by Phoebe Conn
“Thank you. I miss him.” He rose to walk her out into the hall. “You must be going home soon.”
It was a statement, not a question. “I haven’t set a date.”
“As long as you’re here, you mustn’t allow a careless word to damage your father’s reputation. All of Spain would be deeply offended.”
It was a plainly worded threat, and rather than respond in kind, she nodded as though he’d given her excellent advice. She walked down the hall to the women’s restroom. She leaned against a sink and considered her mission successful. Moreno’s hostility alone had confirmed her worst suspicions.
A woman came in with a little girl, and they entered a stall. Maggie washed her hands, relieved they weren’t shaking noticeably, and went downstairs to meet Rafael. She thought about all the stories she’d written on the first day of school in September, but she’d never tell a soul how she’d spent this summer’s vacation.
Rafael took her hand. “What did he say?”
“I hadn’t realized my father had had two heart attacks prior to the final one. Moreno understood my concern for all of my father’s children, but he’d examined only Santos.”
“Did he want to examine you?”
“No, he believed I’d be going home soon.”
“You didn’t ask him for tranquilizers?”
It had completely slipped her mind. “The man’s a cardiologist, and I didn’t want to waste his time. I feel better now and don’t need them.”
He pulled her around to face him. “Are you sure?”
His knit brows made him look older than his years. “I just need to keep busy.”
He studied her expression and shrugged. “If you’re sure. The zoo isn’t open late on Sundays. Would you like to go today?”
“Don’t you have to train or prepare for tomorrow?”
He flashed a charming grin. “It’s better if I relax, and I want to take you to the zoo.”
She reached up to kiss him. “Then that’s where we’ll go. In the winter, people cross-country ski through the Minneapolis Zoo. I don’t suppose they do that here.”
“No, but perhaps I could find you a skateboard.”
“I’m sure they don’t allow it.” She laughed with him and thought even if all of Spain came after her, he’d be all the security she’d need. She’d dressed in her aqua top and rainbow skirt and was a burst of color beside him. As they strolled along the zoo paths, people walking toward them often stared, but while they heard a few whispers of “El Gitano” as they passed, no one spoke to them or asked for an autograph.
After walking miles of zoo trails, they were too tired to dress and go out to dinner and ordered in. They danced, made love with slow, teasing affection and woke up early Sunday morning with Maggie dreading what the day might bring, while Rafael was in high spirits.
“I had a key made for you.” He worked it off his keyring and handed it to her. “You might want to come home before I do. Don’t invite Santos and Fox to come in. They’d just make fun of my home.”
“Not within my hearing they won’t.” She bent over to brush her hair, then stood to shake it into place. “Thanks for the key. I probably won’t need it.” She refused to consider he might not be coming home and she’d be left on her own.
“Just promise me one thing,” he asked. He’d already taken his traje de luces down to his car and needed to be at the bullring that morning when they drew the bulls they’d fight.
“I know how to swim. I won’t drown if Santos takes me sailing.”
“I’m not worried you’ll drown. I just don’t want you to fly home without telling me good-bye.”
She couldn’t mistake the seriousness of his expression, and unlike his mother, she wasn’t one to run away. Still, he must fear she might. She’d considered it briefly last weekend, which she wouldn’t admit. Instead, she framed his face with her hands and kissed him. “You have my word on it.”
He pulled her into his arms. “I want to take you out tonight to a restaurant that serves delicious paella. We won’t have to dance but simply enjoy the candlelight and each other.”
“I’ll look forward to it.” She hung on to him and wished she’d thought of something lovely and sweet or at least meaningful to say. She couldn’t beg him to stay alive when she knew he’d do his best, but it was difficult to offer only a trembling smile. “Let’s go. I know you’re in a hurry.”
“I’m not in a hurry to leave you.” He gave her a final squeeze and took her hand as they walked down the stairs to his car. When they reached Santos’s apartment, he escorted her to the door.
Santos and Fox were cooking breakfast. “Want something to eat before you go?” Santos asked.
“No, thank you,” Rafael replied. “If you’re going sailing, should I meet you at the beach house later?”
“That’s fine. I don’t want Grandmother and Cirilda to think I’m avoiding them,” Santos replied.
“I am avoiding them,” Maggie declared, “but they don’t own the beach.” Rafael gave her a quick kiss, and she closed the door after him. She turned to find Santos and Fox staring at her. “What?”
“I just don’t see you two as a couple,” Santos declared. “You can’t know much about him. We should hire a detective to find out who he really is.”
Now that she’d discovered their father’s motives, she couldn’t use him as a reference for Rafael. “All I have to do is live through today. Please don’t give me more trouble than I already have. What are you cooking?”
Fox waved a dishtowel. “We’re trying to make waffles. Is there a secret to it?”
“Yes, the iron has to be greased and sizzling hot.” She led the way into the kitchen and helped them produce golden brown waffles, but she couldn’t swallow a bite. She checked her watch. It would be a very long day, and she was still sorry she hadn’t thought of a better way to tell Rafael good-bye.
