Summer Dreams (11 page)

She took a deep breath and tried to smile to lessen the tension. "I'm sorry, Esteban. I didn't mean it the way it sounded. I wanted you to ask me out to the bazaar."

"For a play date, Natalia, with your chaperone along"

"
Sí
." She dropped her gaze and wished she could burrow into her collar. She knew her neck was turning red, and she prayed she wouldn't blush.

"What about a real date, Natalia? How about just you and me?"

Sucking in her breath, she considered. Was she ready to start dating again? And in particular, would she ever be ready for ... Esteban?

"That's why I came looking for you," he said. "I have some good news, and I wanted to share it with you. Last night, I didn't offer to bring you and Pura because I didn't know if I would be back from Albuquerque in time." 

"You went to Albuquerque today?"

"
Sí,
I have a baseball agent there. I needed to talk with him in person."

A thrill of excitement sent tingly sensations down her spine, banishing her embarrassment. "Does your agent have anything to do with your good news?" She knew how much baseball meant to him, and how long and hard he'd worked toward the goal of going pro.

A wide smile split his face, his white teeth brilliant against the coppery tones of his skin.  Nodding, he said, "The Kansas City Royals are interested. They're going to send a scout out this month."

She jumped up and down and clapped her hands. "That's wonderful news, Esteban!" She took a step forward, thought better of it and stopped.

As if he'd read her awkward movements, he said softly, "I don't think a celebratory hug is out of the question, do you?"

She stepped into his open arms. "
Claro qué
, no," She settled into his familiar embrace with a sigh. Being held by Esteban felt so right, as if she belonged with him. With his strong arms around her and her nose pressed against his muscular chest, she inhaled that special male-scent that was all his own---a heady mixture of spicy cologne and sun-kissed flesh.

Their embrace spun out longer than the requisite split-second, but neither of them seemed to mind. Folded in his arms, she dreamed about how it would feel to nestle in his arms all night, savoring his tender embrace for as long as she wanted.    

Esteban was the one who finally broke the contact. 

But he caught her hands and gazed at her. "I want you to celebrate with me, Natalia. Even though, I know how unsure you are about us dating." He dropped his gaze and started at his cowboy boots as if an inspiration might be written on their pointed-toes. "Or I thought I knew how unsure you were before today?"     

She wanted to ask him what kind of celebratory date he had in mind. But that didn't seem right if her enthusiasm was genuine. She shouldn't build in safeguards to be with him.

He raised his head. "I don't want to celebrate with anyone but you. You've been there since I started playing ball. Only you know how much this means to me."

Touched by his sentiment, she knew it was now or never. Should she ignore her head and go with the stirrings of her heart? She had wanted him to ask her out tonight, hadn't she? And as hard as she'd tried to convince herself that an invitation to the bazaar was somehow different than a real date, she knew she was fooling herself. How could she turn down such an invitation? It didn't mean they'd have to start dating. It only meant she would share his happiness over this very special event in his life.

"I'd love to celebrate with you, Esteban," she said.

Chapter Six

Hector glanced over his shoulder before entering the bar. His Jaguar stuck out like a sore thumb on the garbage-strewn street. It was a good thing it was equipped with the latest in car alarms, otherwise, it would be gone in under twenty minutes. And even with an alarm, he wasn't sure the Jag would be there when he got back.

Cursing softly under his breath, he couldn't understand why Paulo Pérez had chosen a run-down bar in Oak Cliff. As areas in Dallas went, some parts of Oak Cliff were places he tried to avoid. Drug deals and drive-by shootings were as common here as block parties in the 'burbs.

When he entered the bar, it took his eyes several minutes to adjust. Under a low-lying cloud of cigarette smoke, a sagging, grime-stained bar lined the right-hand wall. Rust-scarred aluminum tables and chairs huddled in the middle. The back wall boasted a huge cherry-red jukebox, cranking out hip-hop music. Two half-busted doors flanked either side of the juke, leading to the bathrooms.

A handful of customers clustered at the far end of the bar, their attention riveted on the big screen TV. One table held a man and a woman, their heads so close together Hector wasn't sure if they were talking or making out.

