Fierce Love (19 page)

The petite blonde nurse picked up the cards, returned them to their box and remained seated at the small table. She folded her hands in her lap, eager to watch it too.

Rafael opened the cabinet and turned to Maggie. “Do you know how to do this?”

“No, maybe we should wait for Santos.”

Miguel left his chair, and while holding onto a bedpost for support, explained exactly what to do. “Do not be embarrassed. I make little effort to keep up with technology myself.” He went on around the bed, sat down and adjusted his pillows. “When did you film this?”

“This morning,” Rafael replied.

Ana had scenes of the bullring, the bull and the ranch hands. For a woman with no experience with that camera, she handled the transitions smoothly. Then Rafael entered the ring, and Maggie couldn’t bear to look. She’d thought she could watch, but even after Rafael had taken her hand, it was too much for her. The sound was good and included the snorting bull as well as the men’s enthusiastic shouts. She was certain Rafael had to be good but stared at the floor until the end of the tape.

“Play it again,” her father asked.

Maggie slipped her hand from Rafael’s and joined the nurse at the table. “I’m Fernanda,” the nurse whispered. Her eyes glowed with excitement. “He’s very good, isn’t he?”

“Incredibly good,” Maggie assured her, without any personal evidence at all.

This time when the tape ended, Miguel remained silent a long moment. “You’re relying on your strength,” he cautioned. “But no one expects you to grab the bull by the tail and hurl him out of the arena.”

“Strength is an asset,” Rafael argued through clenched teeth.

“Yes,” Miguel agreed thoughtfully. “So is artistry, but let’s not quibble. You’re the equal of many matadors fighting today, which isn’t difficult. I’ll have your name added to Sunday’s program for your Alternativa
and arrange for good men to work
with you.”

“Thank you. I promise you won’t regret it.”

“I’m sure I won’t. You must forgive me if I’m unable to attend in person, but I’ll watch here. Now I need to rest. Come back to see me tomorrow morning.”

“I’ll be here.”

The nurse left, and Rafael pulled Maggie out the door and into his arms. “I would have argued all afternoon until he gave in. I wouldn’t do this if I had any doubts, but I’ve worked hard for this chance.”

He had such a handsome smile, and he needed her to share in his excitement. All she really felt was dread, and she produced only a shaky smile. “I know you’ll do well.”

They were still standing outside Miguel’s room when Santos and Fox ran up the back stairs. “What did he say?” Santos asked.

“I wouldn’t embellish it,” Maggie whispered.

Rafael didn’t need to, but his smile grew wide. “I’ll see you in the ring on Sunday.”

Astonished, Santos looked ready to spit. “You’re lying.”

“No, he isn’t,” Maggie assured him. “Father’s setting up the Alternativa as promised.”

Not convinced, Santos went into his father’s room and Fox followed. “I don’t mean to disturb you if you’re resting.”

“You already have,” Miguel responded, resigned to the interruption.

Santos rested his fists on his hips. “I can’t believe you’d allow Mondragon to fight on Sunday.”

Miguel yawned. “It was arranged before you left for the ranch.”

“What? Then why did you send us there?”

“I wanted Magdalena to see it. It’s also wonderfully peaceful here when you’re all away. Forget about Mondragon and concentrate on yourself. You need to train. The best are always fully prepared, and you rightfully belong among them.”

“But Mondragon doesn’t. What are you trying to do, get him killed?”

“Would that be any great loss to the world?”

Shaken by that heartless response, Santos waited for his father to take it back, but Miguel closed his eyes to dismiss them. Santos hurried Fox out of the room.

“That was cold,” Fox observed.

“Maybe he’s just tired of hearing me complain about Mondragon. I’m going to the gym. Do you want to come along?”

“And get all sweaty lifting weights? No thanks.”

“It’s the best place to meet girls.”

Fox shrugged. “In that case, I’ll make the sacrifice.”

