California Girl (22 page)

He would tell her photography was another hobby and that she
couldn’t make a career of it. He was probably right.

Sighing in exasperation that she couldn’t keep her thoughts
away from Elliot long enough to figure out her path in life, she walked into
the air-conditioned cold of the superstore. Shopping might straighten out her
brain.

She located some adorable picture books in both Spanish and
English, a child’s toothbrush, and a pretty bow for Lucia’s hair. Deciding to
find out more about Lucia’s camera, she asked the man behind the film desk what
kind of film it took. He told her he could have the current roll developed by
morning, so she bought a new roll and left the old one. Maybe something on the
film could tell them more about the silent little girl.

She had a long discussion about heartburn with the
pharmacist before deciding on a packet of antacids. Maybe room service had
delivered their supper by now. If she dallied long enough, Elliot could feed
Lucia. He was the food expert. She didn’t want to get involved.

An ambulance screamed somewhere down the street as she
stepped outside, and she flinched until she realized it was in the opposite
direction of the hotel. She knew the hard way that caring for people meant
worrying about fires and ambulances.

She didn’t have the strength in her to do that again. She’d
bravely told Elliot that people die, but that didn’t mean she could tolerate
losing someone she loved any more than he could.

So she wouldn’t think about it. She wanted to enjoy the world
without ever worrying again.

Passing by the truck stop, she noticed several of the
drivers standing by their trucks, staring at her. Driving must be a lonely
profession. She didn’t think she wanted to learn trucking, even if it meant she
could travel. Smiling, she waved at the men, then aiming the hot pink camera down
the street, she started snapping more pictures. She’d give Lucia a record of
her journey.

“Jell-O tastes good, but green beans will make your eyes
prettier.”

Mame had told his brothers that vegetables would make them
stronger and put hair on their chests, but Elliot didn’t think that trick would
work so well with a little girl. Lucia seemed to be studying the matter while
she picked at her plate.

He’d pulled the hotel’s small table over to the bed so she
could reach her food, but her chin barely extended above it. She eyed him
skeptically, picked up a bean, and pushed it into her mouth.

The door opened and Alys blew in. The sound of sirens racing
by caused Lucia to glance up in alarm. Staying on a major highway had its
drawbacks. Alys hastily slammed the door.

Elliot couldn’t tear his gaze away from her. She was so
slight she ought to blow away in a good wind, but she’d broken a board with her
bare hand and rode a huge horse down a difficult trail without faltering. And
he’d spent a night in her bed. She wasn’t frail.

She had curves in all the right places, but it was her
expressive face he watched now. He’d seen her smile of pleasure when she
entered. She’d been bouncing and happy—her natural state, he suspected. But as
soon as she’d walked inside, a light inside her had turned off, and he didn’t
know what had flipped the switch. Or who. She set her package down on the
dresser and checked her flyaway hair in the mirror.

One thing Alys did not do was primp. She was avoiding him.
Or Lucia.

She hurt his heart in ways no physical pain could. He wanted
her to look at him with the joy he’d seen in her eyes last night. He needed her
laughter and teasing to lift him from the rut he’d dug for himself.

He
needed her to teach him how to enjoy life, but he couldn’t ruin
her
life in the process.

“What did you find?” he asked, helping Lucia spoon up Jell-O.

“Books. No herbal remedies, just antacids. I used Lucia’s
camera to take some pictures and left her film there. We need to pick up her photos
before we leave. Maybe they can tell us something about her.”

He could hear the avoidance in her voice. She was distancing
herself already.

He thought she’d been ready to share his bed again when they’d
arrived at the hotel. The only thing that had changed was the presence of the
dark-eyed child.

Elliot studied Lucia. She was sturdy and wholesome, not in
danger of departing the world soon. Her silence was heartbreaking but not a
reason to deny her existence.

So maybe it was children in general Alys ran from. She
didn’t have any. Couldn’t? That would be a tragedy for someone so specifically
designed to bring joy and love into lives.

“What kind of books?” He cut another piece of chicken for
Lucia to chew and took the children’s books Alys handed him. “Spanish and
English? Do you think she speaks Spanish and that’s why she doesn’t talk?”

