by Pamela Aares
It’d been all she could do not to confront Enrique that afternoon. But a group of growers had come for a tour, and she hadn’t had a moment to speak with him before he’d left for the day.
After work, she drove like a demon over to Enrique’s. His small house was a tidy one-story at the edge of town. The yard was rather unkempt for a man who gardened for a living.
Fuming, she ran up to the door and knocked.
“Natasha. I didn’t expect to see you.”
She bet he hadn’t. “Can I come in?”
“Um. Well… my grandmother lives with me. Let me just go warn her that we have company.”
Was he going to run out the back door? God, she’d watched too many movies. She stood there for what could only have been a couple of minutes, but her pounding pulse made it feel like an age.
“Come on in.”
“We apologize for the mess,” said an elderly woman with a thick Spanish accent from a recliner. Her face was wrinkled, and she had the look of a woman struggling at the edge of death.
“This is my grandmother, Rosa,” Enrique said. “This is my new boss, Natasha Raley.”
Rosa held out her hand. Natasha took it in hers. Rosa’s hand was bony and cool. Natasha’s heart lurched when the woman forced a smile against the oxygen tube circling her face.
“Enrique says good things about you, Señora Raley.”
“Thank you. Your grandson works miracles with plants.”
“He works miracles in life,” she said with a beaming smile to her grandson.
Enrique’s grandmother was fighting for her life. Seeing a person facing death had a way of putting other issues into perspective. There was no way she was going to confront Enrique in front of his ailing grandmother.
“Let’s take a walk,” she offered.
“I’ll get my jacket,” Enrique said. He patted his grandmother’s hand. “We’ll be just outside if you need anything.”
Rosa smiled. “You two young people enjoy this glorious evening. I heard the doves. Maybe you’ll see them.”
“I’d like to stay close by,” Enrique said after he grabbed a jacket and they stepped outside. “She’s had a bad day.”
Ailing grandmother or no, he’d stolen funds that didn’t belong to him. He’d put her job—and Tyler’s future—at risk. Natasha decided to cut to the chase.
“I know that you’ve stolen funds. The accountant discovered the fake vendor accounts. You’re the only person with a password.”
Other than her.
He dragged a hand across his chin. His calm demeanor reminded her of those scenes in movies where men calmly walk down prison halls on their way to the gas chamber. Apparently he’d been expecting this day to come.
“Let’s sit down. I have a story to tell you.”
“You could put the money back,” she said, knowing she was grasping at any solution.
“You should hear my story before you consider what’s to be done.”
She listened as he told her about his grandmother’s illness. She was doing better, he had hope. But the experimental treatments weren’t covered by the healthcare plan. Each injection for her breathing disorder cost five thousand dollars.
“She has three more to go. Please believe me, I was desperate. I have faith in these doctors, but they underestimated the number of treatments she’d need. I sold everything I could, charged my credit cards to the max. I had no choice but to take the money.”
He gave her the same palms-up gesture that Eddie had used. The eerie similarity zinged into her awareness, but she wasn’t sure what it signified.
“Couldn’t your parents help out?”
“My parents are dead. And my brother and grandfather. My dad’s parents died ten years back. So it’s just me and my grandmother.”
“I’m so sorry.” She knew what it was like to have no family.
“No, I’m sorry I involved you. I’d hoped it was a small enough amount, spread over several accounts, that it wouldn’t be noticed.”
“But you could be imprisoned for theft,” Natasha said. Anger sparked. He’d put her in an impossible situation. “There’s no way I can hide this!”
Even with Mary’s patient explanation, Natasha wasn’t sure how Enrique had managed to siphon the funds. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know.
“We’ll have to return to Colombia.”
“But Tammy told me that you’d informed on a drug kingpin in Colombia, that you worked to put him behind bars. They’ll kill you.”
“When did she tell you that?”
“Yesterday before I left work.” It occurred to her that Tammy must’ve suspected Enrique was in trouble. Or known.
“Tammy shouldn’t have told you something I told her in confidence.”
“She loves you. Maybe she suspected you needed help.”
He grinned. “That’s the best news I’ve had all year.”
This was no time to discuss Enrique’s love life. The tightness in her chest made it hard to breathe. She stood and paced the small cement slab that served as a front entryway. “You can’t go back to Colombia.”
“If I go to prison here, there’s no one to help my grandmother. No one. She saved my life, and now I’m going to save hers.”
“You could tell the Tavonesis.”
“I can’t take that chance. If they involve the police—”
“I’ll talk to Adrian—to Mr. Tavonesi,” she corrected. She put her hands to her hips. “Do you trust me?”
“We’re talking a life here, Natasha.”
“No, Enrique, we’re talking more than just one life.”
She’d have to confess her disability. Either take that risk or send a man and a little old lady to certain death. She’d have to explain how Enrique had access to the accounts. In a small way she felt responsible, even guilty, for putting temptation in his path. It was her unwillingness to tell the truth, to own up to her limitations, that had created his access in the first place.
