Fierce Pride (11 page)

Even knowing it would be a huge mistake, she liked him too much not to cuddle a bit. She lay down and rested her head on his shoulder. She was tired and meant to go to her own room in a few minutes, but she was so comfortable with him, she drifted off. She dreamed of traveling through a beautiful golden countryside, but just as in Stephen King’s novels, everything swiftly went wrong. Jarred awake, she gasped for breath.

“What’s wrong now? A bad dream?” he asked.

She scrambled off his bed and stood leaning against the foot. Most dreams faded the instant she woke, but this one lingered in vivid hues. “Yes. We were talking about sight-seeing, and I dreamed I’d gone with a group, five or six of us. We were riding in a big horse-drawn cart though fields of gorgeous golden grain, something you’d see in a painting. When we reached the old castle we’d intended to visit, we went into the café for something to eat, and one of the boys lit a cigarette. I told him he was polluting the air for the rest of us. The others laughed at me. I went to the restroom, which was primitive, to say the least, and when I came out, they were all gone. It was late afternoon, and I faced a long walk home alone in the dark.” She raked her hair away from her face and twisted the ends into a tight coil. His look of concern made her feel very foolish.

“The whole thing was silly. I’m sorry if I woke you. I’ll see you in the morning. Don’t be afraid of my mother. You can’t spook her twice.”

She was out the door before he could stop her. He lay back and analyzed her dream easily enough. He’d only kissed her a few times, and she was already afraid he’d leave her stranded. He always made certain his dates got home safely, but Minnesota was a long way to go. Libby was awfully pretty, but he’d not repeat his father’s mistake with her mother. At least he didn’t smoke.

Chapter Five

When Libby returned to the house after her run the next morning, Santos was on the patio, speaking with a man she didn’t recognize. She swung wide to enter the house without bothering them, but Santos gestured for her to join them and introduced Javier Cazares.

The detective rose to greet her. “My pleasure, Miss Gunderson. I hope you’re enjoying Spain.”

“Thank you, I am. What have you discovered?” Eager to hear, she drew a chair close.

Javier consulted his notebook and addressed his remarks to Santos. “I’ve found no evidence any of the women you’ve dated had anything to do with the mirror incident. Rosalba Valdez has moved to Paris and wasn’t in Spain last weekend. Claudia Garcia was out with a date.” He paused to push up his glasses. “I told her I was writing an article about you and had come across her name. She doubted you’d remember her.”

Libby sat up. “Would you rather I go inside?”

Santos shook his head. “No. Maybe you’ll hear something I’ll miss. Go on, Javier, who else did you contact?”

“I tried to speak with Francesca Muñoz, but her roommate told me she’d gone to Granada a week ago to visit her grandmother. I found her at the Granada number. Lucy Sereno has married an attorney and moved to Madrid. Maria Morin regularly volunteers at a children’s hospital across town and was there Sunday until late evening.” He looked up. “She’s dating a doctor on the staff, and they were together. The last name on your list, Lourdes Canales, died in a traffic accident in Switzerland last year.”

“Lourdes is dead? I hadn’t heard. We didn’t date long. She was more interested in my father than me, which wasn’t anything new.”

“You’re not serious,” Libby interjected.

He shrugged. “We were only eighteen years apart. He was rich and famous, and I was a good-looking kid. Most women preferred him.”

His flippant assessment of women’s preferences didn’t fool her. He had to have been hurt if women regularly stepped over him to meet Miguel. She reached out to take his hand. “Were they just after his money?”

“No. Ask your mother about him and see how she describes him.”

Stunned by his coldly worded suggestion, she dropped his hand. “There’s no reason to torture her.” She began to wonder about Ana Santillan’s taste in men and was smart enough not to ask. “What about the protesters? Did you find any promising leads?”

