Against the Wind (7 page)

He’s going to kiss me, she thought with sudden, dizzying panic and excitement. He’s going to put that grim, unsmiling mouth on mine, pull me into his arms and …

He stopped a few feet short of her, and that damned, distant smile flitted over his unreadable face. “Your mother wants to see you.”

The disappointment that washed over her was ludicrous, considering the panic that had preceded it at the thought of those strong, merciless hands on her body. Maddy swallowed bravely.

“What about?” Eric Thompson suddenly seemed miles away and far too young for her.

Though Jake was at a distance from her she could read the sudden disturbed look that filtered through his eyes. She could tell that he knew he shouldn’t be there with her, knew that it was dangerous indeed. The thought pleased her immeasurably, and she moved closer.

“If it’s something unpleasant,” she added, stopping when she was within a foot of him, and she could feel the warmth emanating from his black-clad body, “then I don’t want to hear it.” She felt wicked, daring, and very mature. She reached out a slender hand and placed it on his arm. “Why don’t you tell her you couldn’t find me, Jake?” she murmured, smiling up at him provocatively. “She never has anything nice to say.”

He didn’t move, but she could feel the tension in him, the energy tightly held in check. “You’re playing with fire, Maddy,” he said finally, his voice not much more than a growl. “And you’re too young to get burned.”

She stood very still. The muscles in his arm were bunched beneath her fingers, and the hazel eyes that looked down into her wide brown ones were very dangerous. She had the sudden, fanciful feeling that if she didn’t move fast she’d be caught.

Yet he seemed to mesmerize her, so that she was unable to move, unable to speak a word, could only stand there looking up at him, her lips parted breathlessly. And willed his head to dip closer to hers, for that mouth to capture hers.

“Madelyn!” Helen’s perfectly modulated tones cut through the moment like a razor, and Maddy jumped, guilt and nervousness washing over her.

If she expected to see Jake equally confounded she was in for a surprise. His hand caught hers as she tried to jerk
away, holding her tightly in a grip unseen by her eagle-eyed mother. “I was just telling Maddy you were looking for her,” he said calmly, his long fingers soothing the back of her hand with a warning gesture.

“Do you spend a lot of time in my daughter’s bedroom, Jake?” Helen demanded with that icy drawl she’d perfected years ago. “I hadn’t realized Maddy’s adolescent passion was reciprocated.” Helen allowed her cool brown eyes to trail over Maddy’s tall, willowy body. “You have improved, dearest. Even beyond what I imagined possible. I suppose we’ll have to keep a close watch on you.”

Maddy had flushed a miserable, unbecoming pink, and she opened her mouth to protest, then shut it again. Once more her cavalier came to her rescue, and she fell in love with him all over again.

“I was just telling Maddy how pretty she was,” Jake said.

“I’m sure you were,” Helen Currier Lambert said. “And were you telling her good-bye?”

“Good-bye?” Maddy echoed, horrified.

“Jake is leaving us, darling. Aren’t you, Jake?” There was a steely look in her mother’s eyes, one that Jake met with simple, utter hatred.

“That hasn’t been decided yet, Mrs. Lambert.” His voice was deathly cold.

Helen’s smile was a deathgrin on her beautifully boned face. “Well, you’ll leave us alone right now, won’t you, Jake? It’s time for a little mother-daughter discussion.”

Maddy threw him a beseeching look, but there was nothing more he could do. Ignoring the woman at the door, he reached out and caught Maddy’s hand again. “You look beautiful, Maddy,” he said in a gentle voice. “Eric Thompson is very lucky.”

She hadn’t realized he’d even known about Eric. Before she could say anything more he’d gone, his overwhelming presence draining the frilly bedroom of energy, making it pale and sad.

Helen shut the door behind him, advancing on her daughter with a cold, determined expression on her elegant face. “There’s trouble,” she said abruptly. “I decided you’d better be warned.”

“What sort of trouble?” Sudden panic filled her.

“With the campaign, of course. I can’t go into it now. If we’re lucky, if your father decides to take his head out of the clouds and face reality for once in his life, then we may muddle through. We’ll know by the end of tonight.”

“The campaign!” Maddy said in sudden relief, visions of her brother, long incommunicado on his cross-country trip, filling her head. “I thought it was something important.”