They met Maggie coming up the stairs with her bag. Her new red dress was slung over her arm. “Where’s Mondragon?” Santos asked.

“He’s gone home. He needs to concentrate on being ready for Sunday, without my being a distraction.”

Santos took her bag and carried it to her room. “He must have left at a run. Now you can see I was right, can’t you? All he wanted was to schedule his Alternativa
.
I’ll bet you won’t see him again.”

Rafael had been so excited by her father’s endorsement she hadn’t questioned his haste to leave. “He’ll come by in the morning, and I’ll see him then.”

“He’ll run out of here again. Don’t blink.”

“How are things going for you and Ana?” she countered.

“I really don’t care.” He pulled her door closed on his way out.

She’d known what Santos thought of Rafael from the beginning, but his continued sarcastic dismissal of him hurt. Rafael had always seemed sincere to her, and if he hadn’t been, then he truly was as polished an actor as Javier Bardem. When she hated to consider her own motives, she refused to analyze Rafael’s. Santos could think whatever he chose to; it wouldn’t change how she felt about Rafael.

She unpacked her bag and found her white lace bra, but the matching panties were missing. She was sure she’d packed them together. She searched through the whole bag, but the panties were gone. She wondered if Rafael had kept them for a souvenir. The thought made her laugh. Knights used to keep scarves from their ladies. Maybe matadors kept their girlfriend’s panties in a pocket. If a suit of lights had a pocket.

Her purse muffled the sound of her cell phone, and she could have pretended not to hear it, but if it was Craig, and she was fairly certain it was, he’d just keep calling.

“Hello.”

“What’s you flight number? I want to meet your plane on Sunday.”

“Thank you, but I’m staying a few extra days.”

“That’s not good news. There isn’t really a bullfighter, is there?”

She walked out on her balcony. She wouldn’t even attempt to describe Rafael, but she smiled as she thought of him. “Yes, my father’s protégé.”

“Young women who’ve grown up with an absent father often pursue unavailable men. You know the pattern. I hope you haven’t fallen for a man who’s exactly like your father.”

He was an expert on relationships, but she was tired of his self-serving advice. “Do you mean an egotistical bastard who can’t keep track of his children?”

“That’s rather harsh. Just be careful, Maggie.”

It was a glorious afternoon, and she was anxious to go down to the beach. “Make up your mind, Craig. You advised me to become more open to love.”

“Well, yes, but not with a matador, or a rock musician, or a movie star!”

She had to laugh. “Perhaps a dentist? I’ll send you a postcard.”

She ended the call and hoped it would be the last time she heard from Craig. He was a nice guy, the responsible sort mothers always wanted their daughters to marry, but he was wrong man for her. Her fierce attraction to Rafael proved it.

She picked up the book she’d read on the plane and went out to the beach through the door behind the main staircase. It opened smoothly now. She moved one of the patio chairs out onto a shady patch of sand and skimmed through the last fourth of her book. It was an entertaining urban fantasy, a light-hearted story and perfect vacation reading. It was precisely what she needed to keep from thinking past the next fifteen minutes.

Thursday morning, she woke up early, took her time getting dressed and truly expected to find Rafael waiting for her on the patio, but he wasn’t there. Confident he would soon arrive, she went upstairs to eat breakfast with her father. He welcomed her and picked at a muffin while she ate fruit.

“What did you think of the ranch?” he asked.

“It’s the first time I’ve visited one. It’s a beautiful house, and—”

Her grandmother knocked as she entered the room without waiting for an invitation. She waved a tabloid and threw it down on the table. “Tomas just showed me this. Your daughter is consorting with Gypsies, and I refuse to have our family suffer this tawdry disgrace!”

The paper lay open to reveal a large photograph of Maggie and Rafael dancing at the ranch. It was one of Ana’s best shots. Santos could be seen scowling in the background.

Her father picked it up and provided a softened translation of the headline. “The reporter is convinced Rafael and Santos will take their fight over you into the bullring.”

