Fierce Pride (36 page)

He sat up and leaned against the headboard. “It did occur to me, which is why we need to talk. I don’t want Maggie and Rafael to know anything more than they knew before they left town.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t want to include them, and that’s it. Don’t argue with me.”

His dark eyes and brows emphasized his recalcitrant mood, but she immediately rebelled against his sharp order. “Do the words squirrel-headed twit mean anything to you?”

He folded his arms over his bare chest. “Not in this case. I’ll tell them everything after Victoria has been found and I know the whole story.”

“I’d rather give them installments.” She rolled off her bed, picked up his crutches and handed them to him. “If that’s the way you’re going to be, I’d rather leave for the beach now.”

“Refugio is preparing dinner, and I won’t disappoint him by leaving early.”

“Apparently you don’t mind disappointing me.” She pulled on her jeans, which smelled too much like a horse, and the knit top she’d worn earlier in the day and shoved her feet into her sandals. “I’m going for a walk.”

“Wait.”

She rested her hand on the doorknob, although it was unlikely he’d come to his senses so quickly. She gave him the benefit of the doubt. “Yes?”

“You forgot to brush your hair.”

He looked completely serious. “I don’t give a damn about my hair, and you’re lucky I’m a lady or I’d whack you with a crutch.” She went on out the door and ran downstairs. She stopped by the kitchen for sugar cubes and went out to the corral. Refugio had given her a strange stare, but if her coif weren’t perfect, it was a small problem.

They’d ridden the bay again that morning, and he beat the other horses to the rail. She gave him the first cube. “Whenever a man stops saying ‘We’ and switches to ‘I’, you know you’re in trouble. Oh, I’ve been in trouble all along,” she muttered under her breath.

She felt Jesus approaching before she caught sight of him from the corner of her eye. “Good afternoon. I’m just talking to the horses. I don’t want to ride again.”

He shrugged and walked back toward the stable, and she doubted he’d understood a word she’d said. At least he’d gone away. She doled out the sugar cubes, brushed her hands on her jeans and walked around the stable to the garden to search for strawberries. She bent down to pick a few.

Santos resembled his father so closely she could easily imagine a young Miguel and Rosa dashing through the rows of corn. She could almost hear their laughter, but her thoughts swiftly darkened. If Rosa haunted the ranch, and this was where she’d been happy and in love, she’d never want to see Santos with one of Linda Gunderson’s daughters. She ate the strawberries she’d picked rather than toss them aside, but she felt sick.

She’d actually thought Maggie should be the one to help Santos write a book about his father but now realized how poor a plan it was. Maggie was much too close to the tragedy following Santos’s birth, and while he didn’t seem to blame her, writing the book would surely strain their newfound relationship.

Santos found her sitting on the ground by the garden. He handed her the hairbrush. “You look like you put a finger in a light socket, which I realize doesn’t trouble you, but think of the rest of us.”

She would have thrown the hairbrush had she not needed it later. She shaded her eyes with her hand and looked up at him, her disappointment in him plain in her frown. “I may not have been in the bullring, but I saw you get hurt. I could have died in the elevator fire or been struck by the bullet that hit the balcony wall. But it’s all
your
story. Is that how you see it?”

“I’d sit with you, but I wouldn’t be able to get back up. Will you please stand?”

The ground had grown hard, but that was the only reason she stood. She brushed the seat of her jeans. “As I see it, I’ve saved your life twice. You owe me big-time.”

He leaned on his crutches. “Am I supposed to be your slave forever?”

“That would be nice.” It was impossible to stay angry with him, and she had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. “Then we could plan things together, and you couldn’t stray off by yourself.”

“I can barely walk, so I’m unlikely to stray. Let’s go sit on the porch.”

Libby followed him, and when she took her usual wicker chair, she moved it away from his. “I’m serious, Santos. Either we’re a team or we’re not, even if it’s only until August, when I leave.”

“Aren’t you worried Maggie would tell your folks what we’ve been through, and you’d have to fly home Monday?”

He’d just given her a glimmer of insight into his real worry, but she schooled her expression rather than gloat. “No, because I’d swear her to silence. She’s keeping her own secret. Our parents don’t know your grandmother tried to kill her.”

He stared at her. “You’d blackmail your own sister?”

She dipped her head and began brushing her hair from her nape. “No, of course not. It would be a bargain for our mutual benefit.”

He drummed his fist on the table. “I’ll never understand how women think. Refugio is making a rolled roast with the most delicious mushroom and onion stuffing, and I don’t want to ruin dinner. Let’s talk strategy on the way home tomorrow morning.”

She slanted a glance his way. “Promise not to leave me at the side of the freeway.”

“You’re safe. Manuel wouldn’t allow it.”

“It would look really bad in the tabloids.”

“There’s that concern too.” He held out his hand. “Let me brush your hair.”

She scooted her chair closer to his. They were using charm and humor rather than face a difficult issue, but every time he slammed a door on her, metaphorically speaking, she had the right to kick it open.

Libby wore her new aqua-and-black skirt with an aqua top for dinner. Santos’s place was set at the head of the table and hers was on the right as it had been last night. After the horse adventure Friday afternoon, she’d thought they’d just sleep together, but Santos had had more in mind. She’d not objected at all, although the coming night didn’t look nearly as promising.

Refugio had two young helpers who served dinner, and the stuffed roast was as excellent as Santos had promised. “The roast is so tender. Everything is delicious here. Salad greens fresh from the garden, and these carrots are the best I’ve ever eaten. Do the men eat this well?”

Santos rested his fork on his plate and blotted his mouth with his napkin. “They eat very well, but sautéed carrots don’t appeal to them.”

“I understand. They’d expect a carrot to be tossed into a stew.”

“That’s exactly how Refugio sneaks the vegetables into his menus.”

