clearly he thought she couldn’t possibly be afraid when they were together, and yet she was terrified of everything she knew and he didn’t.
She pulled away and sprang to her feet. “Just let me go this time.” She sprinted away, but the specter of death trailed her as a devoted shadow.
Chapter Twenty
Maggie couldn’t bear to be cooped up inside the ranch house and fell into one of the front porch chairs. Still shaking, she gripped the chair’s arms and held on. She’d be safe in Tucson, although her condo was as emotionally sterile as a model home. She loved teaching, but if she didn’t count Craig, none of her fellow teachers were close friends. She could analyze her life with plus and minus signs on a mental white board, but while there was nothing to draw her back to Arizona, she had to get out of Spain.
Fox walked out on the porch carrying his letter from Miguel and sat beside her. “Have you read your letter? He said he was proud of me and apologized for not being a better father. I didn’t give him much of a chance, but my mother was the one who fell in love with him, not me.”
It hadn’t occurred to her that her father might have written the same letter to everyone. That was undoubtedly why Mr. Calderon had asked them to read their letters in private. He hadn’t realized they might compare them and discover their own message had been repeated for another, even if it had been appropriate.
She swept her hair off her face with her fingers. “Being a stepchild is difficult regardless of the situation. If you have stepchildren someday, be understanding and remember how you felt about Miguel.”
“I’m taking Santos’s advice and never getting married.”
She leaned back and closed her eyes. “I’ve always assumed I’d marry someday, but now, I don’t know.”
“Hey, Rafael, we’re taking a poll. What do you think of marriage?” Fox called.
Maggie’s heart dropped. She sat up and tried to smile, but as he stepped up on the end of the porch, he looked too wary to appreciate the effort. When she’d become so unstable, maybe he was having seconds thoughts about her, and she couldn’t blame him.
He sat beside her. He’d taken the basket and blanket inside and come outside looking for her. “First I’ll have to find a woman who’d want to marry me; then I’ll think about it.”
“So you don’t have an opinion?” Fox replied.
“Not at this moment, no.” He stretched out his legs and closed his eyes. “Isn’t that an odd subject to interest a kid your age?”
“No, you’ve got to plan ahead, or life will run over you.”
“Good advice,” Maggie agreed. “I’ve been run over a time or two.”
“Hell, I’ve got tire tracks on my heart. That would work for a country western song, wouldn’t it?”
Maggie laughed in spite of herself. “We’ll have to check and make certain it hasn’t already been used.”
Fox stood. “You want some ice cream?”
“No, thank you, I’m fine,” she answered.
“I’m fine too,” Rafael added. As soon as the door shut behind Fox, he leaned close to her. “I did let you go, but I think your father’s death has hit you much harder than you realize, and you ought to make an appointment with Dr. Moreno.”
Miguel’s death had affected her, but not for the reason he assumed. He had just given her an excellent excuse to speak with the physician, but she couldn’t appear grateful and feigned reluctance. “I don’t know; maybe I do have some sort of post-traumatic stress, but he’d probably just prescribe tranquilizers.”
“Maybe that’s what you need. As for us, I can’t stop you from worrying about me, but I wish you had more faith in me. If I thought I’d be killed on Sunday, I’d retire today.”
“If anyone could terrify a bull, it’s you,” she assured him. “But I doubt any matador expects to die in the ring.”
He sat back and folded his arms across his chest. “Let’s think about dancing. You can’t go home until we’ve had a chance to dance again. We should go back to Bailaora now that you have your dress and shoes.”
They were both good at pursuing distractions, but the elephant still remained in the room, or on the porch. “Yes, let’s go tomorrow night. Would it be easier if I moved into Santos’s condo?”
He answered her question with a narrowed look, one of his most fearsome expressions, but he’d shown himself to be protective, not violent, and he didn’t frighten her. Her chest still felt tight, but that he thought her suffering from stress rather than being just plain crazy was an enormous plus.
The next morning, Rafael wandered around Zaragoza while Maggie and Santos met with Mr. Calderon. He found a bench with a good view of Augustín’s memorial. He seldom turned his back on a bull in Augustín’s pose, and with good reason. José Cubero, called Yiyo, had died at twenty-one when he’d turned his back on the bull he thought he’d slain. Even with the sword plunged deep, the bull had made a final lunge and sent a horn through Cubero’s heart.
