Fierce Love (11 page)

“It sounds as through news of your popularity in Mexico is common knowledge here.”

“I didn’t spread it.”

“I didn’t say you had, but with satellite TV and the Internet, sports fans can follow anyone or team they choose.”

He glanced over his shoulder. “At least they aren’t following me here.”

When they reached the house, Maggie recognized Vida Ramos from the documentary the twins had shown, and while Maria Luisa and Enrique were nearly grown, they were easily recognizable too. The three were standing on the patio, arguing quietly. They moved aside to allow the twins to enter the house but didn’t glance toward Maggie and Rafael.

Maggie thought she ought to introduce herself, but Rafael backed away. “I’ll see you tonight,” he promised softly and crossed the sand alone.

Maggie waited for Vida to stop for a breath and stepped forward to introduce herself. Maria was dark-haired and dark-eyed and shared Maggie’s resemblance to their father. They could easily be recognized as sisters, but Enrique had sandy blond hair and hazel eyes. He swept her with a dismissive glance.

“The American,” he exclaimed. “Come on, Maria, let’s get this visit over with.” Maria smiled shyly and followed him into the house.

Vida ripped a tissue from her purse and dabbed her eyes, taking care not to dislodge her false eyelashes. “Is Miguel summoning his children from the far reaches of the earth?”

“You could say that,” Maggie agreed. “Don’t you want to see him?”

Vida shoved her long, curly blonde hair out of her eyes to look up at Maggie. She was lovely, on the cusp of forty with big blue eyes and creamy smooth skin. “I’ll speak to him later.”

“It’s a shame we’re all here for such a sad reason,” Maggie replied.

Tears flooded Vida’s eyes at that unwanted reminder. “I wish I’d never left. Don’t ever threaten a man with divorce if you don’t truly mean it.”

As Maggie recalled, her father had two more wives after Vida, but the hurt sounded fresh in her voice. “You have some regrets?”

“Yes and no,” Vida insisted. “I wanted him to choose me over the parade of women following him like bleating sheep. He thought being his wife ought to be enough for me. I was a fool to disagree.”

“No, he was the fool to behave badly and let you go,” Maggie replied, even knowing she ought to stay out of her father’s twisted love life.

“Thank you, but you’re as wrong as I was.” She checked her diamond-encrusted watch. “I need to keep track of the time; our visits mustn’t be too long.”

“Will I see you at dinner?”

“No, we come and go without making a ripple in Miguel’s life. I hope you’re not sorry you made the trip. Miguel has so many heirs, he can’t be generous to us all. Although you’ll probably be mentioned in his will.”

Taken aback by the second mention of his will, Maggie was slow to respond. “I’m grateful to have met him.”

“I’m sure you weren’t disappointed. Have a safe trip home.” Vida’s tight white sheath barely touched her knees, and her platform heels were so high she tottered slightly as she entered the back door.

Vida was petite and nearly as beautiful as Maggie’s own mother. Her mother was a far stronger woman, though, and had divorced an unfaithful husband rather than suffer with his poor behavior. Still, her mother had kept Miguel’s photographs with treasured family keepsakes, and Maggie would never ask if she harbored any regrets.

Chapter Eight

Tomas, the Aragon’s personal chef, glanced over his shoulder as Maggie entered the kitchen. “You should use the proper rear entrance to the house.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you. Where is it?”

The man glanced upward in a silent prayer. “Adolfo, show her the door.”

Adolfo was a short, rotund young man who wiped off his hands and gestured for Maggie to follow. He exhaled in puffs as he hurried down the back hallway. They passed a small lounge where that day’s nurse was seated on the sofa, watching television. Adolfo stopped at a rear door located behind the central staircase. When he unlocked it and turned the knob, it was stuck fast.

“Thank you, Adolfo,” Maggie murmured. “It appears the door needs some attention.” She heard Mrs. Lopez’s furious little footsteps approaching and wasn’t surprised when Adolfo hurried away.

“He shouldn’t be out of the kitchen,” the housekeeper exclaimed. She grabbed the doorknob and gave the bottom of the door a swift kick to swing it open.

“I’ll remember that,” Maggie promised, “but how does one open the door from outside?”

Mrs. Lopez straightened to her full five feet in height. “Manuel will have it fixed by this afternoon.”

“Thank you.” The window by the door provided another stunning view of the sea and Maggie remained there until the housekeeper walked away. “Dance lessons,” she recalled. She went to find the twins and came across Santos sitting at the bottom of the stairs with his head in his hands.

He looked up. “Vida called me a bastard on her way up the stairs. I hope she falls and breaks both legs on her way down.” He stood and pulled a key from his pocket. “Don’t lose this, and be sure you give it back to me before you leave for home.”

“I will. Are we supposed to be using the door behind the stairs to enter the house from the beach?”

“No, it sticks. There’s another door that opens into the den, but then we track sand into the house and never hear the end of it. Walk through the kitchen as often as you like. It gives Tomas an opportunity to scold us, which is all we ever hear here.”

“I’m going to miss you, Santos,” Maggie admitted with a warm smile. “Do you know where the family photo albums are? I’d like to see what our grandfather looked like.”

“I’ll show you.” He rose, led her into the den and quickly found the leather-bound album on the shelf closest to the desk. “There are a few pictures of Augustín in this one, but most of his things are at the ranch. We should go out there tomorrow. It’s where I was born, and there’s a lot to see.”

“Yes, I’d like that.” She opened the scrapbook and found sepia-toned photographs of men and women in their best clothes. “Who are these people?”

“Our great-grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins; I can never keep everyone straight. Augustín is in the back. Here, let me show you.”

Maggie recognized him instantly as a slightly older version of their father and a very handsome man. “Did you know him?”

“I learned to stay out of his way,” Santos recalled. “Here he is before a fight.”