Helen Currier Lambert reached out and slapped her daughter across the face, hard. The sound of it echoed through the bedroom, shocking both women, and through Maddy’s blur of pain and astonishment she thought she saw her mother’s hand shaking.

If Helen Currier Lambert ever showed weakness or regret it was only temporary. By the time Maddy had recovered from the blow Helen was once more in control. “It’s time you learned a few home truths, Madelyn. About life in the big city, about politics, and about men. People don’t become President without making a few deals, greasing a few palms, doing a few things that are generally unpalatable to those of your father’s lofty ideals. It all boils down to ‘you scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours.’ If your father wants to help all the waifs and homeless ones of this world, he’ll have to compromise a few principles to do it.”

“And Father doesn’t agree with that?”

Helen shuddered delicately, moving away from her daughter to stare out the third floor window. “That remains to be seen. I expect he’ll make up his mind in the next few hours—your father has never been one to be indecisive.” She turned to smile brilliantly at her daughter, ignoring the imprint of her hand on Maddy’s lightly tanned face. “But under the circumstances you can see that it’s highly unlikely that either of us will make it to your birthday party. I hope you don’t mind.”

It was all so polite, with the feel on the blow still raw on her face, Maddy mused. “No, I don’t mind.”

“No, I didn’t imagine you would. Eric Thompson will be sufficient distraction. You can’t say I didn’t do well by you this year. Eric Thompson is a very nice-looking young man.”

“Is he my birthday present?” Maddy said coolly.

“In a manner of speaking. You’ve always liked him—until you developed this embarrassing crush on Murphy he was quite the center of your universe.”

“Thank you, Mother.” Maddy’s voice was quiet and cool.

Helen roused herself from her abstraction. “And of course there’s the car. Though why in the world you’d prefer a Volkswagen Beetle to a Mustang is beyond me. It doesn’t do your father’s campaign any good, you know. It’s always wise to buy American—the voting public notices things like that.”

“Screw the campaign,” Maddy said.

This time she had her mother’s full attention, and her smile was coolly self-contained. “You realize that if your father withdraws, as he might very well do, he’ll lose his Secret Service protection?”

Maddy controlled her flinch. “Is that what you meant by Jake leaving us?”

Helen hesitated. “No, he’d be leaving us either way. I don’t like the effect he has on you. I don’t know what was going on when I walked in on you—”

“Absolutely nothing!”

“—but I’ll have you remember that he’s an adult and you’re still a child. There’s a word for men who like to prey on infants, and it’s not a very nice one.”

“You’re disgusting,” Maddy spat the words. “Jake and I are friends.”

Helen smiled like a lizard. “Tell me, darling, do you honestly think Jake Murphy crawling into your bed is disgusting? I find that hard to believe, after watching you panting around him all summer.”

Maddy held herself very still. “Why are you doing this to me?” she said finally.

Helen drew herself upright. “You’re my daughter,” she said. “I’m trying to protect you. I’m trying to keep you from making as big a fool of yourself as your father seems about to do.”

“So if you can’t attack Father you come up here and attack me?” Maddy said with surprising shrewdness. “No, thank you, Mother. I haven’t got anything more to say to you. I’m sure Father will make the right decision tonight. I only hope it’s not the one you want.”

There was a long silence in the room. “Madelyn,” Helen said, and the smoothness in her voice warned Maddy to beware. “We’ve never been close. I’m not the sort to seek out the company of other women, and I’m not cut out for motherhood. But it’s my responsibility to warn you, however unpleasant that might be.”

“I don’t need any warnings. …”

“Oh, yes, my dear, you most certainly do. I can’t
promise that Jake Murphy will be out of this house as quickly as I want him to be, but I can at least guarantee that you keep out of his way. I think in his own way he’s just as fascinated with you as you are with him.”

“He thinks of me as a younger sister.”

“Like hell he does. I have eyes in my head, Madelyn, even if you’re too busy mooning around to notice. He wants you, and I don’t trust him not to do anything about it.”

“And you think by telling me that it will keep me away from him?” Maddy scoffed. “Mother, I’m seventeen. That’s more likely to entice me than frighten me.” That was a lie, but her mother wouldn’t know it.

