Fierce Love (38 page)

Maggie didn’t wake for hours. She recognized the spare décor of a hospital room and saw Rafael seated nearby with his head in his hands, but she couldn’t recall how she’d gotten there. Her nose itched, and when she raised her hand to scratch, she saw the thick bandages encircling her wrists.

“Rafael?” she called. Her throat hurt, and she spoke in a painful whisper.

He jumped out of the chair to come to her. “How do you feel?”

She tried to sit up but felt too weak and sank back into her pillow. He pushed the button to raise the head of the bed. He looked to be on the verge of tears, and she didn’t understand why he’d be so depressed. “Were we in an accident?”

He pushed her hair off her forehead and kissed her brow. “What do you remember?” He gave her a sip of water.

She closed her eyes to think. “Santos took Fox and me sailing. On the way home, we stopped so they could eat, but I was waiting to have dinner with you. They had these huge plates of shrimp and crab, lobster claws.” She looked up at him. “I thought we’d made it to the beach house, but I don’t recall what happened there.”

Rafael had spent most of the night searching for a way to explain Carmen’s assault. Fox would have just spit it out. Santos would add their grandmother often mistreated them, but he still wanted to soften the murder attempt somehow. Unfortunately, there was no reasonable way to cushion an insane attack. As calmly as he could, he told her what he’d found at the beach house.

Maggie’s eyes grew wide with disbelief. “The woman’s my grandmother.”

“Yes, she is. She told me I should have died. I don’t know how many people she intended to kill. She’d drugged you and just sat there sipping hot chocolate while Santos and I worked to save you.”

Maggie understood Carmen’s comment even if he didn’t. She must have known what her son had hoped for him. They were lucky Carmen hadn’t gone on a murder spree while Miguel was still alive and could have benefitted from a heart transplant. Maybe she’d been marked like Rafael all along. She needed another sip of water.

“How long do I have to stay here?”

“You lost so much blood you needed several transfusions. I doubt they’ll release you before tomorrow.”

Dr. Moreno peeked in the door. “Good, you’re awake. I’m so sorry this happened to you, my dear.” He approached the foot of her bed. “Carmen has always been high-strung and harsh in her judgments of others, but I never anticipated violence. She’s been admitted to a psychiatric hospital for evaluation. Your aunt became hysterical when she arrived home and discovered what had happened. Fortunately, her ex-husband has stayed with her. Apparently they’ve become close again.”

Maggie felt too weak to take any joy in Cirilda’s rekindled romance. By the time Santos and Fox came in, she could barely stay awake. “Thank you for helping to save my life.”

“Any time,” Santos replied. “I want you to come home with me. I’ll take a lot better care of you than Rafael would. Did he mention he refused to donate blood for you? I thought you’d lost every drop you’d had, but he wasn’t overly concerned.”

“Let it go, Santos,” Rafael cautioned.

“Why? So you can play hero?”

“He is the hero,” Fox insisted. “If he hadn’t arrived when he did, Magdalena would have bled out, and we’d be planning her funeral.”

“Still, he should have donated blood,” Santos insisted.

“I’m sure he had a good reason not to,” Maggie uttered through a yawn.

“Yeah, he probably wanted to be paid for it.”

“I promised your sister I wouldn’t insult you within her hearing, but don’t push me.” He reached for Maggie’s fingertips. “When a man donates blood to a woman, she may develop an antibody to an antigen in his red blood cells. When they have children, if a fetus has his father’s antigen, an antibody from the mother can destroy the baby’s red blood cells and cause serious problems. It’s not a risk I’d take.”

Santos looked to Dr. Moreno. “Now he’s fallen back on medical jargon. Is he making any sense?”

“Yes, he’s correct, but I’m surprised you’d know it, Mr. Mondragon.”

He shrugged. “I’ve read a lot of medical books.”

“Maybe, but you’re dreaming if you think Magdalena would ever have children with you,” Santos interjected.

