Heaven Sent (5 page)

“Thank you, Doña Maria,” Serena said, smiling. She had taken to calling the never-married, middle-aged woman Doña out of respect. At first Luz Maria lectured her sternly, saying she was not worthy of the title Madam, but Serena persisted over the years and Luz Maria accepted the title as well as she accepted accolades for her superior culinary skills.

She had not disclosed the identity of the man sleeping in one of the guest rooms to the cook, telling Luz Maria that one of her father’s guests was not feeling well and needed a special diet of soft foods and her special tea, which everyone claimed had magical powers of rejuvenation.

“He will feel much better after he drinks my tea,” Luz Maria said in a soft, mysterious tone.

“I have no doubt,” Serena agreed. Turning, she walked out of the kitchen with the tray.

Luz Maria never disclosed the ingredients she used to make the tea, but openly promised Serena she would reveal the brew’s properties to her when she married and had a child. The older woman said she would pass along her secret recipe because Serena would need it when her children encountered the discomfort and elevated temperatures that usually accompanied teething.

Serena
had
married, but hadn’t remained married
long enough to plan for children, and her future plans did not include marrying again or having children.

Her footsteps were soft on the carpeted stairway as she made her way up to David Cole’s bedroom.

S
erena placed the tray on one of the bedside tables, then shook David gently. He didn’t stir. It was only after she called his name that he opened his eyes.

Flashing him her sensual smile, she said softly, “It’s time for you to eat.”

He stared up at her, studying her face as if he had never seen her before. Pushing himself to a sitting position, he ran a hand over his hair. It was still damp from his earlier shower. The sheet had slipped low on his flat belly, and he’d made no attempt to adjust it. When he was fully conscious, his concerns had been where he was and who the woman was who took away his pain and fear and offered him comfort and peace, not his nakedness.

Serena sat down on a chair beside the bed and pulled the sheet up over David’s belly. “I’m going to feed you
something that is quite similar to oatmeal,” she informed him, smiling.

David did not like oatmeal, but he was too hungry to protest. He nodded as she picked up a bowl from the tray. He stiffened noticeably when she spooned a portion of cereal from the bowl and put the spoon to his lips.

“I’ll feed myself.”

Serena shifted an eyebrow and shook her head. “I don’t think so, Mr. Cole. Not the way your hands are shaking.”

He looked down at his long, well-groomed fingers, fingers that floated over the keys of a piano and strummed the strings of a guitar with a skill that had elicited chills and tears from those listening to his playing. They were trembling.

“The shaking should go away along with the headache, vertigo, and delirium in a few days.” What she didn’t tell David was that it would take a lot longer for the bruises over his eye to fade.

Curling his fingers into tight fists, he opened his mouth and closed his eyes, but just as quickly they opened again. The cereal was delicious. It had a sweet, nutty flavor. Within minutes he devoured the cereal.

He was nearly overcome by the warmth and scent of Serena’s body as she moved from the chair to sit down on the side of the bed. He wanted to move, yet couldn’t. Watching her intently, he saw her reach for a delicate china cup filled with a dark liquid.

“What is that?”

Leaning in closer, her shoulder nearly touching his bare chest, Serena said mysteriously, “A magic brew.”

David managed a lopsided, dimpled smile. “Will it turn me into a prince?”

Serena, stunned by the deep dimples in his lean
cheeks, held her breath, her gaze fixed on his wide, generous mouth. Even with one eye nearly closed and bruised and one half of his face scarred, David Cole was a beautiful man. His dark eyes, sun-browned, olive skin, and the heavy, silken hair covering his scalp added to his masculine beauty.

“You’re already a prince, David Cole,” she whispered, verbalizing her thoughts.

His smile vanished as he felt the warmth of her breath on his face. Her round eyes were unblinking, her slender body rigid. It was as if she were waiting—for what he didn’t know. He was also waiting, waiting for the spell she had woven to break.

“Frogs don’t become princes until they’re kissed by a princess,” he countered.

She blinked once. “I am not a princess.”

Reaching up with his right hand, he smoothed back a curl from her forehead. “Oh, but you are, Miss Morris.”

What he did not say was that all of the men in his family thought of beautiful women as royalty. And all of the men in his family had a penchant for beautiful women.

Serena put the cup to his lips, breaking the spell. “Drink.”

