Authors: Phoebe Conn
She sighed and raised her arms above her head. “I’m so glad I don’t have to go home tonight.”
“You should have stayed with me last night.”
She purred softly rather than admit how eager she’d been to leave. He eased into her with a quick stroke and then slowed his pace. He felt so good inside her, stretching her and then seeking a home deep. The familiar joy grew in waves, drawing her, leading her, compelling her into a searing heat that scorched her clear through. When he caught his own pleasure with a hoarse gasp, she pulled him down into her arms.
She rubbed her knee along his leg. “That’s my kind of starburst.”
“Maybe a bursting star tattoo?”
“Absolutely not.” She giggled at the thought. “You’ve far too handsome a body to cover it with tattooed cartoons.”
They fell asleep in a tangle of arms and legs, woke to make love again, and slept until an energetic rooster crowed to greet the dawn.
Maggie got up first and found her nightgown tossed to the far side of the room. She went into the bathroom and tried unsuccessfully to wash the incriminating blush from her cheeks. She showered quickly, dried off and peeked into Rafael’s room. “Even if I can’t bear to watch, I wish you good luck this morning.”
He sat up in bed and scrubbed his hands through his hair. “I don’t think we need to get up this early.”
“Well, I’m up anyway.” She went into her room and pulled on the jeans she’d worn yesterday and was relieved to find she’d brought several knit shirts so she had a choice. She hadn’t really unpacked, so just zipped up her bag and left her new dress on its hanger. She looked out the window. “Ana’s Porsche is still here.”
Rafael responded with a muffled moan. “All right, fine, you stay in bed. I’m going downstairs.” She took the album they’d brought upstairs yesterday afternoon and Augustín’s journal. She placed the journal in the tin box with the other two and hoped Rafael wouldn’t believe she’d been worried he wouldn’t return it. She left the album on the desk.
Refugio was the only one in the kitchen. He was a short man who made up for his thinning hair with a luxurious mustache. He wore a chef’s white jacket but no hat. “Good morning, Señorita. It is another beautiful day.”
It was barely light enough to tell. “I heard the rooster. Do you have chickens here?”
“Of course. There is no need for a rooster without hens. How would you like your eggs?”
There was a delicious cinnamon aroma drifting from the bread baking in the oven. The huge cast-iron stove looked as though it was as old as the house. “Whatever you’re making for everyone else.”
“This is Wednesday, so I scramble them for the men first, and then give any guests we have here their choice.”
“I’ll wait until all the men have eaten. Have you been here a long while, Refugio?”
“Since I was a little boy. My father worked here, and I grew up hoping I could work here too.”
“So you knew Augustín?”
He shrugged. “No one really knew him. He was a quiet man, but the look in his eye could scare a man clear to his soul. He terrified me when I was a boy. Forgive me. I’ve said too much.”
“No, I want to learn about him. Do you know what happened to the memoir he was writing?”
“If I knew, I wouldn’t tell. Your grandmother is not one to be crossed.”
She understood. The memoir was gone and probably burned bit by bit. “She and Augustín must have been a charming pair.”
He pulled out a cast iron skillet. “She has never liked it here. Fortunately, the Aragons have always owned other houses. Maybe she is content elsewhere.”
His two young helpers came in the back door and greeted her politely, but their arrival ended Maggie’s hopes to learn more. She went back to the den for the album and carried it out on the front porch. Soon lost in thought, she left it unopened on her lap. She was surprised when Fox was the first one to join her. “You’re up awfully early. How did you sleep?” she asked.
“I didn’t. Santos and Ana are in the room next to mine. She kept threatening to leave, and he should have let her go.”
“Let’s not gossip about them.”
“It’s not gossip if I say they made too much noise for me to sleep. That’s a statement of fact.” He sat down, leaned back and yawned loudly.
“When you get older, you’ll find it becomes easier to be generous with your opinions. It may come as something of a shock.”