Rafael held his breath, waiting for her to say it was a real possibility, but she’d fallen asleep. “We should let her rest,” he whispered.

“Anyone want something to eat?” Fox asked.

Santos laid his arm around Fox’s shoulders to lead him from the room, but at the door, he paused to speak to Rafael. “You owe me a lot of money.”

“You’ll get it,” Rafael promised.

Dr. Moreno stayed behind. “Magdalena will need to make a statement for the police, but I’ll urge her to fly home to recover. She doesn’t need to remain in Spain where she’s been surrounded by so much sorrow.”

Rafael didn’t argue, but when the physician left, he moved his chair close to her bed where he could rest his head on his arms and sleep too.

Afternoon shadows spread across the room the next time Maggie woke. Rafael stood at the window. He’d shaved and changed his clothes, but he looked miserably unhappy. He’d wanted to go out last night, and they’d had no chance to celebrate the week before. Now she was too weak to sit up on her own, let alone dance and make love. She’d fly home to recover rather than saddle him with her care. She hadn’t known how she’d find the strength to leave him, but sadly, circumstance had made the choice easy.

A nurse came in with a food tray and placed it on the rolling table at the end of the bed. Rafael noticed she was awake and smiled, but Maggie had seen how sad he’d looked in an unguarded moment. “I’m feeling better. Why don’t you go on home?”

“I’m not going anywhere without you,” he replied. “Do you think you can eat? They had to pump your stomach last night, but you ought to be able to have soup.”

The nursed raised the head of the bed and rolled the table up to her. “Just ring for me when you’re finished, and I’ll bring ice cream if you like.”

There was a package of crackers, but Maggie couldn’t hold it tightly enough to open. Rafael ripped the cellophane easily. She nibbled on one of the crackers but couldn’t hold a spoon firmly, and the clear soup dribbled down her chin. “How long will it take my wrists take to heal?”

He picked up the spoon and fed her a swallow. “Not long. There was a hand surgeon on duty last night. He has an excellent reputation, and while the hospital wouldn’t let me watch, he assured me you’d soon be fine. Your scars will grow faint in time.”

“I’ll bet we’ll be back in the tabloids.” While it was a clumsy effort, she picked up another cracker and took a bite.

“Probably, but I didn’t look.”

“Santos told me you did really well on Sunday.”

Rafael kept feeding her spoonfuls of beef bouillon. “I did. My mother was there with her sons. I doubt she told them we were brothers, but whatever her story, I don’t want anything to do with her or them.”

“I thought the same way about my father, but I wouldn’t have met you if I’d stayed in Arizona. You should do as you please, though.”

“I intend to. Do you want some ice cream?”

“If they have chocolate. I should call my mother, but I don’t want to terrify her when she’s so far away.”

“A murder attempt isn’t something you can include in your Christmas card,” he advised.

She laughed before she realized he was serious. “No, it isn’t. I could make a stop in Minneapolis on my way home.”

“I’ll get your ice cream.” He picked up the tray and carried it out of her room.

He was attentive yet distant, leaving her to fear something was dreadfully wrong. Maybe he wasn’t telling her the truth about her recovery. She wiggled her fingers but couldn’t coil her hands into tight fists. When he returned with a huge bowl of soft chocolate ice cream and two spoons, she thanked him and saved her questions for the surgeon.

“All the nurse had to offer was vanilla, so I went down to the cafeteria.” He held on to the bowl and gave her one of the spoons. “You should be able to scoop it up.”

She did, with the shaky skill of a two-year-old. “This is good, thank you, but you needn’t stay if they won’t let me leave today.” Then she had a terrible thought. “I must look awful.”

“No, not at all, but your hair could use a comb.”

“I should shampoo it. That’s silly of me, isn’t it? I could have died and all that concerns me is my hair. That’s not true, of course, but I don’t want to think at all.”

He leaned down to kiss her and tasted like chocolate. “We have a lot to think about, but not today.”