Santos rested his hands on her shoulders. “I asked a friend who’ll be in the arena to call me after Rafael fights his second bull. You needn’t wait until you see him to know he’s all right.”
“Thank you. Now tell me how you learned to sail.”
“Spain once had the greatest fleet in the world. We’re born knowing how to sail.”
Her brother never lacked confidence. “We’re not sailing a galleon from the Spanish Armada, are we?”
Santos laughed. “No, it would take too many hands. We’ll rent a sailboat Fox and I can handle, and you’ll be able to relax and wave to people on the beach.”
She’d dressed in cropped pants and a knit top over her bikini and brought her hat. “It’s such a beautiful day. Is there enough wind to sail?”
“You worry too much,” Fox complained. “Would you rather rent kayaks and paddle up and down the coast?”
“No, not today. Let me help you with the dishes.”
“You didn’t eat,” Fox said. “We’ll do the dishes. Santos won’t leave the apartment with dishes in the sink. Go look at a book.”
She leaned against the counter. “I found your books about Father. Are we mentioned in any of them?”
Santos filled the sink with soapy water. “I’m in the most recent one because I’d started fighting and Father claimed me as his son. He didn’t talk about you or the year he spent in Arizona with journalists. He must have wanted to protect your privacy.”
“Not admitting she exists is a little too private, isn’t it?” Fox asked.
“No, it’s all right,” she insisted. “I wasn’t here to be a part of the family.”
She went into the living room and shuffled through the Sunday paper. Bullfighting was covered in the arts section rather than sports, but she’d rather not read about the matadors who’d be joining Rafael in the arena.
The folder with Augustín’s papers still lay on the coffee table. She went back to the kitchen. “Did you finish reading through our grandfather’s folder?”
Santos rinsed off a mixing bowl. “I did. I couldn’t believe he’d spend
so much time longing for a woman he’d only known a few weeks. Father wouldn’t have remembered her name, let alone written love poems for her years later.”
Fox dried the bowl. “He remembered my mother’s name.”
“Of course he did,” Santos agreed, and, warned he was on dangerous ground, he shifted to a new subject. “I wish we had time to sail to Mallorca. It’s a beautiful island, like a little country in itself. I should stop complaining about the fact our father sold his sailboats and buy one for myself. Not a grand yacht that takes a dozen to crew, just a nice boat I could take out by myself.”
“Women like boats, don’t they?” Fox asked.
“Yes, I believe they do,” Maggie answered, and Santos turned to wink at her.
“Maybe we should look at boats that are for sale before we go sailing,” she suggested, needing to stretch out the day. “Then if you see one you like, we could take it out for a trial.”
“Brilliant,” Fox exclaimed, “then we’d not have to pay to rent one.”
“While I’m here,” she remembered, “I want to return the key to the beach house.” She fished it from her purse and laid it on the counter. “I won’t need it again.”
“I’m keeping mine,” Fox said. “The twins want me to meet them there.”
“Ah, the twins,” she sighed. “I didn’t have an opportunity to warn them against propositioning men.”
“You won’t be around to do it, so I will at my first chance,” Santos promised.
“Take off your watch. It’ll make the day go faster.”
With her bag handy, she slipped her watch into an inner pocket. “Thanks for the tip. I’m doing better today than I did last week.”
“Well, nobody’s died yet,” Fox said.
Santos cuffed him. “You’re as sensitive as a boot.”
The last thing she needed was a reminder of death. “Please, let’s concentrate on sailing.”
“That’s fine with me,” Santos agreed. “If we find a boat I like, let me ask all the questions, and there’s no reason I have to buy a boat today. Just look as disinterested as you usually do, Fox.”
He shrugged. “That’s easy enough.”
Santos dried his hands. “Come on, let’s go.”
They took the elevator to the parking level. As they approached Santos’s SUV in the underground garage, Maggie noted his smooth stride. “Your leg’s nearly healed now, isn’t it?”
“Yes. I could have fought today, but I wasn’t sure. It was better to give Rafael a chance, since you’re so impressed with him, although I’ll never understand why.”
“It’s the way he dances,” she answered, which was only a miniscule part of the truth.
“I’ll bet that isn’t all,” Fox wondered aloud.
“That’s enough about him,” Santos insisted. “There’s a marina not too far from the beach house that should have sailboats for sale. If I don’t find one, I’ll rent a boat for the afternoon.”
Maggie was elated to do anything to keep her mind occupied. “I’d like to learn to sail. I’ve sailed on lakes in Minnesota with friends, but I wasn’t doing the work. I suppose I could take a class.”
“You could, but the best way to learn is to sign on to my crew,” Santos assured her.
“Aye, aye, Captain.”
Inspired, Santos and Fox began making up sea chanteys as they drove down the coast, and while she hadn’t expected to spend the afternoon laughing, with their silly words and tunes, she could live in the moment and soak up the fun of the day.
Rafael would have the picadores and banderilleros who usually worked with Santos rather than the men who’d worked with him last Sunday. They had at least seen each other if not spoken, and he assured them at the end of the day they’d receive a bonus to their pay. They went with him to look at the bulls, and he appreciated their advice. He’d been excited last week, eager to show what he could do, but today, his mood was reserved.