“She understands English. I just thought it might be
interesting to try. How good is your Spanish?” She dropped down at the end of
the mattress and flipped through the pages.

More sirens sounded outside and Lucia apprehensively watched
the door, but Alys leaned back on her elbow to show her the picture book,
effectively distracting her.

“My
Spanish is pretty much limited to
buenos
días
and
gracias
,” Elliot admitted.

Alys
pointed at the picture of the pig, then the word
puerco
for
Lucia. Lucia didn’t repeat the word, but her eyes lit with fascination. “She
understands Spanish, too.”

Elliot gave up on feeding Lucia to start on his own dinner,
now cold. He damned the images dancing in his head of Alys sitting beside a
roaring fire, reading to shorter versions of himself. “Maybe you ought to be a
teacher.”

“You think?” She looked up at him eagerly, her crystalline
eyes bright with interest. Her whole face lit with joy at the idea. “It takes
years of education, but it’s a real career, not a hobby.”

That he’d generated her excitement stirred a ribbon of
pride, but she made it sound as if she were asking his approval. He wasn’t
going to be Fred, telling her what to do. “It’s hard work for lousy pay. You
have to do it because you love it.”

“How do I know if I’ll love it until I do it?” she
countered. “Maybe I should just be a teaching assistant. Do schools have
those?”

“They do, but you’ve got the brains and perseverance to
handle more than that.” He stabbed his chicken a little too hard, and it
slithered off his plate. “If you don’t want to commit time and money to a
career, then become a waitress in an expensive restaurant.”

“Maybe I will. Then I could work anywhere.” She bounced up
from the bed to uncover the third plate on the table. “A hamburger! Thank you.”
She bent and kissed his head, then settled into her chair to munch contentedly.

He was too on edge to appreciate a peck on the head but too
aware of the child watching them to act on his urges. Gritting his teeth,
Elliot returned to eating the unpalatable mess on his plate. Why was he having
a hard time thinking of Alys as a waitress in some greasy spoon?

* * *

After dinner had been consumed in a haphazard manner, they
let Lucia watch a children’s show on television. When she started to yawn, Alys
showed her the new toothbrush, and she nodded her head. To their surprise,
Lucia uncovered a pair of baby-doll pajamas from beneath the pillow when she
emerged from the bathroom. Solemnly, she began to undress.

“Someone loved her and knew how to make her feel at home,”
Alys murmured to Elliot while he checked his voice mail one more time for
messages.

“And someone hurt her,” he muttered back. “She’s terrified
of sirens and isn’t silent because she’s deaf.”

“Mame rescued her for a reason,” she agreed. “Maybe we’ll
find her when we reach the reservation.”

After reading one of the new books to Lucia, Alys tucked her
into bed. Purple leaped from the dresser to curl up on the pillow beside the
child. Elliot checked his e-mail in hopes of messages about Mame, then switched
on the news to see if there was any mention of a missing child.

Pretending not to pay attention, he listened as Alys
showered and changed into her long nightshirt. Did she intend to sleep with
Lucia or him? His id argued with his superego over talking her into his bed.
Even if they couldn’t do anything with a child in the room, he wanted her
beside him. All he accomplished was a burning pain in his side.

If the pain moved down his arm, he’d have to act on it. That
was almost a certain sign of a heart attack. He hated frightening Alys, but he
wasn’t prepared to die yet. For now, he’d eat antacid and pray a lot.

Without fanfare, Alys slipped into the vacant bed. Elliot
offered a silent prayer of thanksgiving and shut down his computer. Checking to
see that the child slept, he unpacked his new pajamas, and went to take his
shower.

He hated pajamas, but he’d never had to share a room with a
five-year-old, and didn’t know the proper protocol. He wasn’t entirely certain
of his reception when he crawled in beside Alys, either. He switched off the
bedside light.

“Don’t get any ideas,” she whispered in a tight voice. “I
just didn’t want to frighten Lucia. Maybe we should have asked for a cot.”

Fire burned in the hollow around his heart, but Elliot
accepted her judgment in this. The uninhibited sex they’d shared earlier hadn’t
exactly been quiet. He was having difficulty explaining that to the tent in his
pajamas though.

