Summer Dreams (8 page)

Bitter bile rose to her throat, and she thought she might be physically sick. Shrugging off his hand, she turned her face and backed up a step. But he followed her. And this time, he caught her chin and turned her face toward him.

"Natalia, I know he hurt you. Why won't you tell me? Aren't we best friends? I don't like seeing you hurt."

She pulled away from him, her fury finally finding voice. "But we're not best friends anymore. Don't you see?" She bit her lip. "You ruined it, Esteban, when you asked me out. We can never be friends again."

"If not friends, Natalia, then there's this," he growled, encircling her neck with his arm and drawing her into his embrace. "There's this ... and more. So much more." He lowered his head and captured her lips, possessing her with a ferocity that left her breathless.

His mouth was hard and soft at the same time, demanding and giving with equal measure.  She fought the pleasure, struggled against the passion building inside of her. But it was no use.

Kissing him was like drowning; like trying to struggle against the current of a mountain torrent but being pulled under by forces beyond her strength. The blood surged through her veins, throbbing in her ears. Pressed against him, she felt the pounding of his heart, and her own heart galloped in response.

His arm dropped to her waist and rested there. No longer encircled by his strong arm, she was free. Free to pull away, but she didn't want her freedom. Her tongue found his, meeting his thrusts with her own exploration. The intimate, heated touch of his flesh against hers was almost shocking.

She was suddenly dizzy, outside of herself, as if her mind had shut down, leaving only the desperate cravings of her body. Shuddering, her insides melted, going molten. And that most female part of her throbbed too, slicking with desire.

She'd dreamed of this. In her most secret of hearts, she'd wanted this. His hands on her body, touching her. His tongue in her mouth, tempting her.

Moving closer, she buried her fingers in the cloth of his work shirt and molded herself against his body. She could feel his penis against her abdomen, hard and needy ... wanting her.

Wanting her ... needing her. The chant circled in her head. She wanted too, needed too.

But not like this, a part of her mind fought the dizzying desire, the pent-up passion. She refused to be another of his conquests. She must listen to her head, not her glands.

She pushed against his chest and forced herself to tear her mouth from his, gasping, "Don't! I don't want this. It's not right, Esteban."

He released her and backed up a step, raising both hands in mock surrender. He pinned her with his stony-gray eyes and said, "It is right, Natalia, and you know it. You want it as much as I do."

She couldn't answer, knowing what he said was the truth. She wanted him, a feeling both strange and frightening. With a stifled sob, she dropped to her knees, occupying her trembling hands with shoving plates and half-eaten food into the picnic basket.

When the blanket was cleared, she rose and dusted off her hands. She raised her eyes and stared above his head. She couldn't look him in the face ... not now. "I'm going back down."

Bending, he retrieved the blanket and folded it and grabbed the basket. Like her, he avoided looking at her.  Slinging the folded blanket over one shoulder, he hefted the basket. "I'll go with you."

***

Esteban found he couldn't tear his gaze from the lush curves of Natalia's rear-end as he followed her down the mountain. At the same time, he wished he could kick his own rear-end for coming on so strong. Why hadn't he followed Paco's advice and gone slow? Why had he forced her to kiss him?

Because he was a brute, a selfish brute.

But that wasn't all of the truth. He knew he could be selfish at times but that wasn't why he'd kissed her. He'd sensed the hurt Hector had caused her, and he wanted to wipe it from her memory. His real mistake had been his arrogance, thinking his kiss could do that.

Arrogant or selfish ... the result was the same. He'd scared her off again, and it would probably take him weeks to win her trust ...  if he ever did.

And what was that gibberish that she'd spouted about him ruining their friendship by asking her out?
¡Perdición!
It wasn't her friendship he craved. She was meant to be his wife, his lover and confidante, the mother of his children. Their long friendship might be the foundation of their relationship, but it wasn't enough. He wanted her beside him for the rest of their lives, bringing his children into the world.

At the thought of children, he envisioned Natalia holding their new-born child in her arms, a beautiful smile on her full lips, joy lighting her face. Dreaming of her as a young Madonna, his eyes grew misty.

