The hotel more than lived up to its five-star rating. Done in sand-colored adobe, it was single story and constructed Territorial-style around an enclosed courtyard, with the three rooms of the Governor’s Suite comprising the entire south wing. The suite boasted dark-beamed ceilings supported by intricately carved corbels and kivas in both the living room and bedroom. Neither fireplace was likely to get much daytime use with the temperature hovering at a balmy seventy-three, but the nights at this elevation could still carry a chill. The bed, they discovered, was king-size, canopied and also elaborately carved. The Jacuzzi tub could fit both him and Alex with room to spare.
Sudden, intense heat speared into him as his gaze cut from the bed to the tub and back again. Thank God he’d persuaded the surgeon to cut off the cast and let him switch to a removable boot. He was ready—more than ready!—to make love to his wife without having to sling around that damned fiberglass tube. He was calculating how fast he could get Alex through lunch and out of her clothes when she unknowingly gave a boost to his fast-developing plans.
“Oooh, Ben, come look! We have our own private patio.”
Her face was a study in delight as she led him through a set of French doors into a walled patio complete with a bubbling fountain, an outdoor kiva, a wrought iron table and chairs, and two oversize loungers positioned in the corner of the patio not shaded by a pergola sporting strings of red chili ristras. What looked to Ben like every species of flower in the book filled strategically placed clay pots. He recognized the pink geraniums and the bright-eyed daisies, but the purple spiky things and the brilliant orange blossoms on the vine climbing up and over the walls were beyond his level of botanical expertise. The hot tub tucked in a secluded corner of the patio earned his instant approval, though.
“This is so gorgeous,” Alex exclaimed as she dipped her fingers in the fountain. “Instead of going out to lunch, let’s just order from the room service and eat here.”
“Fine by me.”
More than fine, in fact. Ben made quick work of retrieving the heavily embossed menu from the desk in the sitting room and nailing down Alex’s choice of tortilla soup and a chipotle chicken wrap. He added beer-braised elk tacos for himself and a bottle of white pinot noir. He was no connoisseur but Swish had introduced him to white pinot during an overnight in Oregon. Even his grossly uneducated palette could pick out the hints of apple, pear and ginger in the pale gold wine.
“Thirty minutes,” he reported back to Alex.
“Great!” She swung around and started back into the suite. “Just enough time to unpack and—”
“Unpacking can wait.” Ben caught her elbow and tugged her toward him. “Let’s start with our own brand of appetizer.”
She came into his arms, her brown eyes filled with laughter. “You sure we can stop once we start?”
“No, but I’m willing to take the chance.”
Twenty seconds after her mouth opened under his, Ben realized stopping was not an option. Nor was taking it slow, which had been his intention right up until she shimmied out of her jeans and glitzy tank top.
Twenty seconds after that, he had her stretched out on one of the loungers. With another fervent prayer of thanks to the doc for agreeing to deep-six the cast, he tore at the boot’s Velcro straps, kicked out of it and joined her on the lounger.
The prelunch quickie left Alex boneless with pleasure. The longer, far more languorous session that followed lunch and a leisurely soak in the hot tub had her thinking that this marriage business was pretty damned sweet.
Chapter Ten
The next day dawned bright and warm. Afterward, Alex would always think of that lazy Santa Fe Saturday morning as the last stretch of calm before the tsunami hit.
It began with her waking up in Ben’s arms, which was not a bad way to start any day. She hummed deep in her throat as he rolled her onto her back and nuzzled her neck.
“You sound like Sox,” he said, his voice husky in her ear as he fit his body against hers.
She loved the feel of him. The way he filled her. Stretched her. Used his mouth and his hands and his hips to propel her from sleepy to greedy to liquid with pleasure. When her climax hit, she arched her back and locked her calves on his, straining against him, pulling him deeper, fusing her body with his.
Afterward, she sprawled amid the tangled sheets and wallowed in the last, tingling sensations while he pulled on his briefs and made coffee in the suite’s minikitchen.
“Here you go. Two creams, no sugar, right?”
“Right.” Wiggling upright, she took a grateful sip. “How come I’m all drained and limp and you’re charging around like the Energizer Bunny?”
“Conditioning, sweetheart. Years of rigorous conditioning.”
“You got a lot of this particular form of exercise, did you?”
“Maybe not this particular form.” He laughed, dropping a kiss on her nose. “But you have to admit it’s a great way to get the blood pumping.”
She couldn’t argue with that so she merely grunted and buried her nose in the mug.
Still bristling with energy, he headed for the bathroom. “I’ll hit the shower while you get undrained and decide what you want to do about breakfast.”
* * *
What she wanted, she decided when they were both dressed and enjoying a second cup of coffee on the patio, was quiche and a croissant at her favorite French bistro.
“Sounds good to me,” Ben agreed.
They exited their suite into midmorning sunshine heavy with the fragrance of the honeysuckle and bougainvillea that spilled over the walls of their hotel. Alex shortened her stride to accommodate Ben’s cane and uneven pace in the boot. Still, it took them only a few short moments to join the tourists thronging the long portico of the Palace of the Governors.