But Helen wasn’t disturbed by Maddy’s bravado. “No, dear one, that’s not what I’m going to warn you about. I’m going to tell you what happened to John Thomas Murphy in Vietnam, and what he did there. And then I have no doubt at all you’ll keep away from him. No doubt at all.”

A lazy mosquito landed on her bare arm, stalked around at a leisurely pace, and then bit. With equal abstraction Maddy swatted him, and the sound was jarring in the still room.

Ramon looked up from his position by the door and flashed her a tentative smile. “The mosquito season is almost over,
gracias a Dios
. You should be glad El Patrón decided to stay up here in the mountains, rather than along the Mosquito Coast.”

“Mosquito Coast?” Maddy echoed, staring at the itching red spot where the bug had recently feasted.

“La Mosquitia. Not at all pleasant, any time of year. The bugs have almost died out up here. You can even sleep with the windows open.”

“That’s a relief. I would probably suffocate otherwise. Puente del Norte doesn’t seem to come equipped with air conditioning,” she said with a vague attempt at humor.

Luis snorted, the noise giving his opinion of elitist
gringa
pigs who have to have air conditioning to survive. Maddy surveyed him from her seat against the wall, wondering for a moment whether there was any way she could get past that angry militancy. The throbbing rib warned her that it was highly unlikely. Luis was no friendlier than Enrique, the guardian at the gate. It would take more charm than she possessed to calm their distrust.

“How long have you been here?” she questioned idly.

Ramon hesitated, then obviously decided that telling her wouldn’t compromise his orders. After all, Murphy hadn’t said to do anything other than watch her. If he wanted her kept in the dark he would have said so—Murphy was always direct.

“In this house, nine months. In the area, two years. It has been a long time, a long war.” He sighed.

“And how long have El Patrón and … and La Patrona been married?”

It was Ramon’s turn to snort, and even the dour Luis looked amused. “Not La Patróna,” the latter said decisively. “Señora Lambert, Soledad is, but never La Patróna.”

“They have been married one year,” Ramon explained. “Though they have been together for longer than that.”

“And why isn’t she ‘La Patróna?’” Maddy persisted.

Ramon grinned. “It’s a title of respect, to be earned. Let us say Soledad has done nothing to earn it.”

Luis seemed in the mood to talk. “She was Morosa’s mistress when she was fourteen years old. He tired of her, passed her down to Ortega, but Soledad is not the kind of
woman to settle for second in command. She changed sides, and El Patrón is an honorable man. Not the kind of man to leave a woman helpless.” The message was clear. If the Saint of San Pablo had a daughter he never would have repudiated her.

Maddy considered arguing the point, then dismissed the notion, changing the subject. “And the others? Do they have titles of respect?”

“Or otherwise. Carlos, the man you met on the road, is called the Jackal, but that is more his idea than anyone else’s. Feldman is El Nabo.”

“The turnip,” Luis volunteered with a sour smile. “The man is useless in a fight. Don’t look to him for help,
gringa.”

Maddy gave him her best smile. “I won’t. Thanks for the advice.”

Luis snarled.

“The ladies are los Madres, the mothers. I don’t think you would wish to hear what we call Soledad. I doubt you would even know the word, and I would not care to translate. The doctor also is called something not kind but unfortunately descriptive. And we have El Patrón, of course.”

“And what about Murphy? What is he called?”

Ramon shook his head. “Murphy is called nothing but Murphy. In his case it is a title with enough respect. He needs no other.”

“Do I have a name?” she questioned idly.

Ramon shook his head. “Not yet. Time will tell.”

“What about La Curiosa?” Jake’s gravelly voice broke through the lazy conversation. “The snoop?”

Ramon laughed his appreciation, but Maddy was suddenly stilled, that overwhelming tension filling her at his return. She had already become accustomed to the long
hair, to the savage look of his worn khakis and his distant face. What she couldn’t come to terms with was his reappearance in her life, when she thought he’d been gone for good.

“I am not allowed to ask questions?” she said with dignity.

Jake shrugged, his hazel eyes curiously light. “You may ask all you wish, Allison. Whether anyone chooses to answer is another matter. Come along.”

Maddy sat without moving. “Are you taking me to see my father?”

“I’m taking you for a walk in the garden.”

“And if I don’t care to go?”

Jake’s smile was scarcely reassuring. “You have no choice in the matter.”