by Phoebe Conn
She did, with the shaky skill of a two-year-old. “This is good, thank you, but you needn’t stay if they won’t let me leave today.” Then she had a terrible thought. “I must look awful.”
“No, not at all, but your hair could use a comb.”
“I should shampoo it. That’s silly of me, isn’t it? I could have died and all that concerns me is my hair. That’s not true, of course, but I don’t want to think at all.”
He leaned down to kiss her and tasted like chocolate. “We have a lot to think about, but not today.”
She’d eaten enough and let him finish the bowl. He’d never been this reserved, and regardless of what he’d said about taking her home, he didn’t need the burden of an invalid’s care. He’d argue that she’d be no trouble for him, but it would be a loving lie. “Where will you be next weekend?”
“I’m not sure.”
“I want to talk with the surgeon. I hope I didn’t sleep through his visit.”
“No, he hasn’t been in yet.”
She saw no trace of his usual fiery temperament and spoke before her courage deserted her. “I want to go home, Rafael. I usually visit my family during the Christmas holidays, but my sisters are home from college for the summer, and they’ll help me with whatever I need. I’ll be back in Barcelona several times a year for the Aragon trust. We can see each other then.”
He set the ice cream bowl on the rolling table and laid his hand against her forehead. “You’re not feverish, but you must need more blood if you think I’ll agree.”
She covered a wide yawn. “I’m so tired.”
“That’s to be expected,” he assured her. “But nothing has changed between us.”
“We’d never made any plans, and you’ve always known I couldn’t stay here indefinitely.”
He lowered his voice to make his words cold and crisp. “Couldn’t or wouldn’t?”
He’d finally shown some of the fierce pride she expected from him. “We need to be practical. As a matador, you’ll have to travel, and I have a place I’m supposed to be in September, even if I can’t hold a pen to grade papers.”
A tall, fair-haired physician, as thin as a pencil, knocked lightly and entered the room. “Good afternoon, I’m Antoine de Guzman, and I had the pleasure of being your surgeon. How are you feeling?”
“Exhausted.” She held out her wrists. “Do you need to check your work?”
“Not yet. I’d like to see you in my office on Wednesday morning. I’ve had calls from tabloids asking about your suicide attempt. Quite naturally, I don’t discuss my patients.”
“I didn’t attempt suicide,” she swore emphatically.
“Of course, not,” the doctor agreed. “I’ve every expectation you’ll recover your usual dexterity. It will simply take time for the tendons I repaired to fully heal. I’d like you to stay with us tonight, and if all is going well, I’ll sign a release for the morning.”
“Thank you.”
He handed Rafael his card. “Will you be bringing her on Wednesday?”
He looked at Maggie to make certain she understood. “Yes, I will.”
“I’ll see you both then. There’s a curious policeman waiting to speak with you. He’ll only grow more annoying if you delay seeing him.”
“Send him in, please,” Maggie replied, but she had no answers. “I barely remember arriving at the beach house, so I can’t add to what you already know.”
Sergeant Villa was a portly man with the booming voice of an opera baritone. “What I know, or was told, is that you were speaking with Mrs. Aragon, your grandmother. Your wrists were slashed, but she failed to summon help. Had you told her you wished to die?”
“What? No, of course not. Is that her story, that I announced I was going to kill myself, and she respected my wishes to the point she’d allow me bleed to death?”
The sergeant’s brows rose to a comical height. “I’ve not visited her as yet, but it’s a plausible story.”
“A story is all it is,” Rafael interjected. He told him how Carmen had shifted the time for Miguel’s funeral. “Does that sound like a loving grandmother to you?”
“I’m sorry. What is your name?”
“Rafael Mondragon.”
The sergeant immediately reached out to shake his hand. “El Gitano. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He flipped to a new page in his notebook. “I’m glad to find you here. It will save us all time.”
Rafael repeated the same story he’d told in the emergency room. “If I’d been any later, we’d be having this conversation in the morgue.”
