Catch Me in Castile (16 page)

“Sleep much?” I asked.

“No,” he admitted.

“Good.”

“You think I’m an ass.”

“Nope. Just a man.” I walked as fast as I could to outpace him to the kitchen where the voices were coming from.

“I didn’t handle things well, I admit, but I had your best interests at heart. You must believe me.” He sprinted to get in front of me and placed his hands on my shoulders.

Damn if his touch didn’t send a little shiver of excitement through me. “Next time, please keep your hands off my
best interests
. I’m smart enough to make my own decisions.”

“Of course you are. I didn’t mean—”

“
Hola, bella
,” Rodrigo called from the front entrance. “You are here.”

“Can we help you with those?” I wiggled around Santiago’s formidable frame and rushed to take one of four grocery bags from Rodrigo’s arms.

“Sure, there are others in the truck,” Rodrigo said over his shoulder to Santiago.

Before Santiago headed outside he said to me, “I would like to have a word with you later.”

I ignored him. “Jeez, Rodrigo, you feeding an army?”

“Worse—my family. They can out-eat any army. You will love the food.”

I followed him into the kitchen. “If it’s anything like the food at the restaurant, I know I will.”

A short, round woman was putting pound after pound of meat into the sub-zero refrigerator. All I could see was her wide backside as she dipped and stretched to make room for the mass quantities of food lining the countertop.

“Marta, come here a minute,” Rodrigo said. “I want you to meet someone.”

To my surprise she threw her massive arms around me and planted a kiss on each of my cheeks. “Ereen, it is a pleasure.”

I was dumbfounded. Who was this woman?

“Now Marta, give her air, for the sake of God. Erin, this is my beautiful wife of thirty-eight years.” Rodrigo smiled.

“Lovely place you have here. Very kind of you to invite us.”

“Where do you want these?” Santiago asked and then put his heavy load where Rodrigo pointed.

“Santiago!” Marta screeched, smothering him in her meaty arms before I had a chance to warn him.

I stifled a laugh at the surprised look on his face. “This is Marta, Rodrigo’s wife.”

“Ah,” Santiago said after taking her kisses on his cheeks. “Nice to meet you.”

“So glad you two could come. Rod has told me so much about you. Did you choose nice rooms? Oh my dears, there wasn’t any food in the kitchen, you must be starving. I’ll make you something straightaway.”

“No, we made do,” Santiago said. “Please don’t trouble yourself.”

“What trouble? How about a tortilla Española? Steak and eggs? American-style pancakes?”

“No, please, we are fine. We don’t want to impose. Santiago bought some food in town.”

“Bah. There are no decent restaurants in these mountain villages. You go, read one of the newspapers. I will make you a real breakfast.”

“Better do as she says, or none of us will have any peace,” Rodrigo teased.

“Hush, you.” She swung a dishtowel at him. “I am just getting to know these nice folks. I do not want them listening to your nonsense.”

“See? Just give in. It’s safer.” Rodrigo went back outside.

“Well, if you’re sure,” I said.

“Of course I am. Go now. Go. Go.” She shooed us away.

As we walked down the hallway, Santiago tried to reach for me. I ducked and swerved away. “I’m going to take a shower, see you in a bit.”

His mouth remained open, his hands shoved in his pockets as I closed my door.

“How can we possibly eat all this food?” I whispered to Santiago who was sitting on a barstool waiting for me.

“I don’t know, but we better try.”

“Sit down,” Marta commanded from the hallway. “Enjoy your breakfast.”

The plates were full of scrambled eggs, a vegetable frittata, bacon, sausage, pancakes and potatoes. Where to start?

“Oh my gosh, Marta. This frittata is amazing. How’d you do all this?”

“You are a dear. It is easy. I have been cooking longer than I can remember.”

“At the restaurant?” Santiago asked.

