Guardian of the Fountain (5 page)

“Why
are we taking the Datsun, Arturo?” Chrissie was bewildered—there were two
other nice vehicles they could have taken.

“We
don’t want to attract the wrong kind of attention. It is muy importante that
you stay with me at all times. You see, the Guardian has some enemies in the
area and if they knew you were here with us they might want to take you. Most likely
to hold you for much dinero.”

The
engine purred to life, and they began the drive down a small dirt path out to a
larger dirt road. The drive wound down a mountainside with dense vegetation on
each side. Sporadically the greenery let in splotches of sunshine or allowing a
glimpse of a steep cliff to the side of this one-lane dirt road. “Open the
little door in front of you.”

He could take me anywhere and I would be
happy. I actually feel like I might live
.

      
Chrissie
did as she was told and pulled out a black sleeping eye mask and a gun.

“You
don’t need the gun, but put on the mask. This part of the trip, you can’t see.
The Guardian doesn’t want anyone to use you to find a way back to the mansion.”

“No.
I don’t want to wear a mask.” She shook her head adamantly.

“Por favor, para mí?” Arturo
asked sweetly.

“I
guess that’s a simple request, considering all that has unfolded in the last,
what? Forty-eight hours?” She pulled the black satin over her eyes and felt the
slight bumps in the road as they continued on down the mountain. She briefly
heard the roar of a waterfall and then silence once again. Arturo rolled down
the windows, and fresh air blew into the car.
I feel like I’m in some sort of mysterious movie, only experiencing the
surface.
“Why does the Guardian trust you so much?” Chrissie relaxed into
the seat.

“I’ve
worked at the mansion many more years than he has been there. I came with the
mansion. I sort of protect and care for all that is there alongside the Guardian.
I have for a very long time.” Chrissie could hear the smile in Arturo’s voice.

“Why
doesn’t he trust me?”

“I
think he trusts you completely. This is all for your safety. It is better you
not know about some things.” Arturo’s English was better than Chrissie first
thought. Maybe he was hiding behind his accent, like a disguise.

“Did
I know about all this before I got sick?” Chrissie could hear the engine slow
as they turned sharp corners.

Good thing I don’t get motion sickness
.

“Sí,
and it is part of the reason why you got sick, I think. The Guardian doesn’t
agree with me, but I think I am right.”

“Will
you tell me everything that you can to help me get my memory back?”

“Sí,
in time. But for now, you can take off that silly mask. We are now just coming
into the edge of the village. The largest city is over an hour away, so this
will be our only destination for today.” He pulled a thin blue scarf from his
pocket. “Here, wrap your cabeza with this so it doesn’t burn, mija.”

Chrissie
took the scarf, tied it around her head, and tucked the loose strands of hair
up into it. She hadn’t thought about what she might look like to some of the
villagers. Inwardly, she thanked Arturo for his pre-planning.

 
Arturo pulled the car up just outside a
small shop and parked. Cars zoomed down the street, not even pretending to stop
at the stop signs—just honking their horns as they blew through the
intersections. After he wrestled the car into a tiny parking space, Chrissie
and Arturo entered into the small shop. She walked up and down the aisles while
Arturo chatted with the shopkeeper.

They
walked in and out of all the shops down the street, even stopping to buy some
churros and chocolate for a quick snack. Only a few times did she get awkward stares
from people. She must look like death walking down the street, but she didn’t
feel like it. She felt halfway decent. The only reminder that she was sick was
a dull headache and shaky limbs.

The
sun began to sink, revealing soft pinks and sherbet oranges in the evening sky.
Strands of large light bulbs zigzagged across from one side of the street to
the other, lighting the boardwalks as the shoppers continued to shop.

Chrissie
remembered that her old, one-bedroom apartment where she used to live with
Marla was just two blocks away.

Who
was renting that spot now?
If I remember
right, the clinic was all the way down to the end of the main street. Maybe Arturo
would let me go visit all my old friends there.

For
the first time, she felt back to normal, like she had never even been sick and
left this beautiful little village deathly ill

Euphoria
bubbled up inside Chrissie, and she felt like skipping down the cracked
sidewalk in the cool of the evening. She wanted to take full advantage of the
beauty of the village in her favorite time of day, dusk.

People
sat on their terraces above, enjoying the evening as well. The buildings looked
outdated by fifty years, but a vintage feel added to the ambiance of Chrissie’s
surroundings. She loved what she could remember of the village and its
occupants. It was comforting to have familiar surroundings. Even the smells of
the churros baking in the café brought back the feelings of nostalgia,

An acoustic
guitar began to play. The older gentleman’s agile fingers strummed as he sung a
Spanish song that Chrissie recognized as “
Adorro
.”
The song pricked her heart. Somehow, she felt it had meaning to her. She sat
down on the bench to enjoy the music. His white cotton shirt contrasted against
his dark cocoa skin. She stared at the old man almost in a trance. Every finger
flew easily to pluck its strings. He sang the song like he was the one who had
written it.
 

People
dropped coins into his open guitar case as they passed by. Chrissie was the
only one who stopped and listened, paying a silent but true tribute to the
talented musician.