Shaken, Villa closed his notebook and shoved it into his pocket. “I was a great admirer of your father, Miss Aragon. This tragedy would have appalled him.”
“Indeed,” Rafael agreed. He succeeded in steering the man to the door, closed it behind him and returned to Maggie’s bedside. “You want to talk about being practical? You needn’t be practical to fall in love. It isn’t like buying a new refrigerator.”
He was being so stern with her, but she had to laugh. “No, not like buying an appliance at all; however…”
He silenced her with a soft kiss that grew increasingly demanding.
“I’m not saying I don’t love you,” she whispered against his lips.
“I love you, good-bye?” he scoffed. “Either you love someone or you don’t.”
Maggie felt light-headed and closed her eyes. “Let’s argue when I feel better.”
“Have I finally found something worth an argument?”
She opened one eye. “You’ll have to tell me about the transfusions and babies again. I only caught a part of it, but not now. My brain is as tired as the rest of me. Please go home where you’ll have a comfortable bed. I’ll be here when you come to get me in the morning. I promise.”
He leaned down to kiss her cheek. “You don’t want me to stay?”
“You needn’t watch me sleep.”
Ana Santillan tapped on the door and carried in a huge mixed bouquet with yellow gladiolas, purple iris, pink roses and white chrysanthemums. It was a glorious blend of colors and scents. “I won’t stay more than a minute.” She placed the vase on the nightstand and scanned the colorless room. “It’s thoughtful to bring flowers to someone in the hospital. Didn’t either you or Santos know?”
“Don’t put us in the same breath,” Rafael cautioned, and he went on out the door.
“What’s the matter with him?” Ana asked. She opened her purse and pulled out the tabloid that had bought her photographs. “What do you think of this?”
They’d placed the photo they’d had of Maggie dancing between two new photos of Santos and Rafael entering the bullring. “’Love Triangle Takes a Tragic Turn’,” Maggie read. The story recounted only her emergency trip to the hospital but had no details. “I should have been saving these bizarre stories for my memoir.”
“Are you writing one?”
“No, not yet, but it isn’t too early to begin collecting mementos. Thank you for the flowers. They’re beautiful, and Rafael’s been too worried about me to call a florist.”
Ana rested her hip on the bed. “Are you staying with him?”
The question sounded too much like an interview. “I need to rest. I’ll see you soon.”
“Yes, we all want you to get well.” Ana hurried out of the room.
Maggie looked up to make certain Ana was gone. She expected Rafael to come back because he always did what he wanted, but the longer he was gone, the more anxious she became. She’d asked him to go. Maybe he’d been grateful for an excuse to get away. Nurses came in often during the night, and while she was grateful to have blood pressure to measure, each time the door opened she awoke expecting Rafael. He’d done exactly what she’d asked, but she felt abandoned. She’d leave him because she loved him, not because she didn’t, but he’d never understand her reasoning.
She wouldn’t be alive if he hadn’t come to her rescue, but he thrived on the terrifying risk of a matador’s life. He needed a wo
man who’d be proud of him and cheer when he strutted into a bullring, but she couldn’t do either. Tears rolled down her cheeks, dampening her pillow. She wished they could have danced a last time, but she wouldn’t have the strength for flamenco for months. Falling asleep, she remembered Augustín and Simone. It hadn’t mattered how little time they’d spent together; Augustín had never stopped loving her, and she’d never stop loving Rafael.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Tuesday morning, Santos and Fox arrived at the hospital before Rafael. “He may have left Barcelona with all the money he earned on Sunday,” Santos declared. “I’ll file a police report if I’m not paid by noon.”
“You will not,” Maggie stressed. “He was with me all day yesterday. Give him a chance to visit his bank.”
“If he uses one,” Santos snorted.
“Whether he does or not,” Maggie argued, “you’re not to make trouble for him.”
Rafael heard only the last part of her statement as he came through the door. “What kind of trouble?” He handed Santos an envelope. “Here’s a cashier’s check. That should be what you expected.”