“Some days. It used to be every day, until Rod started worrying about me being on my feet for so long. He tells me I am not a young girl anymore. I say sixty-nine is not old either. Still he worries. We have hired another cook. What do you think of the breakfast?”

“It’s fantastic,” I said.

Santiago nodded agreement with his mouth stuffed full.

She came and sat on the barstool next to us. “What do you do?”

“I’m on vacation. Santiago is a doctor—Internist, General Practitioner, Medical Director of the hospital in Salamanca. One man, so many talents.” I grinned over my cup of coffee.

Something other than admiration flickered over her round face. “
Dios mío
. I was surprised Rod invited you to our party. He’s not fond of doctors. But then I heard you were the one who operated on Diego Terrazas. Aya, I love that boy. And Daniela too. She is my goddaughter.” She threw her arms around his neck and squeezed him so hard I thought he might turn blue. When she finally released him she fanned her eyes so as to keep the tears from flowing. “You are one of the family now. You and your beautiful
novia
.”

“You’re too kind,” Santiago said softly.

I waited for him to clear up the misunderstanding. I was not his girlfriend, beautiful or otherwise. Last night, he had made it clear we would remain friends. Damn him.

Her face lit up with thought. “May I ask, doctor…”

“Santiago.”

“Santiago,” Marta repeated shyly. “Would you speak with Rodrigo about his weight? He will not listen to me. As you can see—” she patted her own large waistline, “—I am not one to speak. But he seems to be so tired and lately he is out of breath just walking to the car. I worry about him He is everything to me.” Her eyes misted and she dabbed haphazardly at them with a napkin. “Oh, these eyes of mine. I never used to be so sentimental.”

Santiago patted her arm gently. “It is the least I can do to repay your generosity.”

Her smile was more brilliant than the morning sun, “Thank you. It won’t be easy. Hopefully he will listen to you better than he does his old wife. Now, hurry up you two. Everyone will arrive within the hour.”

She waddled down the hallway in search of her husband.

“Thirty-eight years and she still loves him so much.” I sighed.

Santiago took my hand and gently kissed my knuckles. “It’s what you deserve,
querida
. A good man who will love you forever.”

His pained eyes got me. “Why won’t you tell me what’s wrong? Maybe I can help.”

We were interrupted by an invasion stampeding through the door. Santiago and I stared at each other in amazement. Our romantic, sleepy lodge had become a zoo. Everyone was hugging, kissing, snacking and laughing.

“Walk with me?” Santiago asked.

We passed through the kitchen hand-in-hand, stopping to be formally introduced to the ladies congregating around the snack-covered island. The dozen or so women seemed too well-dressed in their pantsuits and summer dresses to sit around watching bike riders on television. I figured the Tour watching was more of a social event than I’d anticipated. The hen party was just getting started.

Walking outside, we said our “
hola
s” to the men gathering around a triangular pile of wood. Rodrigo was building the bonfire while the others tossed instructions like sticks on a fire. Poor Rodrigo neither wanted, nor needed, the advice and was quickly becoming hot under the collar
.

“I know what I am doing,” Rodrigo said. “I have cooked a
tostón
or two in my lifetime.”

When a man who had a thinner, younger version of Rodrigo’s face threw in his two cents, Rodrigo exploded, “Stefan, enough already. Tell me one more time how to roast this pig and you will be the one strung up over the fire.”

“Oops, we better get while the getting is good,” I whispered to Santiago.

He took my hand again. “We are going for a walk,” Santiago called out, squeezing my hand in his.

“Do not be too long, the Tour starts soon,” Rodrigo replied.

The man named Stefan had a loud voice. “For all the farts in the sea! If I had a woman like that one, I would not spend a minute watching anything but her.”

The others laughed at his comment except Rodrigo who punched him in arm.

“Hey, why did you do that?” Stefan wailed.

“Someone has to, and since I am the only one in our family with any sense, it falls to me,” Rodrigo replied.

They were still egging each other on as we rounded the bend and got ourselves lost in a secluded grove of Alpine trees.