“That’s absurd. He’s my brother,” Maggie exclaimed.

“Yes, that’s what makes the scandal.” He handed the tabloid back to his mother. “The only one disgraced by this story is the reporter, Mama. Tell Tomas not to bring this trash into the house.”

“Someone must call the editor,” an indignant Carmen insisted.

“We do not respond to lies,” Miguel replied.

“The Gypsy is her lover. That’s no lie.”

“Mama, that’s no business of yours.”

Carmen stared at Maggie, waiting for her to respond, but she continued eating her melon and berries. “
Puta,
” she mouthed and marched out.

Her grandmother had just called her a whore, but Maggie hadn’t felt welcome in her father’s home in the first place. She held her breath, but her father hadn’t caught the insult. He hadn’t asked who’d taken the photograph and sold it to the tabloid, nor had he inquired as to who had shot the video yesterday. Apparently the subject didn’t interest him. She sat back in her chair.

“Your mother’s a difficult woman.”

“Ignore her. Now, where is your Gypsy?”

“He should be along soon.”

Antonio Moreno knocked at the door and peeked in. Maggie got up to leave. She exchanged a brief greeting with the physician, and Fox caught her out in the hall.

“Did you see this?” He waved the tabloid.

Maggie nodded. “Yes. I didn’t think Ana was too pleased with Santos when we left the ranch, but I’m still surprised she sold our photo.”

He opened the paper and shook the pages into place. “There’s one of me out at the ring. I don’t know what it says.”

Maggie gripped the edge of the paper to hold it still. “You’re supposedly collecting bets from the ranch hands.” There was a photo of Rafael in a classic
matador’s bowed stance. “That’s another lie like the one on the front page that claims Rafael and Santos are battling over me. I understand there’s a great deal of money to be made selling photos to tabloids, but why would Ana make up such ridiculous stories?”

“She’s jealous of you?” Fox guessed. “Or really mad at Santos, but I don’t understand how I got into it.”

Maggie didn’t appreciate being assigned a part in an incestuous love triangle either, and was grateful no one at home would see it. “Is that Tomas’s copy?”

“No, one of his helpers gave it to me, the shaggy-haired one. I think his name is Julian. Do you suppose the mob will think I’m trying to take over their gambling rackets here in Barcelona?”

“Is there a Spanish mob?” she asked.

Rafael reached the top of the stairs in time to answer her question. “Yes, there is.”

Fox handed him the tabloid. “Have you seen this?”

Rafael shook his head. “This is a good photo of us, but Ana should have requested our permission before she sold it.”

“I’m afraid we fall into the celebrity category and are fair game,” Maggie said. “You know there’s nothing going on between Santos and me.”

“When I’m the other choice, of course.” He leaned down to kiss her, and embarrassed, Fox took the paper and fled down the back stairs.

Maggie had thought it was bad enough having to worry about whether Rafael lived or died, but to be featured in tabloids was another whole mess. “Do you find yourself often in these types of papers?”

“No, I don’t look.”

She rolled her eyes. The man was smooth, she had to give him that, but she wanted more than his flippant Gypsy ways. “That wasn’t an answer.”

He rested his hands on her shoulders and kissed her again, and again. “I missed you last night.”

She breathed in his scent and couldn’t be angry with him. “I missed you too.”

“I’ll come for you on Sunday evening. Be here for me.”

The urgency in his voice surprised her. “Yes, I’ll be here.” If her grandmother hadn’t thrown her out. They waited for Dr. Moreno to leave, and then Rafael spent twenty minutes with her father. She sat on the top step to wait and walked down the stairs with him.

“Did you mention Augustín’s journals?” she asked.

“No, I didn’t want him to believe his advice isn’t enough. He talks to me about his fights and mistakes he doesn’t want me to repeat.”

“It sounds as though he ought to write his own journal. Is there a museum that collects bullfighting memorabilia? Maybe Augustín’s journals ought to go there.”