The picnic basket banged against his thigh. He wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt and realized Natalia had hurried ahead, disappearing over the next rise.

Speeding up, he broke into a trot, wanting to close the gap between them. Not that she wasn't perfectly safe. It wasn't that, but it hurt him to think she wanted to get away from him. When he caught sight of her, he slowed again to a walk. He wanted to catch up, to walk alongside her. But her swift, determined stride kept him back, making him feel distinctly unwanted.

They climbed the last hill, Esteban following behind like a sick calf. When Natalia entered the farmyard, her speed didn't diminish, if anything, she walked faster. Before he could cross from the barn to the house, she'd let herself in the door and shut it firmly. He thought he heard the click of the lock.

He stopped halfway to the house and stared at the blank, unforgiving wood behind the rusty screen. She'd locked him out, not even waiting for her things. The food was his, but the basket and blanket belonged to Pura.

The longer he stared at the closed door, the angrier he became. That closed door epitomized his life. Closed doors, shut in his face. He jumped onto the porch and threw the basket and blanket down. Let Pura find them when she came home and wonder.

Natalia couldn't let go of her ex-fiancé that was plain to see. She couldn't help bringing Hector up and his big deal investments. Rage curdled in Esteban's stomach. Natalia must believe he was beneath her consideration, especially when compared to her ex-fiancé. After all, he wasn't successful, and his family wasn't listed in a social register anywhere.

All he had to give her was his love and ... his dreams. And they weren't enough.

***

Natalia dried the supper dishes and stacked them. Pura fished around in the soapy water for one last fork and handed it to her. With a quick wipe, Natalia returned it to the silverware drawer.

"I went on a picnic with Esteban today," Natalia said.

"I saw the chicken and potato salad in the ice box. I wondered where they came from."

"Why didn't you ask?"

Pura shrugged. "I didn't think it was important."

"How could you do this to me?" Natalia demanded, her question almost a sob.

Her grandmother placed a hand on her shoulder and lifted her eyebrows. "What did I do to you,
mi
Nieta? What are you talking about?"

Natalia shook off her grandmother's hand and hunched her shoulders. "You know what I'm talking about. I think you set it up with Esteban's help. You went off to the market and didn't tell me he was coming to weed the garden. He brought food for a picnic, expecting me to join him."

Pura backed up and gazed directly into Natalia's eyes. "I could use old age as an excuse for not telling you Esteban was coming. But I won't."

She pulled out a kitchen chair and seated herself "What was wrong with going on a picnic with him? I thought you two were friends. Since you broke up with that García boy, you've been moping around my house. Going to school and coming home, shutting yourself away from the world." She raised her head. "It's not healthy, Nieta." 

"So you did conspire with him to---"

"Pah! I conspired! Conspired, indeed!" She rose from the dining chair and shook her index finger. "You watch your mouth, Natalia."

"I won't!" Natalia shouted back, clenching her hands into fists. "You have no right to arrange my life for me, Pura. I'm not a child or one of your students. I know what I want, and it isn't Esteban Montalvo."

"
Por Dios
, I hope it's not that phony, Hector García, that you want."

"I don't want any man. And if keeping to myself is what you call moping, then I'll move out. I won't burden you any longer."

Pura sank back into the chair, shaking her gray head. "More's the pity for you."

"¿Qué?
What do you mean? You think I can't get my own place? I live on my own in Dallas."

"I don't want you to move out,
mi
Nieta. You give me more pleasure than you know. And because I love you so much, I can't bear to see you unhappy. Living alone isn't the answer, Natalia," she almost pleaded. "I meant you not wanting any man should be pitied. Don't give up on the human race because of one bad experience."

Natalia finally understood what her grandmother was driving at, and her pent-up fury melted away, leaving her suddenly spent and tired. She lowered her head and admitted, "I want a husband and family, Abuelita. And I'm not giving up on everyone. I just haven't found the right man yet."