This man probably deserves more than I can
afford
.

 
She felt someone sit down beside her and
thought it was Arturo. She turned and looked to see who was sitting to her
left. It was not Arturo.

* * *

Brant
trailed the Datsun from the mansion into town. He tried to keep out of sight as
he watched Chrissie shop. Although he felt somewhat like a stalker, he didn’t
want her out of his sight. He couldn’t afford to lose her again. To him, she
looked like a bag of bones. As emaciated as she was, Brant wanted nothing more
than to pick her up and carry her around town while she shopped. To be able to
be close to her—that would be heaven.

He
peered around the corner of the alley to watch Chrissie sit to listen to the
old musician play. Arturo nonchalantly came and stood close to Brant’s hiding
spot without giving him away.

Brant
kept his eyes trained on Chrissie. “How is she?”

“She’s
okay.” Arturo shrugged. “She got a little winded a few moments ago. Hasta
ahora, bien.”

      
Brant
breathed a sigh of relief. “At least she is awake and standing.”

      
“She’s the
same feisty thing that we all know and love, just slightly diluido.” Arturo
chuckled. “You should have seen her face when I asked her to put the blindfold
on.”

      
“I think
I’m going to go over there and get a closer look for myself. Maybe seeing me
will bring back some memories.” Brant straightened his shirt and smoothed down
his hair before he walked around the corner and across the street toward
Chrissie.

She
looked like she was stuck in a daydream when Brant sat next to her. “I love
this song, don’t you?”

Chrissie’s
brilliant blue eyes flashed up at him instantly. His heart melted.

I love her
.

Chapter
8

 
“I love this song, don’t you?” a handsome
stranger asked, his deep British voice making Chrissie’s heart skip with pleasure.
At any moment, Chrissie expected him to say “Bond, James Bond.”

 
“Yes, it sounds so familiar.” Chrissie
stared at him, confused, as she began to take in the features of the man
sitting next to her. He was tall—not in a lanky way, but rather broad-shouldered
and solid. His chiseled, muscular form would make Trey look like a wimp. If she
had a black-and-white photo of him, it would rival anything in
GQ
.

Did
men as handsome as this exist outside her dreams? He was even talking to her. Chrissie
thought she should pinch herself. She wished she looked the way she used to. She
was acutely aware of her hair wrapped up in a scarf and the huge bags under her
eyes.

She
guessed him to be close to thirty. He looked like he spent most of his day in
the sun, judging by the darkness of his tan. His light brown hair confirmed
that he was definitely not a native. He looked like a handsome American who could
even pass as someone from Hollywood, but fit in here too.

“That’s
funny. Music does strange things to our memory. It reminds us of feelings,
smells, people, and even memories.” He stood and offered his hand to her.
“Would you like to dance?”

She
had the sensation of doing this same thing what seemed eons ago.
So this must be what a déjà vu moment feels
like.

Chrissie
looked around for Arturo to see if he was still near. He was across the street,
leaning against a wall and smoking his pipe. He smiled and waved. Maybe it was
okay to dance with this stranger, Arturo didn’t seem to be bothered by it.

“Sounds
like fun.” She smiled as she accepted his hand. If a handsome man asked her to
dance, of course she’d say yes. She was no dummy. She wished she could send a
picture of this to Trey.

The
stranger told the musician in perfectly fluent Spanish to play the song one
more time as they began a simple tango. Chrissie fell into the steps like her
muscles remembered how to dance it. It struck her as odd that it felt natural
to her.

 
“You dance very well.” He pulled Chrissie
tight against him, causing the butterflies in her stomach to flutter.

He can hold me closer anytime
!

It
had been so long since she’d had any human interaction other than with her
parents or doctors, a man as attractive as this stranger had her slobbering all
over herself.

“Thank
you. I took dance classes when I was three,” Chrissie nervously answered.
“Though, I don’t think ballet is anywhere close to the tango. I think I might
have done it in college in my ballroom dance class briefly.” Her cheeks heated
under his stare. Normally, she wasn’t a rambler, but he was also so above
average.

 
“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never danced
ballet.” The friendly banter flowed easily. “But I’m sure I would look
absolutely stunning in tights.”

“You’re
just so darn cute and easy to talk to.”
He
must be taken or gay
. “May I ask the name of the man I’m dancing with?”
Chrissie hooked her right leg over his in a common tango hook move.

“Brant.”

“Brant?
Brant what?”

“Brant
Winston.” He dipped Chrissie back slowly. “Now it’s your turn to tell me
yours.”

“Chrysanthemum
Love Stevens.”
 
Her shoulders pushed
back with mock pride.

“Wicked.
That’s a mouthful. How did your parents come up with a name like that?” Brant’s
smooth movements made Chrissie feel like she was a good dancer too.

“It’s
my mom’s favorite flower, and then she came across a children’s book about a
little mouse named Chrysanthemum and couldn’t shake it out of her head. The
rest is history.” Her mother was a happy memory.

At
that moment, Chrissie wished her mom were here. She would love the green
vegetation, and she’d never been outside of the U.S.

