Wild Orchids (46 page)

"How much is there?" She sounded awed. Lora shook her head, glaring at the business card.

"I don't know and I don't care. I don't want his dirty money!"

"But Lora—you have as much right to it as he does! More, after all he put you through! I must say, there must be more to him than I'd thought for him to send you this! It's almost like an apology!"

"He can take his apology and—stick it where the sun don't shine!" Lora spat, borrowing one of her students' favorite expressions as she jumped up from the chair and started bundling the parcel back together.

"Lora!" Janice was almost wailing. "What are you doing?" You don't mean to send all that money back to that—that criminal!"

"You're right, " Lora said with savage satisfaction. "I'm not going to send it back to him. I'm going to take it back to him! And throw it in his face!"

And despite all Janice's arguments and horrified protestations, the next morning Lora boarded a plane bound for Guatemala City carrying a flight bag holding a few clothes—and another one crammed with money.

Chapter XXVIII

From Guatemala City she caught a commuter plane to Puerto Barrios, which was as close to Puerto Santos, a small fishing village on the eastern coast, as she could get by air. En route, it had occurred to her that the address on the card was for Tunafish's Fishing Fleet, which presumably belonged to Tunafish and where she might find him but not Max. But it was the only address she had, and she was certain that, if Max was not there, Tunafish knew where to find him. And she was not going home until she had thrown Max's conscience money in his face and told him what she thought of him. Lora dwelled on the names she would call him with pleasurable anticipation; she would start with coward and end up with selfish beast?

By the time the plane landed in Puerto Barrios, it was midafternoon. Her stomach still shaky from the turbulent ride, Lora tottered out of the airport on unsteady legs, bright red flight bag clutched in hand, to rent a car for the shortdrive to Puerto Santos. Lora had vowed that she would never again drive anything but an automatic, but there were no automatics available. In fact, there was only one car: a dilapidated, rusted Volvo with a stick shift. Lora accepted it with resignation forged by experience. Besides, she had less than twenty miles to go. How many times could she have to shift in twenty miles?

An hour and a half later, as the car stuttered into the tiny town of Puerto Santos, Lora had the answer: too many. She shifted savagely down into first with much groaning from the engine to make it up the steep grade leading to the harbor. The Volvo shuddered and whined, but it slowly climbed the hill. At the top, it gave a gasp, and died. Lora was left to coast down toward the sparkling blue waters of the Bahia de Amatique, where she had been informed she might find Tunafish's Fishing Fleet.

The harbor was filled with a colorful assortment of boats of various sizes and degrees of repair. Lora stopped the car, set the brake despite a strong temptation to let the blasted vehicle roll straight into the bay, and climbed out, sniffing appreciatively at the fresh, salty tang of the air. Finding Tunafish's Fishing Fleet among this lively collection of people and boats might take awhile.

As it happened, it took just about five minutes. Lora only had to show the business card to a cheerful, white-garbed bait vendor to be pointed toward a small wooden building with a blue flag flaunting the same illustration that had been used on the card waving over it. "Tunafish's Fishing Fleet. We find 'em, you catch 'em" proclaimed the sign out front. Lora walked beneath it, squinting a little as she passed from the brilliant sunlight outside to the shadowy interior of the building. Any minute now she expected to see Tunafish…

"May I help you?" The voice was definitely not Tunafish's. Lora's eyes adjusted finally to find herself being studied by a slender, pretty black woman clad in a loose cotton blouse and flowing skirt. Despite the two-inch heels of the espadrilles on her feet, she must have been just over five feet tall. Lora stared at her, guessing at once who this had to be.

"You're Annie, aren't you?" Lora asked with a smile, holding out her hand.

The woman looked briefly surprised, then with another swift, appraising look at Lora she smiled, too, a warm, generous smile with a lot of humor to it, and shook Lora's hand.

"That's right, I am," she agreed. "And you must be Lora. I had a feeling I'd be meeting you one of these days."

Now it was Lora's turn to look surprised. "You did? I'm surprised you've even heard my name."

Annie looked amused. "Oh, I've heard more than your name. Theodore is always talking about Lora this, Lora that. He says Max is stuck on you real bad. Max isn't talking, but he has been one soreheaded son of a bitch ever since he got back."

It took Lora a minute to remember that Tunafish's given name was Theodore, and to assimilate the fact that Max had apparently been in a rotten mood since parting from her. Which knowledge pleased her mightily. He deserved every rotten feeling his conscience visited upon him!

"Is Tunafish here?" Lora asked, wanting to get on with the real reason for her journey while her temper was still smoldering.

"Yeah. He's up at the house, tied to the bed by a traction pulley the doctor rigged up so he could come home. Tunafish hates being in the hospital, but he hates being home in bed almost as much. But you didn't come all this way to see Tunafish, did you?" She smiled broadly again, her large brown eyes twinkling at Lora. "You came to see Max."

Lora felt a brief flare of embarrassment, which quickly died under Annie's warm smile. "Yes, I did," she admitted with a smile of her own.

"And about time, too," Annie said with satisfaction. "Max lives right up the hill…" She took Lora to the door and pointed toward where a row of narrow adobe town houses painted in bright pastel shades rose from the cliff overlooking the bay. "In the pink one. And he's home, now, too."