“My mother used to remind me to be polite. Miguel doesn’t hear anything I say, so it doesn’t matter. Santos is cool, though.”
She already knew Miguel wasn’t the most attentive of fathers. “Don’t they have rules at your school?”
“Too many to learn,” he complained. He settled into his chair and closed his eyes.
She didn’t pester him with any more questions. Perhaps an attempt to delve deeply into her relatives’ lives was foolish. Craig would say she was impossible to know, so how could she take it upon herself to pry into anyone else’s life? She thought of Augustín’s admonition, to stand in the center of your life. Maybe that was what they were all doing, being their own selfish selves within a cautious circle to exclude everyone else.
She opened the album and turned the pages slowly. Some of the names were still legible, and there were frequent photos taken there at the ranch. Many featured women on horseback, while their men stood beside them holding the reins. Their faces were shaded by their broad-brimmed hats, but they were all smiling as though they lived an idyllic life.
Then a large photograph of a matador appeared. Miguel had said his father and grandfather had been matadors, so the man had to be her great-grandfather rather than Augustín. He was handsome, like all the men in her family, with a wicked grin. There were several pages of him with his wife and son, Augustín, and then a newspaper photograph she quickly discovered was part of an obituary. His name had been Juan Diego Aragon, and he’d been only thirty-six when he’d died in the bullring in Madrid.
Stunned, she slammed the album shut, and Fox opened one eye. “What?”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.” She was relieved when he went back to sleep. It was no wonder Augustín had been such a cold, taciturn man when he’d probably witnessed his father’s violent death. How could he have gone on to become a matador? Had it been expected of him, or had he done it to restore the splendor of the Aragon name? Apparently he’d retired earlier than most men, but she was surprised he’d entered a bullring at all.
Ana came outside carrying the video camera. “Just sit still and give me a minute to practice.”
Fox sat up, suddenly fully alert. Maggie looked away. Ana was amazingly limber and coiled herself around a porch post to steady the camera. “If I brace myself on the top rail of the ring, I should be able to get footage that doesn’t look as though it was taken at sea.”
Fox left with her while Maggie had to swallow hard not to get sick. Would Rafael expect his son to follow him into a bullring? When he came out on the porch, she was still too shaken to look up at him.
“I know you don’t want to watch, but this won’t take long and we’ll go.”
She managed a distracted nod, and he walked around the house to the ring, carrying his folded cape. She went into the house to replace the album on its shelf in the den and feeling lost, went for a walk down the road toward the highway. There had to be moments, the first time she’d seen her father’s photograph, that would remain with her forever. This was another one, when she’d realized exactly where her relationship with Rafael Mondragon might lead. To make matters worse, any son they had would have the Aragon tradition in the bullring as well as his father’s. It was a catastrophe waiting to happen.
Rafael would only laugh if she refused to keep seeing him because if they ever had a son, she couldn’t bear for him to become a matador too. He’d argue they might not produce any children, or have only girls, who seldom wanted to fight bulls. They might have half a dozen sons who’d choose to become teachers, lawyers, architects or any number of worthwhile professions. She stopped to bend over and rested her hands on her knees. She was borrowing trouble that might never come, but she might be wiser still to avoid all possibility of it. She breathed deeply to stave off a full-blown panic attack and waited several minutes before straightening up.
She retraced her steps to the house chanting a mantra: “I’ll soon be home. I’ll soon be home.” She sat on the porch steps until she finally gathered the courage to peek around the corner. The ranch hands circling the bullring were shouting encouragement, so clearly things were going well for Rafael. She wanted only good things for him too, but she wouldn’t sacrifice her heart.
Chapter Thirteen
Rafael found Maggie on the front porch leaning back against the house. “What are you doing?”
She wiped her hands on her jeans. “Absolutely nothing. How did it go?”
“I thought it went well. Santos called me a clown.”
“He didn’t!”