They’d come to a truce that afternoon, but she still felt uneasy. “Do Spanish women expect men to make all the decisions?”

He cocked a brow. “Leave it for tomorrow, Libby.”

She shrugged. “I’m just trying to know you better, not make a point.”

He refilled her wineglass. “I’ve no idea what most Spanish women think. Some apparently don’t think at all. I once heard a man complain his wife did too much thinking, so maybe he didn’t do enough. The people here can’t be all that different from everyone in America.”

She wasn’t convinced. “Maybe, but we have a little more than two centuries as a country, and our people are a wonderful blend of cultures. Spain must have a thousand years of simply being Spanish.”

“Much more. The Romans arrived in 218 BC, but they weren’t the first people here. The true natives go back to 800,000 BC.” He watched her lashes nearly touch her brows. “Why do you look so surprised? I paid attention in school. You must have heard of Ferdinand and Isabel. They united Spain and sent Columbus to the New World.”

“In 1492,” she murmured between bites. “Even if we start counting with them, that’s more than five hundred years.”

“What is your point, even if you weren’t making one? That we’re hampered by centuries of burdensome traditions and our women are all trapped in their kitchens with a dozen noisy children hanging on to their aprons?”

She sat back and folded her hands in her lap. He was so handsome with an angry fire lighting his eyes she could barely recall what they were discussing. “I didn’t mean to insult you,” she commented softly.

“You haven’t,” he replied, but his expression wasn’t forgiving. “Just don’t bring up the Inquisition, because I won’t accept the blame for the cruel insanity of it.”

“I hadn’t even thought of it. I have this ridiculous notion that men and women should be able to discuss their opinions without anyone getting angry or hurt. I must learn how to do it. My father can raise an argument to an art form, but that’s another kind of talent.”

He swallowed the last bite on his plate. “I don’t like to argue.”

“Neither do I.” She wondered if while growing up he hadn’t heard too many furious arguments between his father and his succession of wives. It must have been terrifying to have his home repeatedly disrupted. She reached for his hand. “Do you want the rest of my dinner?”

He looked surprised by her question, then laughed and reached for her plate. “Yes, thank you. Now let me tell you about this pony I had when I was barely old enough to stay on his back.”

She sat back and listened. He was a wonderful storyteller and used amusing detail to keep her entertained. He was attempting to distract her, which was rather sweet. But tomorrow, she intended to convince him her way was best.

As they got ready to leave, Anita Lujan gave them heartier hugs than she had on their arrival and whispered in Libby’s ear, “Come back often.”

“I’d love to. Thank you for everything.” Manuel had already loaded their luggage into the SUV, and she walked beside Santos toward it. “Would you rather sit in the front?”

“Then I’d have to turn around to press my side. I’ll ride in the back with you.”

She thought briefly of riding in the front herself, but then she’d be the one to have to twist into a pretzel to make a point. She waited until they were on the freeway to speak. “Tell me why you want to hide things from Maggie and Rafael.”

In an unexpected tender gesture, he reached for her hand and laced his fingers in hers. “They’ll complicate things unnecessarily.”

“How?”

“The more people who know about Rigoberto and Victoria, the more difficult it will be to keep the search for her a secret.”

“You can’t believe they’d share your plans with the tabloids.”

He looked out the window at the minimal traffic passing by. “I doubt they would, but I want to concentrate on finding Victoria and the baby.”

“Cazares is looking and Detective Nuñez is too.”

“I trust Javier to be thorough, but not Nuñez.”

“Cazares hasn’t called with an update on Avila’s status?”

“I would have told you if he had.”

He appeared to be more interested in the passing scene than her. She’d really thought he’d crawl into her bed last night, but she hadn’t woken up until morning. She might have gone into his room if she had. She couldn’t resist using it to her own advantage. She snuggled close to whisper in his ear, “I missed you last night. If I’d been awake when you came up to your room, I would have gotten into your bed, even if you avoided mine.”

He studied her expression, his glance as befuddled as his thoughts. “I didn’t think I’d be welcome.”

“There will be other nights. Now I understand how frustrating the search for Victoria is. She might not have a coherent story once we locate her, but that’s no reason to forbid me to confide in my sister.”

“She’d tell Rafael. He’ll have his own take on things, and I don’t want to deal with him. Victoria was after me, remember, not anyone else.”

He’d zipped up his shell, but she wouldn’t back down. She took his hand in both of hers. “What am I, only possible collateral damage?”

“I didn’t mean that. I’d rather you kept quiet, but I don’t have the right to forbid you to talk to Maggie.”

He’d finally seen the obvious. “Then why are we having this conversation?”

He rested his head on the back of his seat. “I stayed up late, and I’m too tired to say more. Wake me when we get home.”

“For round two?” she asked, but he failed to answer. She caught Manuel’s glance in the rearview mirror, and he nodded and smiled. She wondered how many other decidedly cool arguments he’d overheard.

Maggie and Rafael arrived at the appointed time that night and swept into the beach house with their dancers’ graceful abandon. Rafael nodded at Santos and kissed Libby’s cheek. Maggie kissed them both. “Has Mom called you about Patricia?”

Libby sent Santos a frightened glance. “What’s happened to Patricia?”

“Nothing terrible, yet,” Maggie answered. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

Santos urged them all into the den for drinks. “I thought this was trouble central for the summer,” he said.

“What else has happened to you?” Maggie asked.

“You first,” Santos insisted.

Maggie took one of the comfortable black chairs, and Rafael leaned against the back. “Mom called me a couple of times. Leaving me here in Spain with Rafael was difficult for her, and now Patricia is upsetting her. Patricia and Fox were nearly glued to each other the day of the wedding. Since then, they’ve been texting and Skyping, and she wants to transfer to a school in London next year to be near him.”