“The tiny
pink blossoms are my favorite variety,” Brant commented.

“You
know a little bit about chrysanthemums? Not very many people take interest in
flowers.”

“I
know quite a bit about horticulture.” Brant slowly spun Chrissie.

 
“I bet that’s a real hit with your girlfriend.”
Chrissie said cautiously, wanting to find out if he was on the market.

“I
don’t know,” he said.

The
song ended too soon for Chrissie. She wanted to dance the rest of the night in
Brant’s arms.

I still don’t know if he’s taken. My mom
would be asking right off the bat for that information.

 
“Thank you for the pleasure of the dance,
Miss Chrysanthemum Love Stevens,” he breathed as his nose almost touched hers.

“No,
the pleasure is all mine.” Chrissie curtsied deeply, and as she stood, her
surroundings wobbled. “Whoa.” She held her fingers to her temples and shook her
head.

Brant
was at her side, stabilizing her elbow, “Are you all right? Too many spins on
the boardwalk? You look a bit knackered.”

“Nope.”
Chrissie quickly recovered. “I’m great,” she lied.

I can’t have him thinking I’m weak sauce.
I’m a Texan, for goodness’ sakes!

“I
think I’m just adjusting to the altitude. That’s all.”

Chrissie
saw Brant shoot a quick glance at Arturo. Arturo trotted across the cobblestone
street, dumping his pipe ashes on the ground and then stuffing the pipe in his
shirt pocket.

Does he know Arturo? They spoke without
even saying one word by just exchanging a glance.

At
Chrissie’s side, Arturo placed her hand in the crook of his elbow. “Time for
dinner. I’m afraid María will have our necks if we aren’t home on time, and
maybe after, you’ll have another dip in the water.” Arturo glanced over at her
warily. “Maybe too much, too soon.”

“Thank
you again for the dance, Brant. It was lovely meeting you,” Chrissie said over
her shoulder as she left with Arturo.

She
watched him briefly. A sad, pained look burdened his face. He turned and opened
his billfold, dropping a stack of cash into the guitar case. The aging musician
shook Brant’s hand gratefully, before Brant walked away, leaving Chrissie to
wonder why he’d appeared out of nowhere and if she would ever see him again.
The romantic interlude they’d shared a few moments ago had raised more
questions than answers.

Arturo
led her to the Datsun parked on the side of the street and helped her in. “Did
you have a nice outing?”

“Oh,
yes. Thank you.” She watched the familiar village buildings go by just outside
her window. “Who is Brant Winston?”

Arturo
nervously shifted in his seat and cleared his throat. “He is sort of like the
mayor of our village, if we had one. A nice, respectable man.”

“Have
I met him before?”

“Sí,
pero. I think it is a part of your missing memory.”

“Well,
they don’t make very many men as good-looking as he is.” Chrissie pulled on her
blindfold as they left the village limits.

“I
guess not, but I only have eyes for María.” He chuckled.

“Do
you think I’ll see him again?”

“Chrissie,
why are you asking me so many questions about Señor Winston? Did you find
yourself a new novio?”

“Oh,
a girl can dream, can’t she?” she dramatically sighed. Secretly, she wouldn’t
mind one bit if he was her novio. “What a hottie!” She fanned herself. She was
amazed she felt well enough to have any romantic stirrings. “I haven’t been so lucky
in the dating department. Maybe here in a small village, the pickings are
slimmer for him, and I have a better chance. Is he single?”

“You
should ask Señor Winston that question. This feels like a chat you should have
with a girlfriend or something. Not an old man.”

If her
mom were here, she’d be sharing all this girl talk with her, or even her best
friend, Marla. “You are the only one available.” She laid her head back and
sighed. “He is dreamy.” Chrissie laughed, visualizing Arturo’s discomfort with
the conversation. “Besides, I’ve promoted you to bestie status. So henceforth,
I will be sharing all my secrets.”

“Ay-yi-yi,”
he lamented. “If María heard what you just said, I would never hear the end of
it.”

“Come
on, Arturo—I only have you and María to talk to. Go with it. It might
involve lots of ice cream.” Even though Chrissie was blindfolded, she could
tell by the sound of his chuckle that he was slightly amused. “I should call my
mom tonight and tell her I’m okay. She’ll want to know all the details. I’m
sure she’s waiting by the phone.”

“At
least you have a little color in your cheeks again, mija.”

* * *

Brant
slowly drove his truck up the curvy road. He had spent a few glorious moments
with Chrissie. She looked shockingly underweight, and something was still a
little off in her health. The water should have cured her, but it hadn’t.
Why?
 
Although, she did look leaps
and bounds better than she had when Arturo brought her home.

He needed
to look on the bright side … at least she was still alive.

Her Texan
accent had him undone from the moment she spoke. He nearly told her everything.
No, that wouldn’t be a wise choice.

Brant
had to hurry home to beat Arturo and Chrissie back to the house. He was only
five minutes ahead of them. It was hard keeping a secret from her. More than
anything, he wanted to tell her that everything would be okay. If only he could
be sure of that.