Santos made a great show of opening the envelope to see. “Yes, thanks. Looks like you’ll stay out of jail another day.”
“What’s the matter with you?” Maggie cried.
“He’s jealous,” Fox said. He handed her a tabloid. “Have you seen this?”
Maggie recognized the beautiful bouquet and was shocked Ana had taken a photo in her room. The flowers must have been an excuse to visit her, and they made the photo appear authentic. “You can’t see my face, so this could have been anyone. I’m supposedly near death. If there are any reporters in front of the hospital, I want to show them I’m fine.”
“How will you explain the bandages on your wrists?” Rafael asked.
“A good point. We’ll have to go out through the kitchen again.” The nurse had helped her clean up and brush her hair, and she was grateful Rafael had brought her green skirt and white top to wear along with clean lingerie and shoes. The skirt had an elastic waist so she wouldn’t have to worry about handling a zipper or buttons. “I’m going to call the nurse to help me dress. Would you all please wait outside?”
“I’ll help you,” Rafael offered.
“Thank you, but I’d rather the nurse did.”
Santos had brought the purse she’d left at the beach house and pulled her watch from his pocket. “I cleaned it for you, and it’s keeping good time.”
She hadn’t missed it. “Thank you.”
Santos held the door open for Rafael, but Rafael ignored him and walked down the hall to keep his distance. Fox lagged behind. “We’re on our way to the airport, so I won’t see you for a while.”
“Well, come give me a hug,” Maggie invited and held out her bandaged arms.
Fox blushed and gave her only a light squeeze. He took a slip of paper with his cell phone number, friend’s address and his school’s. “Santos will know where to find me if you lose this.”
“I won’t. It’s nice having a younger brother, even if you won’t admit we’re related.”
“We aren’t related,” Fox answered, but he laughed and kissed her cheek before he left.
By the time the nurse had helped her dress, she was yawning and ready for a nap. Santos leaned down to kiss her before he left with Fox. She warned him, “Ana might have sold the latest photo just to prompt a call from you.”
“It won’t work. Let me know if you’re staying here or going home. I’ll give you a ride to the airport in the Hispano-Suiza whenever you’re ready.”
“Thank you.” When they were alone, she turned to Rafael. “We do need to talk. Could we go to a park where we could be outside?”
“What is it you really want, witnesses?”
He’d gone into his usual defensive mode, but there was a world of hurt in his dark eyes. It pained her to have to add to it. “No, let’s take some of the cafeteria’s soft chocolate ice cream and enjoy being outdoors. Do I have to leave in a wheelchair?”
He came around to face her. “Yes, but I’m not going to roll you out of my life.”
“That’s why we need to talk, but not here. I’m sure they need the bed for someone else.”
“I’ll move my car around to the loading dock and come back for you.”
“I’ll wait right here.” She saw the question in his eyes and smiled. “I won’t move.”
The Parc de la Ciutadella had a lake for boating, groves of orange trees and flocks of squawking parrots flying through the palm trees. They found a bench near the spectacular ornamental fountain designed for the 1888 World’s Fair. A stone crab’s pincers formed a stairway to a triumphal arch topped with an iron sculpture of Aurora in a chariot. Water spewed from the surrounding pond. It was an amazing architectural piece from any angle.
“What a gorgeous park!” Maggie exclaimed. “I’m sorry there’s so much of Barcelona I haven’t been able to see.”
“Perhaps you can make a list of worthwhile places to see and check them off on your quarterly visits,” Rafael suggested.
She ignored his sarcasm and concentrated on her ice cream. Maybe if they talked long enough, they could find a way not to break each other’s hearts. She wondered if the park closed at night. “I’ve been thinking.”
“So have I. Let me talk first.”
“I should object on principle, but go ahead.” She held her breath, afraid no matter what he suggested, she couldn’t agree.