The shaded terrace was a prime locale for Native Americans to display their handicrafts on colorful blankets. Turquoise-studded silver jewelry sparkled in the sun. Hand-thrown pottery bowls and vases displayed distinctive designs from the various pueblos, as did the intricately woven baskets. Feathers and beads decorated hand-carved kachina dolls that ranged from just a few inches to several feet in height. One in particular stopped Alex in her tracks.
It was an Eagle Dancer, his feathered arms outspread. Turquoise beads decorated his leather clothing, and his head was a beaked mask. One foot was lifted and the body was tilted at an angle that instantly evoked the drumbeat of the dance. It was only about ten inches tall, but the delicate balance and exquisite carving thrilled the artist in Alex’s soul.
“How beautiful!” She lifted her admiring gaze from the kachina to the elderly gentleman hunkered down on a red plastic crate behind his wares. “Did you carve this?”
He curved his lips in a smile that almost got lost in the mass of wrinkles crinkling his weathered skin. “I did. You know the Eagle Dancer? He’s the ruler of the skies, a messenger to the heavens.”
“The ruler of the skies,” Alex echoed softly, lifting the piece to run a careful fingertip over the beadwork.
“Kachinas are our link to the spirit world,” the old man said. “Each year they come down to earth and dance to bring life and renewal. When they return to the sky after the planting, they carry our prayers that the circle of life will continue.”
An image of row upon row of white markers filled her mind. Her heart thumping, she made an instant decision.
“I’ll take it.”
The seller’s cataract-clouded black eyes widened. “Don’t you want to know the price?”
“Alex,” Ben murmured from just behind her, “maybe you should let me do the bargaining.”
“No.” She aimed a brilliant smile at the artist. “I know excellent work when I see it. I trust you to price it appropriately.”
Put on the spot, the old man stroked his whiskered chin for several moments, then gave a figure tha
t was lower than Alex expected but higher than Ben thought she should pay.
“You should make a counteroffer,” he urged.
“Nope, I don’t want to devalue your gift.”
“My gift?”
“He’s the king of the skies,” she reminded him as she emptied her wallet to pay the artist. “Show him the proper respect and he’ll watch over you every time you take off.”
After the seller Bubble Wrapped the kachina and tucked it in a plastic Walmart bag, Ben accepted the gift Alex handed him with a lopsided smile. “I didn’t know you believed in spirits.”
“Some people call them angels,” she answered, shrugging. “Some label them saints or prophets. I’m certainly not qualified to debate the differences,” she said as she slipped her arm through his. “But I’m willing to cover all bets if it’ll keep you safe.”
The simple declaration hacksawed through about a dozen of Ben’s tough outer layers. He’d been on his own for so long. Had relied on only himself and his squadron mates and his crew for years. He honestly couldn’t remember the last time someone unconnected with Special Ops had thumped him on the back and said they’d keep him in their thoughts, much less their prayers.
The realization that he was now part of a small family circle only tangentially connected with the air force hit like a bucketful of ice water. Christ! Had that runaway cargo pallet crunched his head as well as his foot?
These past weeks he’d focused on easing Alex and Maria into his military existence. Introducing Alex to his boss at the 58th and showing her around the squadron had constituted a first step. Bringing up pictures of his aircraft on Maria’s iPad and sharing highly sanitized versions of his missions with her had been another. He’d figured that taking the two of them to the Memorial Day picnic would represent the next phase in their induction to military life.
What the hell had he done to enter their world? Sure, he’d picked Maria up from school a few times. And yes, he’d offered to facilitate Alex’s entry into the military sales market. But he’d pleaded work as an excuse to avoid going to church with them on Sundays and had zero understanding of the tenets of their Catholic faith. He knew as much about their basic beliefs as Sox did. The thought both humbled and embarrassed him.
“Tell you what,” he said, pressing her arm against his side. “I’ll explore how angels and saints and kachinas fit into the spiritual galaxy with you. We might both be surprised at what we learn.”
“Deal,” she said with a smile that sent warmth curling through him.
Lord! Did she have any idea how that smile lit her up from the inside out? Or the punch it delivered to Ben’s chest? He was still feeling its impact when they crossed the plaza to the La Fonda hotel.
The multistory building sported a bronze plaque that designated it as one of the Historic Hotels of America. The brief description below indicated that one of the first businesses the Spanish established when they settled Santa Fe in 1607 was an inn, or fonda. A fonda in one form or another had existed in this same location ever since. In the 1800s the La Fonda hotel marked the terminus of the Santa Fe Trail. The Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe Railway acquired the sprawling establishment in 1925 and leased it to Fred Harvey, who operated it as one of his famous Harvey House Hotels.
Constructed of earth-colored adobe, the facility boasted a number of expensive boutiques all along its stuccoed exterior. The French Pasty Shop café occupied a prime spot in the hotel’s north facade.
“Kind of incongruous for a Spanish-style hotel set smack on Santa Fe’s main plaza to house a French bakery,” Ben commented as they joined the crowd. “What’s the story on that?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe because there’s always been a sizable French presence in Santa Fe. It was a big trading center for French fur trappers in the early days, and I know the first bishop of Santa Fe was a Frenchman.” She nodded to the massive, square-towered church that dominated the view at the end of the block. “Archbishop Jean-Baptiste Lamy ordered the construction of that cathedral and established the network of Catholic schools throughout New Mexico.”
