Fierce Love (10 page)

Fox took a soft drink from the refrigerator and let the girls run ahead without him. Maggie looked back and wondered how often the twins and Fox were left alone. A couple of precocious thirteen-year-olds and a bored sixteen-year-old boy struck her as a disaster waiting to happen.

Perry led her through the dining room and down the central hallway to a den filled with comfortable chairs and sofas and a huge flat-screen TV. Maggie had expected a popular movie, but they’d been watching a documentary on their father’s career. It was the last thing she wanted to see, but as the screen filled with a colorful crowd cheering for Miguel, she couldn’t turn away. He’d been retired more than ten years, and the film showed him in his prime. He controlled the furious black bull with a nonchalant elegance that fascinated her. She closed her eyes when he went in for the kill.

Perry and Connie were cheering along with the crowd, but Maggie felt sick and turned away. She noticed the painting then. Miguel was posed in a bullfighter’s classical stance, his left side to the viewer as the bull thundered past his swinging cape. Looking down, his expression was impossible to read, but it was a strikingly beautiful yet crazily dangerous scene.

The documentary included a brief mention of Miguel’s family and showed him with Vida Ramos. Their two children were riding ponies on their ranch and laughing happily together. Maggie understood the Spanish narration and wondered if Santos was ever included in the family portraits. He wasn’t mentioned, and neither was she. She supposed their existence was an annoying detail that didn’t fit the film’s picture perfect family.

The omission hurt her even now. Santos must have been shoved aside until he was old enough to demand attention on his own. It was no wonder he labeled Rafael as unwanted competition and suspected his motives. What a mess. She’d come in toward the end of the film and was relieved she wouldn’t have to watch more.

“I wish he’d still been fighting when we were old enough to see him,” Connie said. “Films of him just aren’t the same.”

Fox came to the door. “We’re old enough to see Santos.”

“If we’re still here,” Perry replied. “Mother keeps our schedule secret even from us.”

Maggie covered a wide yawn. “It’s awfully late. I’m going up to bed.”

Connie stood and stretched. “I’m coming too. Turn off the lights, Perry.”

“Why don’t you?”

“You’re closer.”

Fox shook his head and walked out. “They never quit. Good night.”

Maggie waited until the lights were out and the twins headed toward the stairs to stop them. “Does anyone here make it their business to know what you two and Fox are doing together?”

Perry laughed hard enough to snort and Connie had to hold her sides. “No, it’s like a model of the solar system here with all the planets moving in their own orbit,” Perry explained. “No one cares what we do as long as we don’t bump into Grandmother or Aunt Cirilda. Fox likes being off on his own. He’s usually at boarding school in England anyway.”

“You understand what I’m saying, don’t you?” Maggie asked.

Perry blushed. “Sure, be careful and use condoms, we know that. But who’d want to sleep with Fox?”

“He’s cute,” Connie said, “but he’s our brother even if he won’t admit it. Now tell us what happened with Rafael. Don’t hold out on us.”

“He took me to a place with talented dancers, and then we came home. Unless you love flamenco the way I do, there was no excitement at all.”

The twins shook their heads. “There’s got to be more.”

“That’s enough for you. Now hurry on to bed.”

They raced up the stairs ahead of her and were already in their room when she reached the landing. She closed her bedroom door and leaned back against it. Her lips still tingled from Rafael’s endearing affection. Clearly he hadn’t been equally touched because when Santos had interrupted them, he’d quickly reverted to his usual abrasive, cocky self.

She checked the time. It was already late Monday morning in Tucson and she’d missed her chance to call Craig. She was tempted to leave him a voice message. Her father was dying, her relatives could not be easily described, and she’d met a Gypsy matador
whose motives were suspect. It wasn’t a call worth making when he’d be busy with the last couple of weeks of school, but she wished she’d thought to bring a journal. She’d noticed a desk in the den, and, hoping to find some of her father’s stationery, she went back downstairs. She turned on the lamp on the desk and opened the middle drawer.

