My Special Angel (13 page)

“They tell me you are building another dream. One that concerns your happiness.”

“Will this dream come true?”

“I cannot see.” She looked at Owen and added, “I can tell you that it is a very strong dream. One that is built from the heart.”

Owen slowly stood up. “Thank you, Sofia.”

“I disappointed you, didn’t I?” She folded her hands and placed them in her lap. “You perhaps expected predictions of travel, great adventures, or chance encounters?” She sadly shook her head. “Forgive me, I had forgotten you are a gadjo and mistakenly gave you the truth instead of inventions.”

He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. How was he ever going to explain to Sofia what he had been searching for? “It is I who should ask for your forgiveness. I came here seeking an answer”—he gave a self-indulgent little laugh—“or at least a hint that I was on the right track.”

Sofia smiled. “Your heart will tell you if you are on the right track. As for your dream”—her many bracelets jiggled as she spread her hands outward—“I cannot say what end will come.” She softened her words with a smile. “Only you have the power to master your dreams.”

Owen bowed slightly. “Thank you, Sofia.” He turned toward the tent’s opening. It was time to give someone else a chance to have their fortune told.

“Owen?” called Sofia softly.

“Yes?”

“Good luck with your dream.” She smiled knowingly as he ducked out of the tent.

* * *

“What do you mean Sonia’s having her baby?” shouted Owen. He glanced around the camp in astonishment. No one seemed to be in any great hurry to go anywhere. Where were the suitcase, the frantic husband, and the concerned grandparents? He looked at Nadia, who was helping to unload the leftover food from the garden-club luncheon. Everything at his house had been cleaned up and returned to order hours ago. He had made sure the rental company had come and picked up all the tables, chairs, and tents before driving out to Nadia’s. “Where is she?”

“In bed where she belongs,” said Nadia. She picked up the paper bag filled with garlic-flavored breads and started to walk toward one of the mobile homes.

“She belongs in a hospital!” shouted Owen. “Give me five minutes to run back to your house to get my car, and we’ll take her.”

Nadia frowned at Owen and lovingly placed a hand on one of her little cousin’s shoulders. “Lower your voice, Owen. You’re scaring the children.”

Owen glanced at the little dark-eyed girl and frowned. She did look scared to death, but by his shouting? He had seen members of Nadia’s family argue with one another, and to say they shouted would be an understatement. “Why am I scaring her?”

“Don’t mention the word hospital again,” whispered Nadia. She smiled encouragingly at the girl and handed-her the paper bag to carry in. She waited until the child was out of earshot. “I know, in America everyone goes to the hospital for the simplest of reasons. But where we come from, we don’t go to hospitals just because we have a cut or a sprain.”

Owen glanced at the other mobile home, the one he knew Sonia was in. He started to get a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. “You don’t go to hospitals to have babies, either, do you?”

“No. To most of my family, a hospital is the last resort. It usually means there is no other hope.”

“Who’s going to deliver the baby?”

“The same women who delivered her first two, my mother and Sasha.”

“Your mother delivered her own grandchildren?”

“Can you think of a more caring person?”

“Caring is all well and good, but what about experience, training, and a big fiat medical degree hanging on the wall?” His horror-stricken gaze remained on the mobile home. In the gathering dusk someone had turned on the inside lights in the back bedroom. Behind those walls Sonia was giving birth.

“What does a piece of paper hanging on the wall have to do with delivering a baby? Between my mother and Sasha, they must have delivered over two hundred babies.”

“They’re midwives?”

“To our people, yes, they are midwives.” She glanced at him and smiled. “Relax, Owen. It shouldn’t be that much longer.”

Owen paled further. “She’s been working all day carrying heavy serving dishes back and forth. All that work didn’t make her go into labor, did it?”

“No, she was showing signs of labor earlier, Owen. We all knew, so we kept a close eye on her. We didn’t let her carry the really heavy stuff.”

“Why in the hell did you let her work, for cripe’s sake?” He couldn’t help it. Nothing in his life’s experience sounded so cruel and heartless as watching a woman in labor wait on his aunt’s rich and haughty friends.