“He did.” He tucked his cape under his arm and brushed the dust off his clothes and out of his hair. “Let’s see what Refugio has for breakfast before we go.”
Maggie could tolerate only a slice of the fresh cinnamon bread and a cup of tea while Rafael ate his fill of bacon and eggs. She didn’t understand how he could walk out of a bullring hungry rather than nauseous. Fox joined them and ate almost as much as Rafael. “What happened to Ana and Santos?” she asked.
“They’re out front by her car,” Fox replied.
“Who has the camera?” Rafael asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Excuse me.” Rafael rose and headed outside.
Maggie looked at Fox. “We don’t want to miss this.”
He beat her to the door. Ana was leaning against her Porsche, her arms crossed over her chest and speaking in too low a voice to be overheard. Santos stood back, scowling. He heard Rafael open the door and glanced toward him. “Why don’t you take the camera; then I won’t be blamed if it goes missing between here and home.”
Maggie quickly circled Rafael. “Why would it go missing?”
Santos shrugged. “It’s an expensive camera. It might be stolen.”
Maggie took the camera from her brother. “Only by someone who didn’t want Rafael to prove he’s ready for Sunday.” Grateful she hadn’t been forced to watch them fight a bull that morning, she laid the camera on the backseat of Rafael’s Mercedes. “Let’s go.”
“I’ll get our bags,” Rafael replied. He went into the house without speaking to Santos.
“Are you coming with me, Fox?” Santos asked.
Fox sent Ana a questioning glance, but she shook her head. “Sorry, I have an appointment and can’t take you with me.”
“I’ll go with Santos, then,” Fox said, and he followed Rafael up the stairs to get his duffle bag.
“Santos, will you bring my bag down with yours?” Ana asked.
“I’ll throw it off the balcony.” Santos entered the house and left the door standing open.
Ana laughed. “He’s teasing. You needn’t worry, though. The video will show Rafael knows more than enough to satisfy Miguel.”
“That’s exactly what does worry me,” Maggie replied.
Ana stepped close. “Spanish men do what they wish. Don’t ever try and stop them. Stupid women force them to choose, then weep when they’re not their man’s choice. You don’t strike me as being stupid, though.”
“No, I’m generally considered too smart for my own good. If I don’t see you before I fly home, thank you again for buying such a beautiful dress and shoes for me.”
“You’re welcome. I’ll get the photos to you before you leave.”
“Thank you. They’ll make perfect souvenirs.” Maggie went in to thank Mrs. Lujan and Refugio for making her feel so welcome.
“I hope you’ll come back soon,” the housekeeper stressed. “You have been in our thoughts and prayers all these years, and it took much too long to meet you.”
“I came the first time I was invited.” A worried glance passed between the housekeeper and cook, but she didn’t regret telling the truth. After all, they knew her father better than she did and couldn’t have been all that surprised by her remark.
She waited for Rafael at the bottom of the stairs, and they walked together to his car. After he’d put her bag in the trunk, she draped her new dress over it and took her seat in the Mercedes. “I’m glad you came here with me.”
He turned the key in the ignition and then grew puzzled. “Were you going to come here without me?”
He was smiling as though the thought were absurd, and she let him think so. “It wouldn’t have been nearly as nice a trip without you.”
“Last night I got six stars, and today I’m only nice?” He turned the car in a wide arc to head out on the road.
She looked out her window. “You’re excellent company in or out of bed. Is that better?”
“I prefer excellent to nice. It should rate at least four stars. ”
“At least.” She tried to stay awake but was soon yawning and closed her eyes. She had only a few more days with him, and if she gave in to her fears, she’d miss those. He’d gone way past a mere fling with her, and she wondered if he would say the same about her. Like many of her questions, it remained unasked.
Miguel was playing cards with his nurse when Maggie rapped lightly on his bedroom door. He appeared delighted to see them. “You’re back, and you have the camera. Open the cabinet opposite the bed, and you’ll find whatever you need.”