"Thank you." Lora turned to smile at Annie with real gratitude. From what she had seen of the smaller woman, she could readily believe that Tunafish and his children were ruled with an iron hand. Despite her small size, she had the feeling that Annie would be dauntless in the face of any adversity or opposition. She also had the feeling that Annie would make a good friend.

"My pleasure," Annie said, shooing Lora on her way. Then she added with a wide grin, "Give him hell, honey," before vanishing back inside the shop.

With a single thought for the car—which would probably never run again, with her luck—Lora decided to walk. It didn't look so very far… But by the time she arrived, panting and breathless, at the foot of the dauntingly steep flight of steps leading up to the door of the pink house, she felt as if she had taken a journey of a thousand miles. The road was steep and uneven, the sun hot. Her feet in their flat sandals ached. Her aqua pedal pushers and striped t-shirt were damp with sweat and clung uncomfortably to her skin. Her hair was disheveled and, she feared, starting to curl, perspiration beaded her face and her arm ached from lugging the damned bag. And her temper, which had cooled slightly from its first hot flaring when she had received the money, was flaring hotter than ever. She glared up at the white painted door, stiffened her spine, and marched up the steps like a general going into battle.

"Si?"
Whatever she had been expecting, the sultry brunette who opened the door in response to her brisk pounding was not it. Lora gaped at the woman—a voluptuous creature barely dressed in a red halter top and tiny white shorts—while the woman in turn eyed her up and down with barely veiled insolence.

"I—want to speak with Max." Lora put up her chin and refused to be put off by this unexpected occurrence. Perhaps she had the wrong house, or maybe this Latin Mae West was Max's housekeeper. It was within the realm of possibility.

"Max, he is busy."

At least the woman spoke English, Lora registered just as the door started to close very decisively in her face. Lora stared with disbelief at the closing door and felt her smoldering anger flame to blazing life. She had not come all this way to be told by some half-naked sexpot that Max was too busy to see her! She was up the remaining step with a bound, and shoving her way through the door. The brunette fell back under her onslaught, and stood glaring at her, fists planted on round hips. Lora glared back.

"I want to speak with Max," she reiterated with a distinct edge to her voice. .

The woman replied in shrill Spanish accompanied by unfriendly shooing gestures with her hands. Lora stood her ground, thinking that she might just have to take matters into her own hands and invade the house further to search for Max herself, when he spoke.

"What the hell—Conchita,
que pasa?"
He was standing at the top of the stairs that hugged the whitewashed wall to the left of the door, looking down over the wrought iron railing, an irritable frown on his face. His voice died away as his eyes lighted on Lora.

She stared up at him, meeting those black eyes, thinking that he had never looked worse or, conversely, better. At least to her. His face was unshaven, his hair stood up untidily around his head, his cut-off jeans were so faded that they barely seemed to have any color at all, his baggy white shirt hung outside his shorts and had the breast pocket half torn off, and his feet were bare. His expression changed as he recognized her; the scowl vanished to be replaced by an inscrutable scrutiny as he slowly descended the stairs. When he reached the bottom, Conchita threw herself at him, her arms going around his neck, her brightly painted mouth babbling away in Spanish just inches from his. Under Lora's affronted eyes, she finished the diatribe by planting a passionate kiss on Max's mouth. He caught her arms, pulling them down from around his neck and holding her a little away from him.

"Hello, Lora." This was said over Conchita's dark head. Conchita wailed at him in Spanish. Max ignored her, looking at Lora with unreadable black eyes.

"Hello, Max." Despite her best efforts, she could not keep a savage inflection from coloring her response. "You have lipstick on your mouth."

"Do I?" His response was absent. With a brief word to Conchita, who visibly sulked, he released her to swipe at his mouth with the back of his hand. The scarlet stain that had acted on Lora like a red flag on a bull disappeared. "To what do I owe this honor?"

Lora's eyes sparked. "Oh, I just happened to be in the neighborhood," she replied, as sarcastically as he had once said the same thing to her.

"I presume you got my—message?" His voice was politely inquiring.

Lora nodded curtly. "Yes, I did. And now I've got one for you. Here!" She heaved the bag at him, right at his stomach, hoping that it would hurt when it landed.

But he was too quick for her. He caught the bag in both hands, hefting it with a slight grin as he realized from its weight what it contained. She glared at him, disappointed not to be leaving him doubled over in pain, and turned on her heel. All the things she had been going to say to him were impossible under the circumstances. He had a woman with him… Lora felt as if her heart was being squeezed in a vice. She also felt coldly furious. He had a woman here!

"Lora, wait!" He came after her as she marched, head high, down the steps, catching her a few steps from the bottom.

"Let go of me!" She tried to jerk her arm out of his grasp, but he wasn't letting go. Tired of jerking, she glared at him.

"Surely you didn't come all this way just to throw the money in my face! Don't you want to tell me what a bastard I am?"

"Yes!"

He grinned, a warm and carefree grin that she rewarded with an even fiercer glare. He had no right to look so damned sexy—not when he had just wiped another woman's lipstick from his mouth!

"Why don't you, then? The way you look, you'll burst if you have to go all the way back to Kansas with all that temper inside you.''

"I have nothing to say to you," she said frigidly, her snapping eyes belying her arctic tone. "Nothing at all, you low-down, sleazy, lying, cheating, cowardly son of a bitch!" Her voice deteriorated into an infuriated hiss as she spat out that last.