Lacing his fingers through mine, Santiago pressed my hand to his heart. He had the sweetest boyish look on his face. “Are you still angry with me?”

“Last night I was ticked. Now I’m just sad. I know you’ve been hurt, badly. I have too. I wish you trusted me enough to give us a chance.”

“I can’t protect you.”

“Okay, so we’re back to poor, vulnerable Erin who needs protecting?”

“The thought has crossed my mind.”

“Uncross it. Sure, I’ve had a few difficult months. Okay, a couple of bad years. I’m not the damsel in distress here. I have kicked asses all the way up the corporate ladder. Hell, I took on a ten-story building and won. Sort of.”

He smiled and rubbed the tip of my chin with the pad of his thumb. “You sound tough. But you don’t know what you’re up against.”

“Neither do you.”

“It’s dangerous to be with me, Erin. The thought of losing you scares me.”

I was moved. “Isn’t that what a relationship is? Risking it all, stepping off the edge of safety into the unknown? I have a new lease on life, Santiago. It’s all about living to the fullest.”

He placed his forehead against mine and closed his eyes. “I’ve never met anyone like you.”

I ran my fingers through his hair. “Probably not. That’s a good thing, right?”

He exhaled softly. “Too good. I should send you as far away from me as possible, but I can’t seem to let you go.”

I sighed. “Yep, it’s a good thing.”

He pressed his lips to my forehead. “Give me time. I’ll try to work through my problems and make it safe for us to be together. Can you do that?”

“I’m not going anywhere. Not now, anyway.”

“Promise me something.”

I didn’t like the worry in his eyes. “Anything.”

“If I determine your life is in danger, you will leave here and go back home. Immediately.”

“Santiago—”

“I mean it, Erin. Promise me.”

How could I ever leave him? “I know what this is about, Mr. Hurdles-Wrestler-Motorcycle Champion.”

“If you did you wouldn’t be smiling.”

“You’re afraid of the ghost, aren’t you?”

“What?”

“Uh-huh.” I nodded. “Worried a five hundred-year-old nursemaid is going to kick your ass. What would the Devils say of their coach?”

The sternness on his face slid sideways into a crooked grin. “Are you kidding? They’d tell me to run.”

“From?”

“You.” He tapped the tip of my nose. “Your ghost beats the hell out of me every time I try to get close to you.”

I smiled. “See? I’m dangerous to be with too. But I think we’re worth it, don’t you?”

Before he had a chance to disagree, I grabbed his collar and kissed the stuffing out of him. He closed his eyes. Shifting his weight, he leaned into me, and crossed his arms around my waist.

“Wow,” he breathed.

“Thank you.”

“No, I meant I’m still alive. The ghost didn’t touch me.”

I laughed. “Nope, she and I have a deal. She promised not to bother you if I help her remember her past.”

“And how do you plan on doing that?”

“I have no idea.”

“You scare me. You know that?”

“Yeah. I know.”

“Ereen, Santiago!” Marta’s voice echoed down the canyon. “It’s about to begin.”

He wrapped me up in a hug. “I’d rather stay here with you. Now that I know I’ll live through it, I plan on kissing you much, much more.”

“Not to worry.” Santiago took my hand and pulled down me on top of his lap. “She has a seat right here.”

“Not fair,” Stefan whined. “My lap was available.”

“Stefan.” Rodrigo tossed a pillow at his brother’s head.

“Hey, why did you do that?” Stefan rubbed his balding scalp. The whole group busted up laughing.

“Okay, quiet everyone. It’s starting,” Marta said.

I leaned over and whispered in Santiago’s ear, “Might need a little help here. Can you clue me in about the race particulars? I’d hate to incite a riot with stupid questions.”

He gently tucked my hair behind my ear. “The Tour de France is a grueling three-week endurance race. Twenty-something teams—”

“Twenty-two,” Stefan interjected.