Cirilda stepped into the room. “Miguel’s will is in a safety deposit box at his bank, not here.”

Maggie looked up. “I wasn’t snooping. I just wanted a few sheets of stationery.”

Cirilda turned around and walked out without commenting, and Maggie swore softly. There was no point in trying to befriend her aunt when the woman was mean-spirited to the core, like her mother. Compared to them, Miguel was a veritable prince.

She found the stationery still in its box in a side drawer, took some and turned out the light.

She joined her father for breakfast the next morning. She hadn’t slept well but couldn’t just lie in bed until noon. There were delicious little muffins and fresh fruit, and she was surprisingly hungry. “Would you tell me something about your father?” she asked. “You mentioned he was a matador, but what sort of man was he?”

“Ah yes, of course, you’d be curious. I’m a pale shadow compared to Augustín. He fought only a few years and retired to our ranch in Zaragoza. He refused interviews but worked on a memoir he never completed. He taught me all he knew of the ring and life and encouraged me to be my own man.”

He paused to swallow a drink of freshly squeezed orange juice. “I’m sorry to say he and my mother weren’t a good match. I never heard him speak a cross word to her, but there was no love shown between them, no laughter nor joy. She was from a fine family, and they welcomed him, but you’ve met my mother so perhaps you understand why they weren’t a happy couple. A heart attack killed him when he was still in his fifties. Cirilda should show you the family photographs, but most of his things are at the ranch.”

“I’ll ask to see them.” She wanted to discover whatever she could about her father’s side of the family. Carmen was such a caustic person, Maggie’s sympathies were already with Augustín. If he’d written a memoir, she definitely wanted to read it. She swallowed the last berry on her plate and licked her lips. Perhaps it was the sea air, but everything tasted delicious here.

“What else would you like to know?”

She sat back in her chair and grabbed what might be her only chance to ask about Rafael. She told him they’d danced together. “What do you think of him?”

Miguel leaned close to take her hand. “He’s a promising talent but doesn’t take criticism well. He could be among the greatest or never move past the remarkably good. He has the ambition, and it’s a shame he didn’t work with me when he was younger. Now, what do you think of him?”

She squeezed his hand. “I haven’t decided yet.”

His smile turned sly. “You must feel something or you wouldn’t have asked about him.”

The ocean’s rumbling melody in the distance made the conversation no easier. “He’s unlike anyone I’ve ever met, but I should probably avoid him.”

He laughed. “I’ve avoided few tempting women, so you don’t take after me. Antonio should be here soon. Why don’t you find Cirilda and ask for the photos you’d like to see?”

She kissed his cheek, noted his marvelous scent and feared Rafael Mondragon would be very difficult to avoid. She’d left her bed a pile of twisted sheets as ordered, but when she stopped by her room, the maid had already been there, and the bed was neatly made. She was used to a busy schedule with teaching. Having no plan for the day left her at loose ends. There were the photos or dance lessons for the twins; she could walk on the beach, read the books she’d brought along, but nothing struck her as urgent.

After last night’s brief exchange, she’d prefer to wait and speak to Cirilda at mealtimes rather than seek her out. She was too restless to remain indoors, and a different nurse than the one she’d seen on Saturday passed by her as she left her room. Perhaps they rotated often. Maggie wondered if they were really needed. They would be ready to serve in a medical emergency, but she dreaded one happening while she was there. She’d arrived thinking poorly of her father, but the real man was far more appealing than the one she’d created in her mind. He seemed resigned to his illness. If only he’d fight for his life rather than let it gradually slip away.

As she left the house, Rafael stood where he’d waited for her the previous day. His T-shirt and jeans showed off his trim build better than the looser dress clothes he’d worn last night for dancing, and she could have stood there and looked at him all day and not grown bored. His slow smile brought a warmth that swept from her toes and ended as a bright blush. Embarrassed by how strongly she reacted to him, she pretended only a mild surprise. “Are you here every morning?”