They entered the pastry shop and exchanged the increasingly warm outside air for air-conditioned cool carrying the tantalizing scent of fresh baked goods. Ben was more of a huevos rancheros than quiche kind of guy but the array in the bakery’s glass cases looked eminently edible. He and Alex placed their orders, then snagged a corner table that overlooked the plaza. He was careful to position both his cane and the Bubble Wrapped kachina on the inside of his chair, out from the traffic pattern. He still felt guilty that Alex had spent so much for the Eagle Dancer and fully intended to reciprocate with whatever piece of jewelry or art that might catch her interest.
“I better call and see how Chelsea’s surviving kitten and kid.” With a wry grin, she fished her phone from her purse. “They should be up by now, although both Chelsea and Maria have been known to sleep past noon.”
“I’m betting Sox got at least one of them up.”
He would’ve won the bet. Judging by Alex’s side of the conversation, her roommate had some choice words to say about animals that sat on a person’s face while other unnamed persons slept blissfully undisturbed.
“It’s almost ten, Chels. You need to get her up and moving.” Alex listened for a few moments and had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. “You’re right. She does give an excellent imitation of a dead dolphin when you try to roll her out of bed. But you can handle it. I know. I know. Okay, I’ll call you later.”
She hung up, her eyes dancing, and shot Ben a conspiratorial grin. “They’re going to the mall. If and when Chelsea can rouse a still-comatose Maria.”
Having listened to Alex perform the same Herculean task a number of times now, Ben wished the showgirl luck just as a server arrived with their order.
“Here you go.”
To his relief, his mushroom, onion and Gruyère quiche came in a man-size portion. As an added bonus, the croissants were flaky and buttery and the coffee was dark and rich. He left the pastry shop more than satisfied and ready for whatever Alex wanted to do with the rest of the day. When asked, she hesitated.
“I usually roam the Canyon Road galleries when I’m in Santa Fe. They give me a lot of inspiration for my designs. But they’re all pretty artsy-fartsy.”
“I can handle artsy-fartsy.”
Maybe. Ben wasn’t quite as confident by the time they reached the start of the historic half mile. Flowering vines, cacti and clay pots spilling brilliant color lured visitors into shops housed in traditional adobe structures trimmed in turquoise and white.
“There are more than a hundred galleries, artist studios, jewelry stores, boutiques and gourmet restaurants along this short stretch,” Alex informed him happily. “I promise I won’t drag you into all of them, but only if you promise to tell me if your foot starts to ache. Agreed?”
“Agreed.”
“Here, let me carry the kachina.”
“I’ve got it,” he said, shifting the bag to his right hand so he could work the cane with his left.
He made it through less than a third of the galleries. The sculptures and paintings and lithographs and squash blossom necklaces were all stunning but a guy could only ingest so much dazzling art. He tried to talk Alex into identifying a favorite piece that he could purchase for her. She resisted, insisting she was just there to generate ideas.
He found an unexpected niche in an antiques shop specializing in early Spanish and American military artifacts. Alex left him perched happily on a folding camp stool while the shop owner detailed the history of various service pistols. She returned a half hour later and found him walking out of the shop trying to maneuver cane, kachina and a bulky, brown-paper-wrapped package.
“Ben!” She rushed to relieve him of the package. The weight made her arms sag, and the musty odor wrinkled her nose. “What is this?”
“A buffal
o coat.”
“Huh?”
“Trappers wore them to keep warm in the winter. So did US soldiers on the frontier.”
“What in the world are you going to do with a buffalo coat?”
“Send it to Dingo.”
“Who’s Dingo?”
“Blake Andrews. Ex-military cop. You met him at the Cactus Café the night of the Badger Bash.”
“Oh, right.” She shifted the heavy bundle. “Why does Dingo want a buffalo robe?”
“He doesn’t. That’s the whole point.”
“I don’t get it.”
“The thing is, I still owe him for...” He slanted her a quick, slashing grin. “Let’s just say I owe him.”
That cocky grin twisted something in her heart. She didn’t have time to analyze what it was before he hooked two fingers in his mouth and summoned the cab sitting idle at the top of Canyon Road with a piercing whistle. Moments later Alex manhandled herself and the clumsy bundle into the back seat. Ben folded himself in on the other side.
The ride back to their hotel took less than ten minutes. Once there, Alex suggested they chill on the patio for a while before entering any serious discussion about a late lunch or early dinner.
“We could do that,” Ben agreed. “Or...” He stashed his aromatic purchase in a corner of the sitting room and hooked his cane over the back of a chair. “We could soak away our aches in our own private hot tub.”
“Ben!” Alex’s face flooded with instant concern. “You promised you’d tell me if your foot started hurting.”
“My foot’s not hurting,” he deadpanned.
“Then what...? Oh!” The worry darkening her eyes shaded into laughter. “You idiot! You scared me there for a moment.”
“Sorry. How about I make it up to you with a nice soothing soak?”
Marry Me, Major Page 13