But what of her life? What of Tyler? Adrian didn’t run the entire Casa business. His father and siblings would have a say. If she was fired, would Eddie have the ammo to have the courts find her unworthy? To get full custody? The thought of him having any right to Tyler at all already kept her awake at night. She couldn’t imagine him actually having say over Tyler’s life.
She said goodbye to Rosa and told Enrique not to do anything until she had a chance to talk with Adrian.
When she returned to her car, she hesitated before inserting the key. The very last thing she needed right then was to drive over to Tyler’s baseball game and face Adrian before she had a chance to think. But she was a mom. No other job came before that.
Chapter Twenty-Two
NATASHA WAVED AT MONICA AS SHE stepped up into the new bleachers at the school ball field. The new scoreboard behind centerfield was nearly complete. But her mind wasn’t on scoreboards or baseball or even Tyler. She’d run fifty different scenarios in her mind on the drive from Enrique’s to the school. And his grandmother’s face still haunted her.
Her racing thoughts made it hard to focus on the first hitters of the visiting team. Maybe Adrian wouldn’t show. She drew in a long breath and let it out slowly, cracking her neck and trying to release the kink of stress lodged in her muscles.
“Hey. You seem miles away,” Adrian said as he sat next to her. He glanced at the unfinished scoreboard. “Who’s winning?”
How he could make small talk was beyond her. Funds were missing from his business, and he was asking her about the score of a kid’s baseball game.
“I’m not sure.”
He reached for her hand. “That’s not like you.”
She couldn’t look him in the eye.
“The scoreboard isn’t ready.” Damn. Her voice faltered.
“I see that.” He put his fingers to her chin and turned her face to his. “Natasha, don’t worry about the money. I know you must’ve needed it. I’ll just smooth things over, and we can move on. You don’t ha
ve to explain.”
She yanked her hand from his. His forgiving lord-of-the-manor tone enflamed her. He thought she’d stolen the money. She’d been judged a thief and passed a lenient sentence. Images of being unjustly accused throughout her horrid years with foster parents pushed waves of anxiety into her stomach. For a minute she was sure she’d be sick.
She had to get away from him.
And she needed to think. She’d planned to admit her disability, to tell Adrian about Enrique’s dilemma. To set up a way for Enrique to slowly pay the money back. But he’d glossed over the theft—because she’d had sex with him? If he knew Enrique had taken the money, would he get the same lenience? She doubted it.
“I have to go,” she said.
“But what about the game, it’s—”
“I have things to do. Please don’t follow me.” She jumped up and ran down the bleacher steps.
Tyler.
She turned back and dashed over to where Monica sat chatting and laughing with two other moms.
“Could you give Tyler a ride home after the game, please?”
“Sure, Natasha. But I promised Brandon pizza tonight—okay if I take Tyler out with us before I bring him home?”
Perfect. She’d have time to sort out her thoughts.
“That’d be great, thanks. He loves pizza.” Natasha forced her face to cooperate and smiled at the two other moms. She longed for the day when she could host sleepovers, buy the pizzas, and share freely, just as these moms did. But right then she had troubles to face, tough problems to wrestle before that day came. “Cheer for the home team for me. And thanks again, Monica. Appreciate it.”
She’d felt Adrian’s eyes on her during the whole exchange. But he hadn’t followed her. Damned if every time she turned around the guy didn’t do something respectful. Something thoughtful. He probably thought that glossing over the theft was a kind thing to do. He couldn’t know how his assumption that she was a thief had triggered sickening memories from her years with drunken foster parents. With people who’d falsely accused her of deeds she hadn’t committed.
How could he think she’d done it? She’d thought he knew her. But how could he know her when she’d purposefully kept so much of her life a secret?
The whole damned thing was her fault.
But the tears that slid down her cheeks weren’t from guilt. She’d wanted so badly to believe in the dream that she’d fooled herself into believing she could create the life she dreamed of. Worse, she’d believed Adrian knew her soul. She’d fooled herself into believing in a world that didn’t exist, that would never exist.
On the way home from the ballgame, Natasha stopped off at Inspire to plant the fuchsias and salvias she’d bought for the tiny back garden. She could’ve just taken them since they were surplus, but she liked to do things straight up, pay her way. And wasn’t that just a hell of an irony?
It was a good thing that Mary wasn’t around to ask questions. Adrian’s assumption that she’d stolen from the Casa lanced deeper into her belly and made it hard to think about anything else. As she worked the bag of soil into the raised garden bed and eased the starts into the earth, hot tears ran down her cheeks and fell onto the tiny plants. She brushed the soil from her hands, wiped the tears from her cheeks and said a silent prayer that her warring thoughts would give her some peace. But they didn’t. With still-trembling hands, she grabbed the plastic bag that had held the soil and marched to her car in the fading evening light. Her plans for a full-on flower garden to brighten Inspire’s back patio and cheer the women and children would have to wait.
Her stop at the grocery store didn’t do anything to calm the sharp bursts of adrenaline spiking in her chest. When she pulled in front of her apartment, she couldn’t even remember what she’d bought.