“Okay, twenty-two teams made of eight riders—”

“Nine,” Stefan said.

“Who should be telling this story?” I teased.

Santiago ignored my comment. “They ride hundreds of kilometers each day. The toughest being the mountain stages, like the one today. The climbs into the Alps and the Pyrenees usually determine the final winner of the race.”

“A three-week race? Insane.”

A room full of eyes trained on me. It was unnerving to be such an oddball.

“Armstrong is riding again this year.”

“I’m hopeful our Carlos Sastre will win. He’s very good—” Marta started to explain.

“Sastre is adorable.” One of the women joined in.

“Did you see the year when he won the stage and put the baby pacifier in his mouth as he crossed the line in honor of his—”

“Two-month-old baby. I hope he wins a stage again today.” A clearly enamored young woman sighed.

“Impossible,” Stefan said. “He’s too old.”

All the women jumped on him at once.

“Too old!”

“Look who’s speaking.”

“Don’t listen to that old goat.”

The young woman had the dreamy eyes of a groupie. “I wonder if Sastre carries the pacifier in his pocket for luck?”

“Sastre, Sastre.” Stefan grumbled. “I want Peirero to win. He took it by default in 2006 when Landis tested positive for blood doping.”

I raised my eyes at Santiago who simply said, “All a drama.”

“Peirero, he’s handsome too,” a woman said.

They were off and running again until Rodrigo stood up. “Quiet, ladies, especially you, Stefan. The race has begun.”

The room grew silent, for about a minute and a half and then the sideline commentary picked up again. I smiled at Santiago. It would be impossible to keep this bunch quiet for long.

“What are the riders putting inside their shirts?” I asked.

“Jerseys,” Santiago corrected. “Newspaper against their skin keeps them warm as they fly down the mountains. They’re going more than eighty kilometers an hour. A few years back a rider rode off the edge and died.”

“No.” Phobia fluttered in my chest. The fear of heights, again. Then I thought of Serena. Was I sensing her fear? Where was she hiding?

At commercial break pandemonium broke out. Arguing men tried to predict the outcome of the day and the women gossiped about the riders.

“I’m going to tend the fire,” Rodrigo called out.

“Right. I need to stir the food on the stove as well.” Marta rose and went the other direction.

“How long is this going to last?” I whispered to Santiago.

“I don’t know, five or six hours.”

“Five or six? Well, I better take a potty break now.” I got off his lap.

“Whew, the air is returning to my lungs,” he joked.

“Thanks a lot.”

On the way back, I stopped by the kitchen. “Marta, can I help you with anything? It all smells delicious.”

“Are you getting hungry? Have some of those snacks. Can you take this seasoning-salt to Rodrigo? He will need it for the
tostón.
”

“Sure thing.” I grabbed a handful of crackers and the salt and headed outside to where Rodrigo stood by the spit.

“Mmmm, Rodrigo, it smells good. How’s it going out—?” I stopped abruptly. Something was wrong. He hadn’t turned when I opened the door, or budged when I spoke to him.

“Rodrigo?” I tapped the back of his right shoulder. “Are you okay?”

His left hand grabbed mine, grinding it against his shoulder in a white-knuckled death grip.

“What’s wrong?” I moved carefully under his tight grip.

His face was covered with sweat, his color ashen. “Chest…hurts…can’t breathe.” Then his body went slack. He fell into me, almost taking us both out.

“Santiago!” I slipped on the grass, barely holding Rodrigo’s heavy, limp weight. “Someone! Help!”

Santiago was the first one on the scene. His long legs fairly flew across the lawn and he lifted Rodrigo off me. “What happened?” He laid the unconscious man down.

“His chest hurt and he couldn’t breathe.”

Santiago was already ripping Rodrigo’s shirt open. Buttons flew off in every direction.

I backed up, trembling. “Oh God, he’s not breathing.” My voice sounded tinny and far away.