He took several swallows of Luz Maria’s tea, surprised at the flavor. It was unlike any tea he had had before. As a musician he had visited more countries than he could count on both hands and feet, sampling the cuisine in each of them. There were times when he discovered that the most unappetizing looking concoction was the most palatable. The other band members always teased him about experimenting whenever he ordered the unknown, saying he was going to come
down with ptomaine or dysentery. Much to their astonishment it never happened, while some of them did succumb to various intestinal maladies.

He took the cup from her hand, holding it tightly between his fingers, and emptied it. He handed it back to her, nothing in his expression revealing what he was feeling at that moment.

“What do they call you?”

Serena thought it odd that he would use that phrase to ask her her name. “Serena,” she replied before standing up.

“Any middle name?” She shook her head as she returned the cup to the tray. “Serena is a beautiful name for a princess.” Settling down on the pillows cradling his back, he smiled.
And it’s the perfect name for someone sent from heaven to give him back his life
, he mused, closing his eyes.

This time when he drifted off to sleep it wasn’t to escape from the pain. It was to sleep and heal. The tea had begun to work its magic.

Serena stared at her sleeping patient, a slight smile softening her mouth. “If I’m a princess, then you are a prince, David Cole.” Picking up the tray, she left the room. She had to get some clothes for him. Despite the fact that she was used to naked bodies, there was something about David’s that bothered her. Not as a nurse, but as a woman.

Changing quickly from the red dress and mules into a pair of black linen slacks and a white linen, button-front, sleeveless top, she pushed her bare feet into a pair of black, patent leather thong sandals. She wanted to drive into the city and buy something for David to wear before it began raining again. Wherein the rest of Costa
Rica experienced two seasons—wet and dry—Limón’s Caribbean coastal region was usually wet all the year round. It sometimes experienced less rain in the dry season, which was generally from December to April, when Ticos referred to the dry season as
verano
. The rest of the year was their
invierno
, or winter.

Before she left for her trip she informed Luz Maria that she had invited a guest for dinner. She did not encounter anyone from the permanent household staff as she made her way through a wide hallway running along the rear of the house. However, she did notice several men working diligently on several new trees that had been added to the existing ones surrounding the property.

Other than his family and his country, her stepfather’s passion was plants. He was educated as a botanist, and added an enormous greenhouse to
La Montaña
ten years after the house was constructed. It contained every plant, flower, and tree indigenous only to Costa Rica. An aviary was built years later, housing quetzals, macaws, toucans, and tiny pygmy parrots.

Her parents’ late-model Mercedes-Benz was not in the four-car garage, and she assumed that Rodrigo had taken it when he drove them to the airport for their flight to San José.

Her first and only car, a bright yellow, 1974 Volkswagen “Bug,” was parked in its assigned bay. Raul made certain it was serviced and ready to start up even though it was only driven when she returned to Costa Rica. Gabriel’s rugged Jeep was parked in its usual spot, next to a brand new pickup truck. The pickup was used by anyone who needed to navigate the local roads whenever
torrential rains made vehicular travel virtually impossible.

The Volkswagen’s engine roared to life as soon as she turned the ignition. Shifting into reverse, she backed out of the garage and maneuvered down the paved road leading away from
La Montaña.

She drove with the windows down, and the muggy stillness descended on her exposed flesh like a heated wet blanket. Dark clouds hovered overhead, foretelling another downpour within the hour. Reaching up, she picked at the damp curls clinging to her moist forehead. For the duration of her stay in Costa Rica she knew she would often have to affect a single braid to keep her hair off her face.

Serena was always astounded by how much the spirit and culture of the Limón region resembled the Caribbean islands. However, Costa Rican history told the story of how the province of Limón had been geographically and culturally isolated for centuries, its Afro-Caribbean population even banned from traveling into the Central Valley until after the 1948 civil war. Communications improved after a major highway was completed in the late eighties, but the region’s population was still sparse because of the extreme climatic conditions—constant high humidity and rain interspersed with brilliant sun and clear light.

Tourists found the region fascinating, because it was a naturalist’s fantasyland. The Whitewater rapids of Río Pacuare, the nesting grounds, marshes and lagoons around Barra del Colorado, Río Estrella, and Manzanillo for turtles and birds, and the string of seductive, white beaches edged with coral reefs all made it a favorite of thousands who came to Costa Rica for sybaritic vacations.

Parking her car in an area close to the
Mercado Municipal
, she continued on foot to the vast, decrepit building whose vendors and merchandise spilled out onto the streets. All around her she heard the familiar, “Wh’appen, Man?” It was the leisurely greeting of Limón’s Afro-Caribbeans.