The huge Miura bulls were a menacing black and circled each other slowly in the pen, stirring the stink of manure. Bred for courage and strength, they weighed more than one thousand pounds. Their eyes held a vicious gleam. Rafael was certain they regarded him just as closely as he studied them. He understood why Augustín had kept such detailed records of his fights. He would have to buy a journal and keep his own account before the fights in Spain blurred together as the ones in Mexico already had. A journal would also save him from having to rely on arena signs to know where he was.
José Arredondo was a picador, who’d ride a padded horse and use his steel-tipped lance to weaken the bull’s shoulder muscles. “Watch the one with the bent horn. See how he swings his head? He may come at you from any angle.”
“And the others?” Rafael asked.
“None of the others look as dangerous, but we’ll see more when they enter the ring.”
Nothing could be done if he drew a bull that ignored his cape and charged him. He’d just have to fight it as best he could. He’d fought such a motley assortment of bulls in small towns in Mexico. These beasts were easily twice their size, and the famed Miura bulls were the most dangerous in the ring. The two men fighting with him also observed the bulls with their men. Both were in their early twenties and had been fighting for years. They joked with one another and seldom glanced his way. When they drew their bulls, he was relieved not to have drawn the one with the bent horn, but the two he’d drawn were the largest of the lot.
He went up into the empty stands and went over each of his moves. He knew how to make spectacular passes with his cape and how to kill with a forceful thrust, but after working most of his life to earn his place here, he’d expected to have a greater sense of pride. He dressed there at the ring. He donned his shirt and vest slowly and smoothed his embroidered pants to remove every wrinkle. Once clad in his sparkling black suit, he walked into the arena with the other matadors, banderillos and picadores and saw his mother again dressed in red and waving a handkerchief to catch his eye. Her two sons were with her, the taller lad, maybe nine or ten, appeared bored with the afternoon, while the younger boy jumped up and down beside her, his face lit with joy.
Rafael gave them a nod. He’d once been that awe-struck child, but this afternoon, he felt certain the solemn boy was the smarter.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Maggie and Fox sat on the end of the dock as Santos talked with a man anxious to sell his nineteen-foot Flying Scott. She’d been surprised the sailboat was priced cheaper than a used car and also by how knowledgeable Santos had proved to be. Clearly he didn’t make hasty decisions but managed his money well.
She focused her thoughts on the sparkling Mediterranean and sighed. “I love the ocean.”
“Then why do you live in Arizona?” Fox sent her a quizzical glance and raised a hand to check his spiked hair. In a T-shirt and shorts, he looked younger than his sixteen years.
“An excellent question. There’s a beauty to the desert too.”
“If you say so. I should have thanked you for offering me a place to live, but I’ll be fine with Santos. A friend from school invited me to visit the family estate in Exeter. I’d like to spend the rest of the summer with him and go on to school in the fall. Then I’ll be out of everyone’s way.”
“You’re not in the way, Fox,” she assured him. “I’d like to come visit your school. Do they have a family weekend?”
He looked at her askance. “You’d come with the matador?”
“Sure, why not?”
Before Fox could answer, Santos joined them. “We’re taking the boat out.”
The owner walked away from them along the dock. “Is he trusting us to sail it back?” Maggie asked.
“Sure, he knows who I am, and I’ll have to come back for my car. I hope you haven’t changed your mind about sailing.”
“No, let’s go,” Maggie encouraged, and she was the first into the boat. Santos swiftly guided the sleek sailboat out of the marina into the cool blue Mediterranean. The ocean spray wet her clot
hes, and the breeze tangled her hair, but racing along the coast was as exhilarating as she’d hoped it would be. Santos kept them in sight of the shore for a wonderful afternoon, but her head ached with the effort to live in the present rather than worry herself sick over Rafael’s chances of surviving the day.
They were seated at a table in a seaside café when Santos’s friend called. He left them to take it privately, but Maggie could hardly wait for his return. She’d asked for tea while Fox and Santos had ordered huge seafood platters. She wondered if the Aragon trust allowed for the cost of food for the teenager, who never got full for more than an hour at a time.
When Santos returned wearing a huge smile, her vision misted with tears. “Is Rafael all right?”
“Of course. Our father taught him well, even if he taught me more. The crowd loves him, and he was awarded a couple of ears.”
“What do matadors do with the ears?” Fox asked. “Do they make them into something?”
“I suppose you could skin the ear and make a coin purse out of it, but most men just toss them into the crowd. You should have been there, Magdalena, and he would have tossed the ears to you.”
“I’ll pass on that grisly honor.” She reached for her teacup, but her hand shook so badly she couldn’t bring it to her lips. Spain held bullfights from May through October and the rest of the year, a matador could travel to Mexico and South America for fights. With fifty-two Sundays a year, and two bulls per event, Rafael would face one hundred four bulls a year. He might as well dance in front of a firing squad. “I’m never going to get used to this,” she murmured.
Santos picked up a shrimp. “Break his heart now. Don’t string him along.”
“What about her heart, Mr. Sensitive?” Fox asked.