“Heart attack. Get the black box on the back of the bike.” Santiago tipped Rodrigo’s head back and began CPR.

I was frozen in horror. People were gathering around, murmuring, praying and asking me questions. I couldn’t answer. I couldn’t move. All I could do was watch Santiago blow breaths of life into Rodrigo’s lungs and pound against his still chest.

“He is dead!
” Serena screamed in my ear. Her terror mingled with mine.

And my own personal hell closed in. The panic attack struck hard. The grass tilted beneath my feet. My vision blurred and my breath came in fast gulps that couldn’t quite fill up my lungs.

Santiago was stunned to see me still standing there. “You.” He pointed to someone behind me. “Get the black box on the back of my motorcycle. Someone else call an ambulance. Quickly! Move!”

“Rodrigo!” Marta broke through the crowd. “Rodrigo, my darling, wake up.” Her shrill voice echoed off the mountains and bounced back to stab me in the heart.

“Blessed Madre,”
Serena wailed.
“I do not want to see. I cannot see death.”

I wanted to scream at her to go away, but I couldn’t catch my breath.

The women formed a protective circle around Marta in an effort to calm her and keep her from flinging herself on her dying husband’s body.

“
Dios mío
!
Madre de Dios
, help us,” Marta cried.

I fell back from the group, my gaze riveted to the scene before me. I was unable to do or say a thing. Serena had likewise fallen silent. I no longer felt her terror beside mine. Either she had flown the coop or fainted under the stress.

Santiago worked for what seemed an eternity until Rodrigo finally took a ragged breath and sputtered. He choked. His eyes were glassy, bewildered.

“Rodrigo, hold still.” Santiago’s steady voice rang with authority.

“By God, I found it,” Stefan panted as he handed the black box to Santiago.

Reaching inside, Santiago produced some pills. “Here, Rodrigo. Put this under your tongue. Nitroglycerin will help keep your heart from arresting again.”

“Rody.” Marta could no longer be contained. Sobbing, she rushed to her husband’s side, falling to her knees in the grass beside him. “You scared me, baby. Are you feeling okay now?”

Rodrigo smiled weakly. “No…
tostón
…today?”

“Do not worry, darling. Our dear friends and family will save us some. Won’t you?” Her shattered eyes scanned over all of us, touching us with her grief. Mascara ran like muddy streams down her cheeks. “For now we need to go to the hospital.”

“Yes,” Rodrigo agreed, to everyone’s surprise. “Hospital.”

Sirens wailed from the valley below.

“They are on the way. You will be in good hands.” Santiago’s voice exuded comfort. “I will call later and check on your progress.”

The ambulance arrived. Everyone followed the stretcher laden with Rodrigo’s heavy body through the lodge to the ambulance waiting in the front drive.

I lagged behind, going instead to my room. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I wept.

“There you are.”

“Oh, Santiago.” I flew into his arms.

“Shh, shh,” he crooned softly in my ear. Gently, he rubbed slow circles on my back.

“I was so scared. But you were brave. Santiago, you saved his life.”

He held me, kissing my hair, until the trembling subsided. “Do you want to leave now?”

I nodded. We waited long enough for Santiago to call the hospital and speak with Rodrigo’s attending physician. His eyes were on me as he discussed the details of Rodrigo’s care. “Sounds fine. Yes, please call me if there is any change. You have my number.” Hanging up, he put a hand on my shoulder. “He’ll be okay. What do you Americans say? ‘A wake-up call’? He and Marta will live healthier lives from now on.”

“I hope so. They are such wonderful people.”

We said our good-byes to the others. They all hugged us tearfully and made us promise to return next year. I had one final view of the La Querida de las Montañas before we rode down the mountain.

Who would have thought our romantic overnight would have ended as it did? Why was disaster constantly dogging me?

A strange feeling rolled through me. A voice hummed above the engine. I clung tightly to Santiago.

Serena was back.