Pérez was nowhere in sight. 

Hector wiped the palms of his perspiring hands on his faded jeans. He could cheerfully throttle Pérez for being late. He gulped back his rising anxiety and walked to the center of the bar, keeping his distance from the crowd at the end. He straddled a bar stool and motioned to the bartender. 

The man looked him over, shifted a toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other and asked, "What'll it be, mister?"

"A beer, please."

"Draft or bottle, light or regular? Any particular brand, mister?"

Accustomed to ordering locally-brewed designer ales at Dallas' finest watering holes, Hector wasn't sure what to order and the last thing he wanted to do was appear conspicuous. He looked around to see what other people were drinking.

"How about a Bud Light."

Turning, the bartender fished a can from the cooler behind him. "Want a glass?"

"No, that's fine, just the can." No one else was drinking from a glass.

"Here, mister." The bartender plunked a sweaty can in front of him. "That'll be two

fifty."

Hector fumbled for his money clip and withdrew three ones. "Keep the change."

The bartender scowled but he grabbed the bills and stuck them in his apron. From his reaction, he acted as if Hector had insulted him rather than tipped him.

Hector lifted the can of beer and took a swig, grimacing at the stale, bitter taste. With nothing better to do, he directed his gaze at the huge flat screen hanging over the bar. A major league ballgame was in progress, the local Texas Rangers versus the Kansas City Royals. As if the game absorbed his total attention, he kept his eyes trained on the game while taking token sips of beer.

Behind him, the front door opened with a thud. He gripped the bar so tightly that his knuckles turned white. He wanted to turn around and stare, hoping it would be Pérez. But he forced himself to keep his gaze on the ballgame.

"Hey, Leonard," a voice shouted over the hip-hop lyrics, "who's Jag is that?"

Hector cringed inwardly, and he wished he could sink into the greasy tiles underfoot.  Maybe a trip to the men's room was in order.

The bartender, who must be Leonard, glanced up and shrugged. The man who had asked about the Jag approached the crowd at the bar and whispered something. As if Hector was wearing a sign proclaiming him as the car's owner, all heads turned toward him.

Time to go. He didn't want to wear out his welcome. And Pérez could go to---.

The front door swung open again. He froze, praying it would be Paulo at last. The crowd noted the newcomer and returned their gaze to the ballgame. Hector relaxed a fraction. But when a hand clapped him on the back, he jumped.

"¿Cómo esta, mi amigo?"
The gravel-toned voice of Paulo Pérez asked.

"Not so damned good," Hector replied. "Why this place, Paulo? Is my Jaguar still out there?"

Paulo chuckled, a sound closely akin to concrete being mixed. "You watch too much television news, Hector. That stuff makes a person edgy." He raised his raspy voice a notch or two. "This is a fine bar with interesting patrons. Is it not so, Leonard?"

"Yes, sir, Mister Pérez. A fine bar," Leonard agreed readily, setting a glass of Dewar's on the rocks in front of Paulo without being asked.

Hector stared at Leonard. The bartender had just undergone an amazing metamorphosis from surly waiter to impeccable attendant.

"Please get my friend one too, Leonard," Paulo directed.

The Bud can disappeared to be replaced by another Dewar's. Hector fingered the smudged glass and took a sip. His gaze met Paulo's over the rim.

And then he understood. 

Paulo had used this place as a subtle form of intimidation. And that didn't bode well for the outcome of their meeting. Hector was pretty sure he knew what was coming.

Clinking glasses and slapping him on the back, Paulo drove straight to the point, "You owe us a great deal of money,
mi amigo
. And I'm tired of playing phone tag with you."

"I know, Paulo, but if you could just extend---"

"You already had one extension,
mi amigo
, and what do I have to show for it? Not even a gift for the wife. Not even an invitation to one of your society parties.
Mi esposa
loves parties.  Ones where she can dress like a movie star and get her name in the society columns."