He shook his head, took her hand and led her toward the water. “I wanted to apologize. I didn’t expect you to defend me. No one ever has. I should have thanked you, even if your help wasn’t needed.”

“Maybe I meant to protect Santos.”

“Then I misunderstood.”

“No, but I’d have blamed myself if you’d been hurt.”

“Santos doesn’t like me,” he countered. “I’m used to it, and he couldn’t hurt me with a half-dozen friends at his side.”

She should have known he had too high an opinion of himself to be worried. “You provoke each other, but enough of Santos. What do you know about my grandfather? Was he as famous a matador as his son?”

“Yes. Augustín Aragon was among the greats. He was reclusive; is that the word? He’d appear for a fight, then return to his ranch and remain there until the next time he entered a bullring. People were curious about him, fascinated. I suppose they still are. I’ve always wanted to see your family’s ranch. Take me with you if your father sends you there.”

His real interest was all too clear, and her heart fell. “That’s unlikely.”

“What, that you’d take me?”

“No, that my father would send me there.” She pulled her hand free and turned to look up at him. “My father likes you, and that ought to be enough. You can’t count on me to do more.”

They’d reached the edge of the shore, and he glanced away. “You’re the one I want.”

His words blew away in the sea breeze, but she’d understood him. When he looked back toward her, she nodded. “Fine, but I’m planning to fly home on Sunday.”

“Then I have nearly a week to convince you to stay.”

His lazy smile made it plain he thought it an easy matter. The man never lacked for confidence. It made him a superb dancer and undoubtedly served him well in the bullring, but she didn’t want to be seen as a challenge to be overcome. She wanted him to be sincere, then again, she wasn’t being all that truthful herself. That was Craig’s complaint, that she hid more than she ever showed. She raised her hand to shade her eyes and searched the beach for the twins. “Do you see the girls?”

“Let’s look for them. Which way do you want to go?”

She chose the way they’d taken yesterday. “I don’t suppose they could have gotten lost.”

“No, they won’t walk that far, but I worry about them.”

“So do I. Independence is a wonderful trait, but someone ought to be setting limits for them.”

“You could if you stayed.”

His knowing smile made her laugh. “They have a mother who ought to be doing so. Have you heard Marina sing?”

“No, I’ve never been to an opera.”

“Neither have I.”

“Never?”

“No, never, so I’ve missed seeing Marina perform.” She didn’t repeat Santos’s description of her talent, or lack thereof. “Is that the twins just ahead?”

“Yes, we found them too soon.”

There were standing with three young men who were clearly too old for them. “I don’t think so.” She hurried Rafael to reach them. “I’ve been looking for you for our dance lessons.”

Perry introduced their companions as Carlos, Juan and Javier. “Carlos wants to take us sailing.”

Carlos was the tallest of the trio, but he still had to look up at Rafael. “You can come along if you like.”

“Thank you, but no,” Rafael responded.

“Definitely no,” Maggie echoed. “Let’s go home.”

“Wait a minute,” Javier asked. “Are you Rafael Mondragon?”

“I am.”

“I heard you set Mexico City on fire. When are you going to fight here in Barcelona?”

“Soon, I hope.”

“On fire?” Connie giggled, and she and Perry ran down the beach betraying their youth in every step.

Maggie paused to whisper to Carlos. “The twins are only thirteen, and if I see you with them again, I’ll have you arrested.”

His mouth fell agape, but he nodded, and he and his friends jogged away.

She reached for Rafael’s hand as they followed the twins. “Miguel is too sick to scold them; Grandmother and Cirilda don’t care. I hate to tell Santos they’re roaming the beach looking for trouble.”

“I think they found it.”

So have I
, she thought to herself, but she hadn’t meant to remind Rafael of his sister. It was one thing for a Spaniard to be protective of his family and another for him to resort to murder.