He couldn’t argue with Magdalena. Sometimes the bull did win, and a matador was killed. But she cared for him rather than his growing fame. Perhaps her father’s death was too vivid in her mind to dream of love, but he couldn’t send her home to grieve with the scant hope she’d return to him. He looked at his watch and stood to go back to meet her. For the first time in his life, he’d met a woman he could love, but he wouldn’t make promises he couldn’t keep.
Sergio Calderon closed his leather folder and clasped his hands on top. “I think we’ve covered enough for today. While I didn’t want to speak in front of the others, your father was always generous when anyone in his family had an emergency and needed funds. A gambling debt isn’t an emergency, of course.”
Santos laughed. “Other than gambling with my life in a bullring, I don’t bet on anything else.”
The attorney glanced at Maggie, and she shook her head. “I work too hard to earn money to risk it for a thrill. What about Enrique? He doesn’t seem to have much in the way of ambition.”
“Your father was concerned about him and blamed himself for not spending more time with him. I think we should be firm with him and insist he continue his education if he wants the Aragon fund’s support.”
“That’s fine with me,” Santos agreed.
Maggie nodded. “With two of you here in Spain, you can make whatever decisions need to be made between my visits.”
“I’ll keep you informed,” Calderon promised. He handed her his card. “Please call me should you have any questions. If you need money for an advanced degree, the fund is available to you too. Miguel frequently told me the year he spent at the University of Arizona was one of the happiest of his life. He was very pleased you chose it.”
“Really? We talked about other things.” She rose with the men, and while she still didn’t believe she knew enough about the investments that fed the family trust, she was confident the attorney and Santos could handle it without her.
Santos had left his crutches in the car, and he walked from the attorney’s office building with an obvious limp. “What do you want to do on Sunday?” he asked Maggie. “If you won’t go to the arena, you ought to come to my place so you won’t be alone and worry yourself into an emergency room visit. Maybe I’ll rent a boat and take you and Fox sailing.”
She’d thought she’d be gone by Sunday, but it was already Friday, and she hadn’t even looked up flights yet, alone made a reservation. “Sailing would be fun, and you’re right, I’d rather not be alone.”
Rafael had been lea
ning against the entrance to the building and overheard Santos’s question. He approached them, barely able to hide his disappointment. “You may go wherever you please. Sailing, to the movies, or the zoo. The Parc Zoologic has moats to separate the animals, not cages, so it’s a beautiful place to visit.”
“Thank you. I haven’t been to a zoo in ages.” She took his hand as they walked to Santos’s SUV. If she spent every Sunday he had a fight at the zoo, she might be considered for volunteer of the year. It was a silly thought she kept to herself, but it was better than swimming in anguish all alone.
When they returned to Barcelona that afternoon, there was a limousine parked in front of Rafael’s apartment building. He pulled his Mercedes up behind it and asked Maggie to stay put. “It could be Santos’s agent, but whoever it is, you don’t need to see them.”
She caught his arm. “Be careful.”
He covered her hand with his. “It has to be someone wanting to make money off me, so I’m in no danger.”
When he left the car, a sharply uniformed chauffeur circled the limo to open the rear passenger door. Rafael kept his hand on the door and leaned in, but the conversation was over in seconds, and he backed away.
An attractive women dressed in bright red took the chauffeur’s hand to exit the limo and followed Rafael with tiny steps on stiletto heels. Her henna-tinted hair caught the sun’s glow, and she reached out to catch his arm with beautifully manicured nails. Maggie recognized her without hearing her name and left the car to meet her.
Rafael took Maggie’s hand to draw her close. “My mother, Carlotta Mondragon, or whatever she’s calling herself now.”
Carlotta dismissed Maggie with a hasty glance and turned the full force of her charm on her son. “One name is as good as another, but my husband is Orlando Ortiz. I only wanted to see you, Rafe, to make certain you’re well. Surely I deserve a few minutes of your time.”
“When you had no time for me and MaLou? No, go home and continue pretending you have no son, or do you have others with Ortiz?”