Hector stared at him, but he knew when to roll over. "I apologize for not thinking of it before, Paulo. My family would be honored to sponsor you and your wife. The Crystal Charity Ball is coming up and---"

"We'll expect an invitation,
amigo mío
," he cut him off. "But that's just between friends, you understand." He paused. "I have partners, though, and their wives aren't so easily diverted.  Hard cash is what interests them.
¿Tu entiendes?
"

Hector nodded. "Of course, of course." He hoped his out of control perspiration hadn't stained his Armani sports jacket.

"
Bueno, bueno
. Then we understand each other." He smiled and revealed a gleaming gold-plated bicuspid.

"How much?" Hector asked.

"At least the first interest payment."

Hector gulped. The stock market lay in the doldrums, neither up nor down. With it like that, no one made money, all they did was trade paper around, hoping for a break. Where could he raise several thousand dollars quickly? He went over all the possibilities again without finding a solution.

And then it dawned on him. Natalia's diamond and emerald engagement ring was worth at least ten thousand dollars. He'd paid twice that, retail. And if the stock market was uninspiring, then the smart money gravitated to commercial real estate.

He needed to make a quick trip to New Mexico.

***

The plaza of Santa Fe never failed to enchant Natalia. Crossing the cobbled streets was like stepping back in time, like entering another world. The bustling plaza, filled with artist booths, was ringed by adobe structures, their smooth terra-cotta walls pierced by blackened wooden poles supporting flat roofs. Except for the artists, the plaza had changed little since Spanish occupation.

Waiting on the island of green between the old adobe buildings, she imagined what it would have been like to live here when the Santa Fe Trail had been the major artery to the uncharted West. If she closed her eyes and concentrated, she could envision a bustling frontier outpost in the midst of the wilderness, alive with the various peoples who had made New Mexico their home.

Opening her eyes, she fell under the spell of the modern-day plaza with its quaint shops and art galleries. On one side of the square, Navajo and Hopi Indians gathered their wares for the night, rolling up the blankets that served as an open air market. Lights twinkled in the square-cut windows, pouring from balconies and peeking from behind wooden casements. An odd assortment of locals and tourists strolled about, stopping to admire paintings, sculptures, jewelry, and native handicrafts.

Esteban couldn't have picked a nicer place for their evening of celebration. She always made a point of coming here at least once each summer.

 As if her thoughts had conjured him, she spied him crossing the northern corner to the grassy park that held the antique bandstand. Since motor traffic wasn't allowed within the plaza area, he'd dropped her one block over while he searched for a parking place.

She'd often wondered if he owned any clothes besides blue jeans. Tonight, when he'd picked her up, he'd solved that mystery by appearing in khaki pants, navy blazer and a white shirt. Amazed at his unexpected preppy look, it had taken her several minutes to realize he'd added his own personal touches. On his feet, he wore his favorite, silver-skinned ostrich cowboy boots. And no tie graced his collar. Though his clothes were hardly a fashion statement, they suited him perfectly. 

As he strolled towards her, she couldn't help but think how handsome he looked. Unlike his usual skin-tight jeans, the khaki pants' tailored fit only hinted at his slender waist and muscular thighs, making her imagination work overtime. The navy blazer, cut to fit his frame, emphasized his broad shoulders and powerful chest. And the snow-white shirt, unbuttoned at the collar, framed his dark good looks.

Stopping before her, he teased, "Did you miss me?"

She pressed her heart with both hands and giggled. "More than you'll ever know."

"That's my girl." He brushed her forehead with a kiss and then took her arm.

Was she really his girl? The thought radiated inside of her, warming her like a roaring fire on a snowy night. Quivering under his touch, she relished the moment, wishing time could stand still. With his hand on her arm and surrounded by the enchantment of Old Santa Fe, she wanted this night to last forever, stretching before them in endless anticipation.

Bemused and blissfully unaware of where he was taking her, they crossed the square and entered one of the
posadas
. The hotel's high-beamed ceilings and tile floors bespoke history and timeless elegance. At the far side of the lobby, he ushered her inside two leaded-glass doors. 

The maître d', formally attired in a tuxedo, greeted them before a huge dried arrangement of native grasses and wildflowers. A hushed but vibrant hum emanated from the other side of the arched doorway.