“Because she wanted to,” snapped Nadia. “The idea of watching my sister man the buffet table while labor was starting didn’t appeal to me, either, Owen.” She closed her eyes and sighed. Taking a deep breath, she sat down on the tailgate of her uncle’s battered pickup truck. “She wanted to earn her share of the profits. Last month she saw a used crib for sale in one of the thrift shops in town. She has the cradle that her other two have outgrown, but she has her heart set on a crib for this one.” She swung her feet and stared at the trailer, where new life was struggling to make its way into the world. “I offered to buy the crib for her, but she refused. She thinks I do too much for them as it is. Sonia has her share of the Kandratavich stubbornness.”

Owen sat down next to her and contemplated the trailer. “What do we do now?”

“We wait.” She smiled at Owen and took his hand. “Don’t worry, bringing a baby into this world is a very natural thing for a woman.”

“But what if...” His voice trailed off as a distant wail of a baby came from the trailer. He felt Nadia’s hand tighten her grip, and everyone seemed to stop whatever they were doing and stare at the trailer.

A moment later a proud-looking father, Gustavo, came to the door carrying a small bundle wrapped in a soft blanket. “It’s a girl!” He waited for the cheering to die down. “Mother and daughter are both fine and beautiful.” He held the baby up and announced, “In honor of our daughter being the first Kandratavich born in America, we name her Liberty.” He disappeared back into the trailer as more merriment erupted.

Owen turned to Nadia and wiped at the two tears rolling down her cheeks. He was afraid he was showing the same relief and happiness. His voice shook slightly, and he had to clear the lump out of his throat before he could ask, “Well, Aunt Nadia, what do we do now?”

She glanced around the camp and grinned. Her father and uncles were already pulling out the wine, and Celka and Sofia were piling the tables with food. Someone had picked up a violin and started to play a lively tune. “Now, Owen, we must share a great Gypsy tradition.” She grabbed his hand and yanked him off the tailgate and toward the tables.

“What’s that?”

“We celebrate!”

Owen stood in the darkness and burned. Each seductive sway of Nadia’s hips pulled at his groin. The enticing flash of a bare calf or the provocative arch of her arms as she beckoned an imaginary lover sent another wave of heat pounding through his veins. Her dark hair flew behind her like a proud banner as she whirled and danced her way around the campfire. The faster the music played, the faster Nadia’s bare feet flew over the grass.

Twice she brushed by him, bewitching him further with her dreamy smile and the flash of desire burning in her eyes. He prayed that her body was going to live up to the promises blazing in her eyes all night. Sometime today their relationship had changed. She was more open with him, allowing him nearer. The sweet little kisses from the kitchen had only been the beginning. All night long she had been next to him, holding his hand, touching his shoulder, or just smiling.

At first he thought she was caught up in the excitement of the celebration, but then he had begun to notice the differences between Nadia and her family. The wine was flowing freely between the adults, but he had only seen her take one glass, the same amount as he. The storytelling had gone from questionable to farfetched. She had enjoyed the stories, but she hadn’t contributed any of her own. The stories reminded him of a bunch of fishermen trying to outdo one another with accounts of the size of the fish that had gotten away. Even though she laughed in all the right places, it didn’t take a psychic to know her mind wasn’t on the tales. And by the smoldering glances she had been casting his way all evening, he had a feeling he knew what she was thinking. The same thing he’d been thinking all night: hot endless kisses that lasted all night and into the morning. He did not want to go home to spend another sleepless night in a bed that suddenly seemed too big for just one man.

Nadia whirled faster as the music built toward a climax. Her eyes were closed, and her arms reached upward into the darkness. The glow of the fire gleamed off the brilliant colors woven into her skirt, and her hair radiated the dancing flames. Her rounded breasts heaved against the low-cut blouse straining to be free, and the gentle clinking of her jewelry beckoned his senses. Nothing in his life had prepared him for the vision of watching Nadia dance. She was primitive and wild. She had become one with the music. The passion, the need, the desire, vibrated around her, calling to her imaginary lover. Calling to him.

In a final frenzy the music and Nadia came to a sudden stop. Gustavo slowly lowered his violin as Nadia bowed her head and breathed deeply. Owen held his breath and waited as her family applauded.

Nadia slowly raised her head and glanced across the fire to encounter Owen’s hungry gaze. Her eyes darkened to black pools of need, and her harsh breathing turned more ragged. She ignored her family and the shouts for more wine. On soundless feet she crossed the packed dirt and grass and stood before Owen. “I danced for you.”