She’d eaten enough and let him finish the bowl. He’d never been this reserved, and regardless of what he’d said about taking her home, he didn’t need the burden of an invalid’s care. He’d argue that she’d be no trouble for him, but it would be a loving lie. “Where will you be next weekend?”

“I’m not sure.”

“I want to talk with the surgeon. I hope I didn’t sleep through his visit.”

“No, he hasn’t been in yet.”

She saw no trace of his usual fiery temperament and spoke before her courage deserted her. “I want to go home, Rafael. I usually visit my family during the Christmas holidays, but my sisters are home from college for the summer, and they’ll help me with whatever I need. I’ll be back in Barcelona several times a year for the Aragon trust. We can see each other then.”

He set the ice cream bowl on the rolling table and laid his hand against her forehead. “You’re not feverish, but you must need more blood if you think I’ll agree.”

She covered a wide yawn. “I’m so tired.”

“That’s to be expected,” he assured her. “But nothing has changed between us.”

“We’d never made any plans, and you’ve always known I couldn’t stay here indefinitely.”

He lowered his voice to make his words cold and crisp. “Couldn’t or wouldn’t?”

He’d finally shown some of the fierce pride she expected from him. “We need to be practical. As a matador, you’ll have to travel, and I have a place I’m supposed to be in September, even if I can’t hold a pen to grade papers.”

A tall, fair-haired physician, as thin as a pencil, knocked lightly and entered the room. “Good afternoon, I’m Antoine de Guzman, and I had the pleasure of being your surgeon. How are you feeling?”

“Exhausted.” She held out her wrists. “Do you need to check your work?”

“Not yet. I’d like to see you in my office on Wednesday morning. I’ve had calls from tabloids asking about your suicide attempt. Quite naturally, I don’t discuss my patients.”

“I didn’t attempt suicide,” she swore emphatically.

“Of course, not,” the doctor agreed. “I’ve every expectation you’ll recover your usual dexterity. It will simply take time for the tendons I repaired to fully heal. I’d like you to stay with us tonight, and if all is going well, I’ll sign a release for the morning.”

“Thank you.”

He handed Rafael his card. “Will you be bringing her on Wednesday?”

He looked at Maggie to make certain she understood. “Yes, I will.”

“I’ll see you both then. There’s a curious policeman waiting to speak with you. He’ll only grow more annoying if you delay seeing him.”

“Send him in, please,” Maggie replied, but she had no answers. “I barely remember arriving at the beach house, so I can’t add to what you already know.”

Sergeant Villa was a portly man with the booming voice of an opera baritone. “What I know, or was told, is that you were speaking with Mrs. Aragon, your grandmother. Your wrists were slashed, but she failed to summon help. Had you told her you wished to die?”

“What? No, of course not. Is that her story, that I announced I was going to kill myself, and she respected my wishes to the point she’d allow me bleed to death?”

The sergeant’s brows rose to a comical height. “I’ve not visited her as yet, but it’s a plausible story.”

“A story is all it is,” Rafael interjected. He told him how Carmen had shifted the time for Miguel’s funeral. “Does that sound like a loving grandmother to you?”

“I’m sorry. What is your name?”

“Rafael Mondragon.”

The sergeant immediately reached out to shake his hand. “El Gitano. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He flipped to a new page in his notebook. “I’m glad to find you here. It will save us all time.”

Rafael repeated the same story he’d told in the emergency room. “If I’d been any later, we’d be having this conversation in the morgue.”

Shaken, Villa closed his notebook and shoved it into his pocket. “I was a great admirer of your father, Miss Aragon. This tragedy would have appalled him.”

“Indeed,” Rafael agreed. He succeeded in steering the man to the door, closed it behind him and returned to Maggie’s bedside. “You want to talk about being practical? You needn’t be practical to fall in love. It isn’t like buying a new refrigerator.”

He was being so stern with her, but she had to laugh. “No, not like buying an appliance at all; however…”

He silenced her with a soft kiss that grew increasingly demanding.

“I’m not saying I don’t love you,” she whispered against his lips.