Three Wishes (17 page)

I saw Doña Elena studying me, missing nothing. She somehow knew I was a faker, that I didn’t completely belong here. That I’d never sat on a saddle such as this. But what would she think if she found out I was a time-traveler?
Yeah, that’d put her in her place,
I thought. At least it’d end her matchmaking intentions…

“Have a lovely ride, children,” she said.

“Thank you, Mamá,” Javier said, dismissing her, and she turned and grandly returned to the house. Mateo retreated as far as the posts, but shyly waited around, as if he wished he was going too.

I pulled back on the reins, forcing my horse’s head up, and the gelding flicked his tail and whinnied. Javier urged his mount to take a slow circle around me, eyes lit with admiration. “Ahh, sí, he is a fine mount,” he said, grinning at me. But he wasn’t looking at the horse at all. “And you are a vision, Señorita,” he said, loud enough for Mateo to hear, but he didn’t seem to care. “Come. Follow me.”

He set off at a trot around the house, heading toward the mountains. I swallowed back my frustration, realizing that I’d hoped we would be heading to the beach. But my mind was occupied with figuring out how to stay in my saddle and yet keep up with him. He pulled up before long and circled back, matching my gelding’s gait. “Do you not wish to give him more rein, Señorita? See what he has in him?”

“I do not,” I said, swallowing hard. “I’m concentrating on getting used to…this new saddle,” I finished.

“Does it not…fit you well?” he asked.

“Well, this front hook is a bit tight,” I said, moving my leg with a wince.

“It has to be, in case you jump,” he said, frowning. “But perhaps the saddler can ease its grip a bit.” He was all adorable concern and worry, which would have normally melted my heart, but I was still thinking about his belief that I might want to
jump
.

On a
horse
. Riding
sidesaddle
.

“Yes,” I said faintly. “Right.”

But after a while, I realized I was getting the hang of it, as well as the finely trained horse and beautifully crafted saddle that seemed to cradle my hiney in an oddly comforting manner. The gelding was perfectly responsive, seeming to grasp what I wanted to do, when I wanted to do it. Sometimes he got distracted, but he seemed interested in pleasing me most of the time. He was so much better than the weary horses at camp, and Javier’s skittish, high-spirited mare, that I was a bit lost in amazement. When we trotted, the gelding fairly
floated
. Was this the kind of thing that made a girl fall in love with horseback riding? Or was it everything…being alone with Javier? Climbing up into the hills, the mountains towering closer, on a pretty new horse in an outfit that made me feel like a character in a novel? Even the corset wasn’t chafing me as much as it had earlier.

We crossed over a low point among the hills, and I gaped at what was ahead of us. Huge, cream-colored rocks rose above us, rounded as if waves had pounded them for centuries. Javier led me forward along the edge of them, allowing me to take in the wonder of their height and width, and pulled up when we were halfway down their block-long length. He dismounted and came over to me to stroke my horse’s nose and then reached up to help me down. “Javier, I’ve never seen anything like this,” I breathed, still looking up at the towering rocks, while I put my hands on his shoulders and leaned forward. He lowered me to the ground.

“Neither have I,” he said intently, hands still on my hips as he gazed down at me.

My eyes moved from the rocks to him, and I smiled at the compliment, but then eased away as he hobbled the horses. I strode along the formation and felt him soon follow behind, the hairs on the back of my neck standing in rapt attention. Was there any part of me that didn’t feel more
awake
with him around? I shook my head and forced myself to focus on where we were. The hills, the mountains…these were my hills, my mountains. Or at least they hadn’t been far from my house. Why had I never come up here? It was what? Maybe ten, fifteen miles away? I’d seen the mountains, of course. But from the freeways. Never up close. I think we’d taken a field trip somewhere near here in second grade. But not here…

“I believe these hills and much of the mountains were once deep underwater,” Javier said.

“Yes,” I said, thinking this was common knowledge. But he’d looked at me with such surprise, that I realized that it was only common knowledge
later
in history. “I mean, that’s an interesting thought. What makes you believe so?”

“Because of this,” he said, taking my hand and leading me up a steep incline, until we were below one of the broad, leaning boulders. He seemed not to notice that he’d taken hold of my hand, so intent was he on his mission. But I could barely make myself put one foot in front of the other—all I could think about was the feel of his hand on mine. How my fingers fit with his. How it was sending all sorts of weird shocks up my arm, to my neck, down between my shoulder blades. How it felt so good that I never wanted him to let go.

But then he
did
let go, shocking me back to attention. “See? Here?” he asked, kneeling down.

He offered me his hand, but I didn’t dare take it. Instead I pretended to be so distracted by his discovery that I hadn’t noticed, crouching down. I ran my fingers along the imprinted remains of a massive fish’s skeleton and then along the curve of a shell, as big as a melon. “Wow, that is so cool!” I said.

He smiled at me, but his eyes were confused.

“I mean…What I meant to say is that this is…completely…glorious!” I mumbled, rising and moving on, running my fingertips along lines in the rock, hoping he’d forget I’d used very odd words and phrasing for the time. “It’s as if I can imagine being underwater right now.” I turned to him and discovered he was
right
behind me. “I mean…can’t you?” I asked, my voice a little strangled in the face of his sudden nearness.

“Yes,” he said. But again, his eyes weren’t on the rocks. They were on me. “Zara,” he whispered, his voice low and full of wanting.

“Do you swim?” I asked brightly, edging away as if to explore further.

But he caught my hand and pulled me back around. He lifted his other hand and gently traced the line of my face, from temple to chin, eyes hovering over my lips. “
Zara
,” he whispered, clearly thinking more about kissing me than swimming. This time I knew it for sure.

“Do you? Swim?” I repeated.