He felt himself drowning in the honesty swimming in her eyes. “I never had a woman dance for me before.” He reached out and tenderly drew a line down her flushed cheek. Her skin was hot and damp under his finger. She felt like a woman who had just spent the last hour making love. “Thank you. I will treasure the memory always.”

“Do you understand what it means when a woman dances for a special man?”

Owen glanced away from the desire burning in her eyes and toward the campfire. Nadia’s family were busy passing another wine bottle, and Yurik was in the middle of another story. They seemed to have forgotten Nadia and Owen as the celebration continued. He stepped back farther into the night, taking Nadia with him. “Does it mean that you are attracted to me?”

She moved in closer to him. The cool evening breeze whipped her skirt around one of his pants legs, binding them together. “It means I want you.” She pressed her palms against his chest and stared up into his handsome face. The shadows were too thick to see his reaction. “I need you, Owen.” Her voice shook with that need. “I need you more than my next breath.” Her hands trembled, and her knees wobbled as she declared the extent of her feelings. “I need you more than my music.”

* * *

Owen closed the door behind him and slowly lowered Nadia’s feet to the kitchen floor. He had carried her the entire quarter-mile from the camp because she was barefooted, and he didn’t want to waste any precious moments looking for her sandals. With the turn of the lock they left the Kandratavich Ranch and her family on the other side. There were only he and Nadia; nothing beyond the door mattered. Tonight there weren’t going to be any interruptions.

Nadia leaned her cheek against his chest and listened to his pounding heart. “I told you I was too heavy to carry all the way back here.”

“We made it, didn’t we?” His fingers teased the elastic neckline of her blouse.

“I had my doubts coming up that last hill.” She pressed her lips to the thundering pulse still hammering in his throat.

A faint tremor shook his body. “That was your fault, not mine.” He brushed back a lock of her hair and tenderly stroked the curve of her cheek. “You should never play with a man’s ear as he’s carrying you up a mountain.”

Laughter sparkled in her eyes as she gazed at the ear she’d been nibbling on. “I couldn’t help myself.” She ran a finger over the lobe and smiled. “Being carried up that itsy-bitsy hill was the most romantic thing that ever happened to me.” She reached up and gave a playful nip to the ear.

“It wouldn’t have been so romantic if I’d dropped you.” He shuddered as her teeth grazed his lobe.

Nadia chuckled and blew against the moist skin. “I’m sure we could have thought of something while we were lying on the ground.”

Owen once again swept her up in his arms and turned off the kitchen light. The faint glow of the night-light plugged in at the bottom of the stairs guided him across the room. “Will you think it’s romantic if I carry you up these stairs?”

“I don’t know, Owen.” Her lips brushed his throat where his pulse pounded. She loved teasing him. “We could both break our necks if you don’t make it.”

“If you don’t stop that”—he shifted her weight so that her mouth was farther away from his throat—“we’ll never make it up these steps.” He started to climb the stairs.

Nadia chuckled softly and laid her head against his shoulder. “I hear huffing and puffing.”

“You think this is huffing and puffing?” He looked down into her smiling face and wiggled his eyebrows. “Give me a couple of minutes, and I’ll show you huffing and puffing.” He stepped onto the landing and stopped.

Nadia nodded her head in the direction of one of the doors. She tucked in her feet as Owen carried her over the threshold. Her fingers fumbled for a moment before locating the light switch. Light flooded the room as Owen lowered her feet once again to the floor. Her feet touched the cool white tile, and she glanced around the room and tried viewing it through Owen’s eyes. What will he think of her outlandish sense of decorating? Maybe she shouldn’t have tried to be so American.

Owen blinked against the sudden flaring of light, and then he blinked again at the room. Nadia hadn’t taken him to her bedroom. They were standing in the middle of her bathroom. A bathroom that was decorated with one main motif, Mickey Mouse. Nadia had livened up the plain, sterile white room with America’s favorite mouse. The shower curtain was clear except for the foot-high Mickeys splashed all over it. Bright red-and-black towels draped the towel bars, two red throw rugs dotted the floor, red- and-white polka-dotted curtains hung at the window, and a metal trash can with “Mickey” printed on it sat near the sink. She had hung two framed posters on the walls. One with Mickey and Minnie kissing with hearts decorating the background and the other was a solo shot of Mickey as the Sorcerer’s Apprentice from Fantasia.