Javier turned a page in his notebook. “They’re a varied group with few ties other than their opposition to bullfighting. I spoke with several men who’d been arrested during earlier protests. They wanted to congratulate whomever had flashed the mirror at Santos but had no idea who it might be. As for the women who frequently protest, they usually escape arrest, and I was unable to get their names. Next Sunday, I’ll be prepared with my camera and have more to report.”

“Thank you,” Santos responded.

Javier bid them good-bye and left on the path circling the house.

“I don’t mean to be unkind, but does he remind you of a ferret?” Libby whispered.

Santos leaned in. “The first time we spoke in person, that’s exactly what I thought. It’s the narrow face and glasses that magnify his eyes.”

“And sharp nose,” Libby added.

“And scratchy voice, as though he lives underground.”

She leaned into his kiss. It was more a good-morning gesture, not the full, passionate kind. Still, she enjoyed it immensely.

Patricia came out the backdoor, saw what Santos and Libby were up to and walked on down to the shore. Victoria was walking along the water, and she waved to her and caught up.

Rafael asked Peter to come into the den, meaning to get the dreaded conversation over and done before Maggie even knew he was there. “Would you like coffee, or something stronger?” he asked.

“No, thank you. I’m fine.” The taunting painting of Miguel was the size of a museum exhibit. Peter turned his back on it and sat on the sofa. “While I appreciate the effort, there’s no need to ask for my blessing. Maggie has always known her own mind, and I respect that, but you’re not the man I’d have chosen for her.”

Rafael would have been more comfortable standing, but rather than tower over Peter, he took one of the black leather chairs so their eyes would meet. “I understand, but Maggie and I love each other, and I’ll make her happy.”

“You can only try,” Peter advised.

Rafael smiled. “I intend to succeed. I want to tell you a story. You’re an attorney; perhaps you can offer advice.”

“I’m not familiar with Spanish law.”

“Nevertheless, hear me out. There was a young man who was very close to his younger sister. They had no parents, and their grandmother raised them. When the sister was sixteen, she was raped by a young man, who made a joke of it. The brother called him out. The rapist pulled a knife, and in the following fight, the rapist was killed. The brother was charged with murder and spent six years in prison. Is that what would have happened in America?”

Peter sighed wearily and looked down at his hands. “It’s a difficult question, and I wish I could give you a definitive answer, but a lot would depend on the identities of the dead man and the survivor and how much sympathy could be generated for each. A talented prosecutor might convince a jury the defendant was lowlife scum and guilty. An even more talented defense attorney might convince a jury the deceased was a scumbag and the defendant a hero for defending his sister’s honor. Unfortunately, justice isn’t always meted out fairly.”

“Whose side would you take?”

“I’m a defense attorney. I would have made the brother a hero and given him a parade when he was acquitted.” Peter’s eyes were an intense blue and filled with apprehension. “Please tell me that isn’t your story.”

Rafael shrugged. “I’m afraid it is. I worked in the prison hospital and discovered I have a talent for medicine, so those six years weren’t wasted.”

Peter winced. “Does Maggie know?”

“I told her when we first met. She took my side too.”

“I could use a drink. Is there any scotch?”

“Chivas Regal.” Rafael got up and poured him a drink.

Peter tossed it down in a single gulp and set the glass on the coffee table. “There’s no reason to tell Linda. She already feels as though we’re losing Maggie to a world she rejected twenty-five years ago. At least Miguel’s dead. I wouldn’t have come with her if he’d still been alive.”

“That would have been a very serious mistake.”

Peter stood. “Maybe, maybe not. Don’t believe you can predict a woman’s behavior. They veer off on tangents without warning, usually when you least expect it.”

Rafael rose and offered his hand. “Thank you.”

Peter shook his hand firmly. “What would you have done if I’d forbidden the match?”

“Maggie and I would have married anyway.”

Peter shook his head. “It wouldn’t be wise to confide that either.”

“I understand.” Rafael opened the door and stood aside. There was still a whole lot he wasn’t revealing, but for now, his murder conviction would be enough. Having survived that onerous chore, he left and would wait to see Maggie later.