He gave me a little smile, clearly well aware that I was stalling. “I do swim. Do you?” he asked, lifting his eyes to stare into mine.

“I do,” I said, a second later, turning away from him and continuing my trek along the rocks. “I love to swim!” I said brightly. “I swam every night after work, back home.”

I felt him abruptly pause and realized my mistake, in the midst of trying to avoid something both of us would regret in time. There was already enough of a pull between us. Kissing would just make our parting all the harder.

I turned back to him, thinking I’d say we should head back, but he was staring at me hard. “You…
worked
? You remember? What kind of employment was it?”

I swallowed. “My abuela had a restaurant. I remember that well enough,” I said with a laugh. “That’s why it felt good to me today, to help the maids in the kitchen. Rolling tortillas? Chopping onions? I could do that in my sleep.”

He swallowed hard, as if trying to digest this fact. “Where was her restaurant? In what city?”

“I…I don’t remember,” I said, rubbing my head, hoping he’d think his questions were giving me a headache.

But his eyes narrowed. “You went swimming
every night after work
, you said. So you must have been near the ocean. A town by the beach. You remember waves? Or was it fresh water? A lake or pond, perhaps?”

“No, there were waves,” I said, suddenly wishing I could tell him, tell him everything. “I remember that for sure.” I licked my lips, now wondering if it’d be better to just kiss him and distract him from this line of questioning. Before I told him and he decided he wasn’t taking me to Santa Barbara for a rodeo—he’d be taking me straight to the nearest mental hospital. Even if that was in Louisiana.

“So you worked in your grandmother’s restaurant,” he said slowly, hands on hips, beginning to pace. “In the kitchen. An odd occupation for ladies of your caliber. Where were your menfolk?”

“My grandfather was long dead. I’d lived with my grandmother as long as I can remember.”

“But you can’t remember more?” he asked me, unblinking as he awaited my response.

I shook my head.
Not that I can tell you
, I thought helplessly.

“Could your father and mother be looking for you right now? Posting handbills in every seaside town? I shall tell every captain we meet to keep watch.”

“You could,” I said tonelessly.

“You said you went swimming every
night
after work?” he asked, his frown deepening as he studied me. “Do you mean in the dark? Alone?”

“Yes,” I said, smiling a little at his surprise. “Have you never been swimming at night? When the phosphorus alights all around you, like a thousand glittering stars?”

He blinked, those long, dark eyelashes like a thick fringe. “No, I haven’t.”

“It’s glorious,” I said, grinning now, remembering. “I’ll have to take you sometime. I mean…we, uh…we should ride down to Tainter Cove some evening with the rest of your family so you
all
could experience it.”

He stared at me, as if thunderstruck. I didn’t know if it was because my suggestion had been completely unladylike, or that he was remembering the morning he found me on that very beach.

“No,” he said, gently taking my hand. “I think that we should do that on our own. Swimming at night, I mean,” he said, a smile teasing the corners of his lips.

“Javier, I…”

He stepped closer to me. “Zara.” He placed my hand against his chest. I felt his heart, pounding beneath my fingertips. “Do you feel what you are doing to my heart, my sweet?” He swallowed hard, and I found myself staring at the strong muscles of his neck, extending down to his collarbone, the breeze teasing his shirt slightly open. His skin—so copper-brown and smooth—urged me to reach up and touch it.

“Zara,” he whispered again.

“No,” I muttered, beginning to pull away. I felt his grip tighten, urging me to stay in place. “No,” I said more firmly, now wrenching out of his grasp, aware that he’d had a hand behind my waist. “We can’t do this, Javier! We can’t!” I cried.

“Zara,” he said, following after me, step for step. “Forgive me! I forgot myself,” he pleaded. “It’s only that—”

“No,” I said, shaking my head, continuing to retreat. “You don’t understand. I want to kiss you, I do. It’s just that…Javier, I’m not from here. Not from your world.” My momentum with this partial-truth strengthened me, clarified my thoughts, bringing me back to earth when he threatened to cast me into orbit. “I’m a common girl, a worker in a restaurant,” I said, hoping
that
reminder would anchor him in thoughts about why we, together, were all wrong. “You are the ranchero, head of this vast, beautiful, amazing land, with big responsibilities. You need a woman from a fine family, not a girl given to swims in the ocean at night.” I added weight to that last word, as if it was the most scandalous thing possible. “What would people say?”

“I do not care what they say,” he said, shaking his head. “I’ve never cared how the tongues wag among people who have nothing better to do than gossip.”

“But your mother does,” I tried desperately, aware that he was getting closer to me again, wearing me down. And I’d backed into a small cleft in the rocks.

“My mother thinks that you’re a perfect match for me,” he said.

“She doesn’t know me. Know where I came from. I don’t know myself!”

“She recognizes something unique within you, Zara Ruiz,” he said, lifting a hand above me to the rock, leaning closer, “something that I keep discovering myself.” He put his other hand on the rock above me, on the other side. “Here I am, Zara. Vulnerable to you. I know what you could do to me, in this position, legs akimbo,” he said with a slight, teasing smile. “But I want you to know I shall not harm you, just as I trust you shall not…harm…me,” he whispered, his hot breath on my ear sending shivers down my neck.

There was nothing in his action that made me fear for my body—only my heart. I stared up at him, waiting for him to straighten and meet my gaze, wondering how much pain he’d feel when I left him, for my own time. “Javier, please. Don’t do this.”

“Do what?” he said, leaning closer again, his lips so close to my cheek that I could feel them pass by, slowly, a whisper away.

I closed my eyes, feeling frozen between what I wanted—to accept him—and the distant call to run.

His lips hovered over mine, slightly parted.

Waiting.

And then I was lifting my chin, unable to deny him any longer.

I wanted this.

I wanted Javier to hold me.

Even if it did cost me a piece of my heart when I left.