Her grandmother stared past her, as if seeing things Natalia couldn't know or understand.  "As much as I loved your grandfather, the biggest mistake I made was living alone and not remarrying."

Natalia was stunned by her grandmother's confession because Pura had idolized her husband. Had she heard right? Her grandmother stretched out her hand.

Natalia grasped it and squeezed. "I didn't know you felt that way."

"There is nothing more sacred than the love between a woman and a man. Never forget that. When you give that up, your world shrinks. You become self-satisfied and self-centered. Others touch you, and you love them, as I love you. But it's not the same, Nieta
mía
."

Natalia held Pura's hand and pondered what her grandmother had said. Pura's words made her feel bleak, empty and forlorn, as if her own life was over. Would she ever love a man as her
abuela
had? Would she ever find a man worthy of her love?

The vision of Esteban rose before her, demanding and cock-sure, clad in skin-tight denim. Sexy and tender at the same time. She knew him like a brother, but as a man and a lover, she didn't know him at all.

Did she love him, despite his background and questionable ambitions? Was that why he haunted her dreams? Why his mere touch took her breath away? She wished she knew. She wished she could trust her instincts. But they'd failed her once.

Was she willing to take another chance?

***

It was market day again.

Natalia had attended an early class and come home. Pura took the pickup to town. Natalia had been busy cleaning the house and studying. Esteban was outside working, tending the newly-budded tomato plants.

Around two in the afternoon, Natalia had nothing left to do, and the remainder of the afternoon weighed upon her. Maybe she should find a good book and curl up with it. But the bright summer sun beckoned outside the kitchen window. She'd been cooped up inside all day.

Her mind wandered. With a will of its own, it ascended the familiar mountainside, crossing the grassy meadows, meandering through the deep forests. The thought of the waterfall lured her, drawing her higher, pushing her on.

She shook herself and banished her thoughts of the waterfall. That place was inextricably intertwined with her feelings for Esteban, and the last thing she needed was to dream about their special place. Because the land belonged to him, she might never go there again.

  She'd applied at school districts in a hundred mile radius. She'd thought she'd live with Pura but that would mean she'd see Esteban all the time. And since that day of their picnic, she'd taken care to avoid him. Maybe a little distance would be a good thing.

What would the waterfall be like in winter? She'd never visited it in winter. Did the water freeze in place with its diamond brilliance captured in still form for one brief season? Or did the power of the plunging water overcome the icy grasp of winter?

Esteban would know. 

The thought sprang to her mind, like an errant weed. She wrapped her arms around her waist and rocked slowly, back and forth, heel-to-toe, and back again. She felt like a prisoner, and the house shrank around her. Crossing to the kitchen window, she gazed out. Esteban's battered Corolla sat in the farmyard. Moving from window to window, she stared at the perfect rows of vegetables. Nothing moved there, only a wavering mirage of shimmering sunlight, creating a non-existent pool of water between the vegetable rows.

She licked her lips and uncrossed her arms, registering the heat of the summer day. The waterfall haunted her again, and the thought of an icy plunge enticed her. When was the last time she'd swam there? The summer before her engagement. After that, she hadn't felt comfortable wearing a bathing suit in Esteban's presence or going there by herself.

Forget about the damned waterfall. Find something else to do.

She didn't see Esteban. Most likely, he was in the far corner of the farm, attending to the squash plants. Not as fragile as the tomatoes, they needed only periodic care, which reminded her of her own experiment---the asparagus beds.

Pura hadn't attempted asparagus before because they needed an inordinate amount of patience and care. The beds only produced a handful of sprouts after the first three to four years.  But asparagus was her favorite vegetable, and she craved a challenge, so she'd started some beds this summer. Now she wasn't so sure about being here to see them produce, but the excuse to go outside was powerful. She hadn't watered them in several days, and the last time she'd looked, they needed weeding.

She pulled open the door and pushed back the screen. Glancing around, no one was in sight. She grabbed the water hose and tugged it along, untangling knots as she went. For her asparagus beds, she'd chosen a sheltered plot, twelve feet by twelve feet, behind the barn.