Linda had brought a tailored suit in a luscious apricot shade, but she looked through the clothes at the boutique and pulled out the skirt with the floral pattern Libby had tried on. “This is pretty.”

Patricia was holding a dress with alternating bands of white and bright pink eyelet mixed with a pink floral fabric. “Why don’t you buy it? I want to try on this.”

“Is that too bright, Maggie?” her mother asked.

“No, not at all. We’ll be on the beach with the ocean for a backdrop, and whatever Patricia wants will be fine.”

Carmela joined them at her enthusiastic best. “What a beautiful family you have. Are you dressing for a special occasion?”

“No,” Maggie insisted quickly. “We’re planning a dinner together.”

“How wonderful. Please let me know if you need another size.”

Linda waited until the clerk had walked away and then whispered, “Is the wedding a secret for some reason?”

Maggie answered just as softly. “Yes, Santos and Rafael are well-known, and we don’t want any tacky press coverage.”

“I see. What are you going to wear, Libby?”

Libby waited for Patricia to choose, and once her sister had bought the colorful pink-and-white dress, she chose a long lime-green skirt and scooped-neck top that would pick up the green in Patricia’s dress. She was so tall she usually stood out, but for the wedding, she wanted to fade into the background. There had never been a competition between the sisters, probably because their looks and personalities were so different. Now, knowing Santos had grown up in his father’s very long shadow made him easier to understand, if not resist. She smiled as they walked back up the beach, carrying their packages, but Santos was never more than a blink away from her mind. She remembered his luscious kisses and licked her lips. She’d never felt such a strong attraction to another man, and repeatedly warning herself he was Mr. Wrong just wasn’t working.

Santos joined the Gundersons for lunch. He took his place at the head of the table and slid his crutches under his chair. “I’m so sorry about yesterday.”

“Please don’t apologize,” Linda insisted. “I hadn’t seen Miguel since we separated in college, and I should have expected you to resemble him.”

Maggie praised the seafood salad to quickly guide the conversation away from Santos. “Tomas is such a wonderful chef, but I keep changing my mind about what to ask him to prepare for the wedding dinner.”

“How many of us are there going to be?” Peter asked.

“All of us, plus Rafael and a doctor friend who’ll be his best man. Our aunt Cirilda and her ex-husband—she’s marrying him again.” She glanced toward Santos.

“I’ve invited a few guests. Don’t worry, Tomas always prepares more than we can eat, and we never run out of champagne. I meant to offer to provide the musicians. They can play in the house if not on the beach. What about strings, maybe with a flute, something very elegant, perhaps a guitar if you’re inspired to dance flamenco.”

“I’d love to see you dance,” Linda said.

Maggie took a sip of tea. “I’ll ask Rafael to dance with me.”

Peter paused with his fork halfway to his mouth. “He dances?”

“Yes,” Santos answered. “That’s why Maggie likes him.”

“It’s more than his dancing,” she assured him, “but he is spectacularly good.”

“I bet he’s spectacularly good at everything,” Patricia posed under her breath. “Why do we have to wait until Saturday to see you two dance? What’s wrong with tonight?”

“I suppose we could,” Maggie admitted, but she’d downplay her role as she had at Bailaora
.

“What about flowers?” Libby asked.

“We’ve got them,” Santos said. “We have a florist who does our parties, and Maggie’s already talked to them.”

“Some couples are freeze-drying the bridal bouquet,” Linda remarked. “Can you do that here?”

“I don’t want a fancy bouquet,” Maggie insisted. “I’ll have a corsage for you, and boutonnieres for the men. Libby, Patricia and I will carry roses tied with a satin bow.”

Linda laid her fork on her plate. “I suppose there’s a lot to be said for economizing on wedding expenses when it’ll all be gone in a single day.”

“Rafael didn’t give you a ring?” Peter asked.