She opened her car door and then realized she hadn’t unfastened the seat belt. With the back of her hand she wiped the wetness from her face and then undid the belt.
Slow. Slow.
But saying the words brought to life the memory of Adrian’s voice thick with passion whispering the same words to her in the wine cave. She couldn’t think about that. Not right now. She swung her legs out of the car.
A man exited a black sedan parked across the street. He walked purposely toward her. Instinctively she got back into her car and closed the door.
He walked to her driver’s side window.
“Natasha Raley?” He spoke her name in a tone that told her he knew exactly who she was.
“Yes?”
“I have something for you.” He reached into his coat pocket and handed her an envelope.
“You have been officially served with court papers. I’ve been instructed to inform you that if you fail to respond to these legal documents in the time frame allowed or to appear in court on the date set within them, a default judgment will be entered against you by the courts.”
He pulled out a phone and snapped a photo of her holding the envelope. And then without a word he turned, got into his car and drove off.
Served?
Her steps were unsteady as she pulled the bag of groceries from her trunk and made her way into her apartment. Once inside, she tore open the envelope. That she could make out most of what it said was a tribute to her dyslexia counselor and her class instructor. The irony that the first document she could read with her newfound skill was a court summons didn’t make her laugh.
Eddie.
He hadn’t waited for her to contact him. She kept coming back to the same question—why after so many years was he in such a damned hurry?
She read the title across the top of the page again—Uniform Parentage: Petition for Custody and Support—a rather dry grouping of words for a possibly life-altering document. It should have said: warning, an asshole is about to take your kid! She flipped to the blank form at the back—Declaration Under Uniform Child Custody Jurisdiction and Enforcement Act. A declaration? What was she supposed to declare? Was she supposed to fill it out? She wanted to burn it.
The front door banged open.
“Mom! You missed my home run. But Brandon and I got to have pizza.”
“A home run, that’s great, honey.”
“More than great, we won seven to five. We get to go to the regionals.”
And she’d missed the game.
“You had work, huh, Mom?”
“Lots of work. But it’s almost done.” She scooped up the papers and stuffed them into the envelope.
“Adrian stayed for the entire game. Then he had pizza with us. He’s awesome, Mom. And I think he likes you.”
“Why do you say that?” She couldn’t resist asking.
“He told Monica that you have a real talent with plants—something like that. But it was the way he said it, special-like. Like in the movies. You know, those gooey ones you like to watch.”
Her heart did a little flip. Someday Tyler would fall in love and battle with his heart. But for tonight she needed to get him settled down and doing his homework so she could focus and make some phone calls for help.
“Ten-minute break,” she said, tousling his hair. “And then get out here and do your homework.”
He ducked away from her hand. “Can’t we go to town for an ice cream? We made the regionals. Only four teams get to go.”
“We’ll celebrate this weekend.”
“Adrian’s right. You are a tough cookie.”
After Natasha saw Tyler into bed, she went into the kitchen and made a cup of chamomile tea. She dreaded sleep and the dreams it might bring. The nightmare of the past few days was bad enough. Her employee had embezzled funds, the man who’d cracked her heart open to love—who also happened to be her boss—thought she was a thief, and a man who’d seared ugly fears into her soul so many years ago, fears she still battled every day, was about to lay claim to her son.
But worse than all those challenges combined was the drag of sadness that threatened to engulf her. She’d known all along that a future with Adrian was impossib
le. At least she’d always known it in her head. But now? Now she knew it in her heart.
Chapter Twenty-Three
ADRIAN DOWNED A SECOND ESPRESSO AND then drove to the vineyard. All morning he’d rerun his conversation with Natasha at the ballgame in his head. Why hadn’t she accepted his forgiveness? The money didn’t matter. He knew she’d had a good reason to do something so drastic.
He had to see her, to smooth things over. To convince her that he’d help—now and in the future—with whatever it was that had forced her to take the funds.
He parked next to the Casa gift shop. With long, impatient strides he reached the greenhouse. She wasn’t in her office. He checked his watch. Nine fifteen. She never came in late.
Enrique entered the greenhouse with a wheelbarrow full of dirt.
“Have you seen Natasha?”
“No, Mr. Tavonesi.”
The man’s searching gaze made Adrian uncomfortable.
“That’s good-looking soil,” Adrian said, turning his attention to the wheelbarrow.
“Casa compost. Best I’ve ever worked with.”
When Adrian looked up, Enrique was still staring.
“What?” He hated to be stared at.
“There’s something you should know, sir.”
“I’ll be back later today,” Adrian said as he headed for the door. He wasn’t in any mood to discuss business right then. He had to find Natasha.
“It’s about Señora Raley.”
Adrian stopped. Pivoted.
“What is it?” He hadn’t meant for his tone to be curt, but his nerves were on edge.
As Adrian drove to Natasha’s, he fought down his urge to be angry—jealous?—that Natasha had confided in Enrique but not him. Natasha’s car was parked in front of her apartment. Adrian pulled in behind it.
When she answered his knock, her eyes narrowed.
“I don’t want to talk to you right now.”