She headed for a vendor’s stall that carried men’s apparel. It took her an hour to select underwear, T-shirts, shorts, and a pair of large leather thongs. She’d held up each garment, trying to assess if it would fit David, finally deciding to buy several large and extra-large T-shirts, and shorts and underwear with a thirty-six-inch waist. Stacks of jeans caught her attention, but she decided against purchasing a pair because she was unsure of the length. There was no doubt that David Cole was tall, as tall as Raul and Gabe, but he weighed more than the two men.

She planned to return to her car when the items on a vendor’s stand caught her attention. It took another quarter of an hour to select a comb, brush, and shaving equipment. A mysterious smile curved her lips when she predicted that David Cole would probably appreciate the grooming supplies more than the clothes.

“Vain peacock,” she whispered to herself as she stored her purchases in the back seat of the Volkswagen. A roll of thunder followed by an ear-shattering crash of lightning shook the earth at the moment she slipped behind the wheel. Her return trip to
La Montaña
would have to be navigated in a downpour.

Shoppers scurried as the rain began to fall, seeking shelter. They knew the heavy downpour would end almost as soon as it began. Only a few barefoot children lingered, until their parents shouted at them to come in out of the rain.

Serena shifted gears, squinting through the windshield. The wipers were set to the fastest speed, yet it wasn’t fast enough to keep rivulets of water from distorting her view.

Maneuvering over to the side of the paved road, she cut off the engine and waited. Her moist breathing fogged up the windows as heat and moisture filled the small car.

Within fifteen minutes the rain subsided and the sun emerged from behind wispy clouds. The heat intensified quickly with the sun, forcing her to roll down the windows. The small car had become a suffocating tomb.

She downshifted as she made her way up the steep incline to
La Montaña
, maneuvering into her parking space at the garage at the same time Rodrigo emerged from the Mercedes-Benz. Vertical lines formed between her eyes. She hadn’t seen him on the road in front of her.

“
¡Buenas tardes!
Señorita Serena.”

“Good afternoon, Rodrigo,” she said, giving the man a warm smile. “Have my parents returned?”

Rodrigo shook his head. “No. They are staying in San José for a few days.”

Serena stared at the man who had been Raul Vega’s driver for nearly twenty years. He was of medium height and alarmingly thin, despite having a voracious appetite. And even though he had recently celebrated his fiftieth birthday his tanned face was smooth, and his straight, black hair claimed no traces of gray.

It was rumored that when he was in his teens he had fallen in love with the daughter of a wealthy landowner. He knew her parents would never consent to their marrying because he was a common laborer. Rodrigo
had worked hard, sometimes holding down three jobs, hoping to save enough money to elevate his status, but when the young woman married a wealthy Costa Rican businessman he left San José for Limón, working on a banana plantation for several years.

When one of the plantation workers mentioned that Raul Vega was hiring men to work on the grounds surrounding the large mountaintop house, Rodrigo had left the plantation for
La Montaña
. He secured a position—not to work the land, but as a driver. It was a position he treasured. He was well-paid and had his own living quarters at the beautiful house. There were times when he had nothing to do. However, there were times when he did things that had nothing to do with his skills as an excellent driver. It did not matter, because no one had ever referred to him as a peasant again.

Rodrigo glanced at the packages on the backseat of the Volkswagen. “May I help you with your purchases?”

“Please,” Serena replied, pushing her seat forward.

The driver gathered the bags and waited until she closed the door to the car. “Where do you want them?”

“Kindly take them to my bedroom.”

She delayed following Rodrigo into the house. She knew she had to check on David, but she also wanted to survey the land surrounding
La Montaña
. She never tired of listening to the raucous cries of the colorful birds, or staring out at the thick, blue haze that always hung over the rain forest. The cloying fragrance of creeping flowers mingling with the smell of damp earth was like the sensuous scent of a priceless perfume. The scene from the mountaintop retreat was breathtaking,
and at that moment she wondered why she hadn’t returned to Costa Rica to live.

The air was pure, clean, the forest abundant with natural flora and wildlife. The beaches were pristine and the water unpolluted. The country’s natural beauty was overwhelming, and its people at peace.

She was now thirty years old and she had lived sixteen of those years in Costa Rica. And over the time she had asked herself that question over and over since she left to live in the United States. The answer was always the same:
Because I am an American.