“I told you I worked in the prison hospital, and when I was released, the doctor who’d brought me books, Claudio Mendez is his name, arranged for me to take the entrance exam for the University of Barcelona’s medical school. There’s been a medical school here since the end of the fourteenth century, and it has a fine reputation.”
“I’m sure it does. Did you seriously consider becoming a doctor?”
“No, I had my heart set on becoming a matador, but to please Claudio, if for no other reason, I took the exam and received such a high score I was offered a full scholarship.”
He paused to watch the parrots stream by in a burst of color and noise. “Now I think I made the wrong choice. Sunday I just felt numb. I’d been excited the week before because I finally had a chance to prove myself and become a full matador de toros. I’d worked for it since I was small. When we were at the ranch, I told you my age would prevent me from having a lengthy career, but the prospect of performing for a different crowd one more week, let alone several years, has lost all its appeal.”
She stared, unable to believe that he’d even consider ending his career so soon. It was an enormous sacrifice, and she had to offer something in return. “Don’t do this for me, because you’ll regret it for the rest of your life. I’ll find some way to live through Sundays. Maybe I can cook something that takes half the day to prepare, or go sailing without my watch, or volunteer at the zoo, or…”
He could only hold her fingertips. “Is that what you wanted to tell me, that you’d decided to stay in Barcelona?”
She’d thought the only loving choice was to go, but the hope in his eyes made only one decision possible. “Yes. I’ll rent an apartment and hire someone to help me until my hands are no longer a concern. I won’t be a burden to you.”
He set her bowl of ice cream on the ground and pulled her across his lap. “You’ll never be a burden to me. I know you wouldn’t have married a matador, but would you consider a medical student for a husband?”
The whole day took on a glorious amber glow. “Only if that’s what you truly want to be.”
He kissed her, and a couple walking by them laughed and kissed before walking on. “I’ve never been so frightened as when I found your wrists slashed, and I finally understood how horrible you felt worrying about me. It’s a moment of clarity I’ll never forget. I knew in an instant I could either work to save lives or stupidly continue to risk my own. I’ll never regret choosing to become a physician. Are you going to marry me or not?”
He dismissed her concern with a ready grin. “Then we’ll sit in parks and eat ice cream until you can.”
She hugged him, taking care with her wrists. Everything about him felt right, and she had no doubts at all. She’d never loved another man, even doubted she was capable of such deep emotions, but she loved Rafael with a fierce passion. She couldn’t stop smiling. Craig was never going to believe it. “Yes, I will. I should call my mother. Will you please pull my phone from my purse?”
He unzipped her bag, found the cell phone, and then realized he’d have to hold it for her. “Do you know what you wish to say?”
“I think I’ll leave out the murder attempt and invite them to come to Spain to meet you.”
“We ought to get married while they’re here.”
She loved his smile. “There’s no need to rush.”
“Yes, there is. If you go home to Tucson to pack your things, I want to make certain you’ll come back.”
He was teasing, but there was a hint of truth in his words. “I’d come back even if I’d gone to the moon. You didn’t have a chance to read Augustín’s papers, but he let the only woman he ever loved get away. We’re not going to make that mistake.”
“I’ve grown very fond of Augustín.”
“Good. Do you think you might someday grow fond of Santos?”
He gave her the same disgusted look she’d seen on the day they’d met, and laughing, she hugged him tight and gloried in his seductive sent. “Rafael, where are the Seychelles?”
He leaned back. “They’re very beautiful islands in the Indian Ocean. Why?”
“Father left Santos a cottage there. Would it be a good place for a honeymoon?”
He looked out toward the fountain. “Knowing Miguel’s tastes, I’ll bet it’s a luxurious home with a spectacular view of the sea. I suppose it might do if Santos would lend it to us.”
“I’m sure he could be convinced to do so.”
Two boys, perhaps twelve years old, approached them slowly. One held out a scrap of paper he’d picked up from the ground. “Are you El Gitano? Would you give us your autograph?”