“How do parents manage this?” he whispered back.

“With quiet passion,” she murmured with a hint of laughter
indicating she was aware of his predicament.

“Or quiet desperation.” He was willing to do it with quiet
passion, joyous noise, or in a house, with a mouse. He didn’t care so long as
he had his hands full of Alys’s joy and life and her vibrant body eagerly
sheathing his sex. Even if they both avoided commitment, they could enjoy
lovemaking. Unfortunately, she didn’t appear interested in cooperating.

“I’ve already led the life of quiet desperation,” she
whispered back, all trace of laughter gone. “I’m not doing it again.”

Well, he guessed that told him. Lying there stiffly, sensing
she was tense as he was, Elliot ground his molars in frustration and sought
sleep.

They could be in Albuquerque tomorrow, Thursday. If Mame was
waiting for them, he could be back to his normal life by Friday.

He tried thinking of a topic for his Sunday radio show. That
should bore him to sleep.

The knob rattling on the chain-locked door startled both of
them. Elliot could feel Alys freezing up beside him. Silently, they waited to
see if the noise would go away.

The knob rattled again.

Throwing back the covers, Elliot pushed Alys down when she
would have jumped up. “Call the front desk,” he whispered. “It may just be a
drunk.”

“It may be Mame,” she whispered back.

It wasn’t Mame sliding a card into the lock, then slamming a
heavy foot against it when it wouldn’t budge.

“Down between the beds. Under them, if you can.” Elliot
leaped out of bed to grab Lucia while Alys slid to the floor, pulling the phone
from the bed stand with her. The child woke with a cry but hushed instantly
when Alys held out her arms for her. The kitten woke and indignantly leaped to
the top of the entertainment center.

The foot slammed again, and the hollow door splintered.
Elliot had taken his share of self-defense courses in the past, but the one
that had stuck with him most was the practical one. He jammed the sturdiest
chair in the room under the doorknob. Then grabbing the heavy table lamp, he
ripped it out by the cord and waited behind the door. Alys and Lucia were
completely hidden between the double beds.

He heard Alys murmuring into the phone, and he prayed the
door held until security arrived. The only other way out was the window beside
the door—where the thief stood.

His heart pounded so loudly he thought it ought to be heard
across the room while he waited for the thug to kick in the lock. Elliot prayed
that meant the intruder had no gun or was afraid to use it. He couldn’t imagine
why a thief would choose this room to burgle, but many thieves were addicts and
not the brightest bulbs in the marquee.

A shoulder thudded against the splintered door. He didn’t
hear shouts or pounding feet so security wasn’t on the scene. The hotel
probably had a retired security guard sleeping in the back somewhere.

The lock gave, but the chain held. Outside, he could hear
the quiet rumble of an idling semi. Surely some trucker in the parking lot
could see what was happening and would call the police. The parking lot was
jam-packed with big rigs.

The door lurched open and caught on the chair and the chain.
Elliot clamped down on his fury, raising the lamp in readiness. The two-bit
creep outside the door would have to come through him before reaching the two
innocents hidden between the beds. When he was a kid, he’d broken a baseball
bat hitting a hard ball. He could connect with more strength and better
accuracy now—with the power of fury behind the blow.

The chain tore from its mooring after another body slam
against the door. Whoever was on the other side shoved again, and the chair
toppled. It wasn’t heavy. One more shove on the door and the chair would move.
Tightening his shoulder muscles, Elliot waited for his chance.

The intruder pushed and the chair shifted across the opening
doorway. Behind him, Elliot heard Alys scrambling about, but he couldn’t turn
to see what she was up to. He focused all his rage on the fool just outside the
door. From this angle, he couldn’t use the intruder’s head for a baseball, but
he could come damned close.

In the darkness, his hearing was acute. Over the rumble of
several semis he heard a muttered curse. A boot kicked at the obstructing chair
through the partial crack, and the door swung wide. Bunching his muscles,
Elliot held his fury in until a shaggy head peered around the door. The
intruder was taller and bulkier than he was. Elliot adjusted his position to
compensate, waited until the door swung open, and targeted the broad side of
the man’s head.