Maggie leaned close to study her grandfather’s expression. Despite his magnificent suit, he looked thoroughly mean, and she didn’t understand why he and Carmen hadn’t been perfect for each other. “He looks awfully tough.”

“Tough is a good word. Our father inherited his looks and talent, but he loves people and Augustín didn’t. Or maybe he couldn’t.”

The twins came in, swishing the long skirts they’d found in a guestroom closet. They snapped their fingers and twirled around Santos. “Are you never still?” he asked. “I’ll talk to Father later about going to the ranch. Do you two want to come along?”

The pair slid to a halt. “The ranch is all dusty,” Perry complained.

“And our ponies are gone,” Connie added.

“You’re too big for ponies now anyway,” he countered.

“Are you going?” they asked Maggie.

“Yes, I’d like to see the ranch while I’m here. Now, let’s practice dancing while you’re dressed for it.”

They walked out to the entryway and went through the steps she’d taught them, with Santos softly clapping the rhythm. Maggie understood they ought not to make too much noise, but Cirilda soon interrupted them with a message for the twins.

“Your mother wants to speak with you. Use the telephone in the den.” She went to the doorway to listen to the girls’ side of the conversation. Maggie and Santos could hear their excited shrieks from where they stood.

Perry handed the telephone to her sister and yelled, “Our agent has some print ads lined up for us, and we may get to model in one of Donatella Versace’s shows!”

Maggie had seen her sisters eat, so she knew they did, but they were still growing and had the thin, leggy figures designers loved. When their shapes filled out in a few years, they’d be out of work. Cirilda was smiling, so clearly she wasn’t opposed to exploiting the girls while they could. Maggie leaned close to Santos. “Do you think that’s a good idea?”

“No, but Marina will use it for her own publicity and encourage it.”

After a brief conversation with their mother, the twins ran from the den, startled their aunt with a hug and danced around Maggie and Santos. “We’re going to be famous!”

Perry went over to the banister and struck a pose. “We’ll be doing print ads first. We could become as famous as Ana Santillan!”

Maggie didn’t dare look at Santos. “I hope you’re not forgetting about school.”

Connie’s shoulders slumped. “How can you think about school when we’ll be making millions? We can go to school when we’re old. Mother will come to get us this afternoon. We have to pack.” They rushed up the stairs, laughing and tickling each other.

“First, we must tell your father,” Cirilda reminded them and followed them up the stairs.

“What do you suppose he’ll say?” Maggie asked her brother.

He shrugged. “He avoids arguments, especially now, so he’ll say he’s proud of them and let them go with Marina. They expected to stay only a few days anyway. He’ll have too much excitement for today with the twins jumping around his bed, so I’ll talk to him tomorrow about taking you with me to the ranch. Marina is never on time and probably won’t be here for hours. I have some errands to run. Come with me, and you can see more of Barcelona.”

“Is there somewhere I could buy a journal and some postcards?”

“I’ll find one.”

Maggie enjoyed his company and was relieved she wouldn’t have to spend the day alone. She’d expected the twins to still be there when they returned, but the girls were already gone. She was sorry she’d had no chance to tell them good-bye or meet Marina. “I see what you mean, Santos; people just appear and disappear here, as though it were a stage for a play.”

He leaned down to kiss her cheek. “The ranch is our real home. You’ll see. I won’t be home tonight, but if you go out again with Mondragon…”

“I know. I’ll be careful.” Just how careful, she couldn’t promise. She checked her watch. Craig would be home now and probably not yet asleep. She took her cell phone out on the beach and called.

“Hello,” he murmured through a muffled yawn.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Maggie? Is that you? Where are you?”

She described her father’s home as an astonishing homage to Antonio Gaudí’s work. “You were right. My father sent for me because he’s ill. I’ll tell you about everyone I’ve met when I come home.”

“I didn’t think you were still speaking to me.”

“You’re the one who walked out.”

“True, which was probably a mistake.”

Maggie doubted it. “I just wanted you to know I’m thinking of you.”

“When are you coming home?”

“Sunday, unless I run off with a handsome matador.”

“What?”

“Good-bye.” He’d think she was kidding, but even in that brief exchange, she knew all she’d ever want from him was the friendship they’d already shared. Rafael, however, sparked far more than friendly interest. She wasn’t the type to fall prey to her own emotions, and it wasn’t that she couldn’t tell him no. She just might not want to. That was what frightened her.

She found a note from the twins on her bed. They’d left their home address and cell phone numbers so she could call them. They promised to practice their dancing and hoped she’d look for them in all the fashion magazines. She put the note in the leather-bound journal she’d bought, but now that she had it in her hand, she couldn’t decide how to record her trip. She didn’t want a dry list of places she’d visited, but while the twins were easy to describe, her comments on her grandmother and aunt wouldn’t be complimentary. Her father deserved thoughtful entries, and Santos, whom she liked better each day, did too.

She took a pen and walked down the beach to find a place to sit and make notes only she would read, but her thoughts turned quickly to Rafael. Even if he weren’t a full matador de toros, she wondered if there had been posters for his fights in Mexico. If strangers recognized him on the beach, there probably had been.

“Why can’t I forget the man?” she moaned. Craig had been wrong, and she wasn’t missing any important parts of herself. She simply hadn’t been the right woman for him. She made a few notes of her initial impressions of her newfound family and wrote Rafael’s name in the back of her journal to make him a separate subject in himself. She let the breeze whip her hair and wished she had something pretty to wear that night. The muted tones she wore for school just wouldn’t do here.

Rafael brought her a small present tied with a big bow. “You don’t have to buy me gifts,” she exclaimed.

“I’m a Gypsy; maybe I stole it.”

“That’s not funny.” She got into his car and held the brightly wrapped present in her lap.