“Liam Sullivan is Rafe’s younger brother?”
“You have seen his pictures?”
“Yes.” Even busy surgeons went to the movies. Liam was hot, his star on the rise. “What of his other brother?”
“Dane is a photographer. He travels all the time. And Jilly.” Rosaria’s smile was sweet. “Our little Jilly is in college now.”
“But she’s not your—” She’d said our.
“It does not matter that the three youngest do not share my blood. We are family, all of us. When Roberto died, Rafael’s mother, Celeste, was still a member of my family. And when she married Hal, he became my new son.” The old woman looked deep into Diana’s eyes. “Rafael has ghosts to battle, but he need not fight them alone. He is stubborn and proud, but he is much loved.” A smile crinkled her eyes. “Jilly wanted to leave college to nurse him, despite the fact that her skin turns a peculiar shade of green at the first sight of blood.”
“Nursing isn’t easy.” But Diana’s mind was on Rosaria’s earlier words. What would it be like to have so many people willing to fight for you? Devoted to loving you?
“Come, niña.” Rosaria touched her arm. “Let me make you tea.”
She wanted to—oh, how she wanted to sink into the comfort of this place and this woman. To pretend for a while that she was part of something, that she could be so cherished and loved.
But it wasn’t true.
“I’m sorry, Rosaria. I need to—” Diana turned away, then back, grasping the older woman’s hand. “Thank you. I want to stay, but I—” Those brown eyes looked upon her with such kindness that Diana almost relented. Almost threw herself into this wise old woman’s arms and held on.
But too much had happened this morning.
You made mistakes when you didn’t think things through carefully. Diana couldn’t handle any more mistakes just now.
“Sh-h,” Rosaria soothed, squeezing her hand, patting her arm. “I will be here when you are ready.”
Diana could only nod as she hunched her shoulders against the ache inside her chest. “Thank you,” she murmured, walking away from what she wanted to grab with both hands.
She reached the door just as Rafe stepped inside.
He got a good look at her and frowned. “What’s wrong?”
With a muffled cry, she brushed past him and ran.
Chapter Six
Rafe watched her go, her gait awkward and uneven. He turned to his grandmother. “What happened?”
“Pobrecita,” his grandmother said, shaking her head. “Poor little thing. There is such pain in that one, such need for love.”
He didn’t want to feel impatience with Abuelita, but—“Tell me what’s going on.”
Wise old eyes lifted to meet his. “I am not sure. Arturo Garza brought Consuela for another limpia. Diana was here—”
He would have expected a different reaction. She should have been sneering, not devastated. The woman he’d glimpsed as she’d raced past had not been the brilliant surgeon, looking down her nose at primitive rituals.
She’d been fragile as a moth’s wing. Easy to crush.
“I have to go to her.” Even as he said it, Rafe saw the folly of it. He had no business getting involved. She would be gone in a matter of short weeks. There were deep rifts within Diana Morgan, far deeper than she would allow anyone to see, much less heal.
But he was a healer. Not the best one, not of his grandmother’s stature—
Reasoning out why he must go to her was useless. It simply was.
He turned from staring out the door to tell his grandmother he was leaving—
She stood there with a solemn half smile. “I fear for your heart, m’ijo, but it is you she needs.”
He looked at his grandmother helplessly. “I should stay far away from her. This makes no sense.”
“Destiny seldom does.”
“Abuelita—” he warned. “You know I don’t believe in that.”
Her smile widened. “Go then. Prove me wrong.”
His own lips quirked. “You make me crazy, you know.”
Her eyes twinkled. “I do.”
Rafe shot her a grin and left.
When he pulled out of her drive, he aimed the pickup toward Diana’s cabin, but a glance in the rearview mirror had him turning around. The faint figure with the bright blond hair was headed in the direction of La Paloma, the tiny village that was only a cluster of less than two dozen buildings.
He pulled his old workhorse pickup even with her.
She spared him only one glance before increasing her pace, looking straight ahead like a soldier marching to battle.
“Good morning,” he said.
Diana didn’t respond.
“Heading for the village?” he asked through the open window.
No answer.
“Want a ride?”
One quick shake of the head.
Temper only she could provoke raced like mercury to the danger point. Rafe shoved the gearshift into Park, shut off the engine and charged out the door.
Reaching her side in only a few long strides, he grabbed her arm and whirled her toward him. Angry words died as he got a good look at her face—a thin crust of ice ready to fracture. “Diana—” he said, gentling his touch. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
She blinked with the rapid beat of hummingbird wings. “Nothing. I’m fine.” She wouldn’t meet his eyes, drawing her arms into her body as if his touch repelled her.
Or as if kindness would shatter her.
Rafe took a mental step back. A deep breath to gain needed distance. In the silence, he heard a calf bawling for his mother, a mockingbird serenading.
He dropped his hand from her arm, remembering how it was with Molly, the mare who’d been beaten and starved. Molly had bitten and kicked him, had fought him every step. He’d had to approach her time and time again, each day needing to renew his faith that he would ever reach her.
“I was on my way to town. Would you like a ride?” He kept his tone as polite as he would with a stranger.
She shook her head. “I don’t—”
He held his hands out, palms outward. “Just a ride, Diana. That’s all I’m offering.”
She measured him out of the corner of one eye. “All right, but I’ll walk back by myself.”
He shrugged. “Fine. I’ll be there for a while, anyway.”
Wary eyes studied him. “I’m not a charity case, Rafe. Stop trying to diagnose me.”
He wanted to tell her how wrong she was. Not a charity case but certainly someone in dire need of healing. “Fine. You’re the doctor,” he said.
She snorted. “Yeah.” She walked past him to the passenger side of a pickup that had seen better days.
He tamped down the urge to open the door for her, watching her try it with her right and finally resort to using both hands, her chin jutting forward as if daring him to comment.
Rafe remembered only too well what it felt like to need help and slap it away, so he merely rounded the front of the pickup and got inside.
“There’s really a town ahead?” Diana heard rust in her voice, as if the minutes passed in complete silence had dried it up.
Rafe glanced at her. “You didn’t see La Paloma on your way to the cabin?”
“I thought maybe—” She saw a cluster of buildings ahead. “I was too consumed by fury over being exiled.”
A grin flared at her confession. “Well, it’s not much of a town. I think people had hopes fifty years or so ago that it would grow, but there’s nothing here to make that happen.”
“El Paso’s the closest city, right?”
Amusement threaded his tone. “You could count Juarez, I guess, but most Anglos don’t.”
She remembered the shacks on the other side of the interstate, the brown haze smothering them. “I’ve only been across the border once.”
“Where?”
“Laredo.”
“What did you think?”
“I—” She di
dn’t want to admit that she never wanted to go back, that the poverty and dirt had horrified her. “It was all right.”
“We’re a poor people, Dr. Morgan, but our lives are not what you see on the border. Don’t judge from what you witnessed there.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“Yes, you did.” He turned toward her, his jaw hard but his eyes less so. “And I understand. I know your world.”
“It’s your world, too,” she protested. “Rosaria told me your mother is Anglo.”
He shook his head. “It’s not my world. It never was.”
“But—”
Just then he stopped in front of a one-story wooden building with a wide front porch. Both needed paint. “Ramón Vargas runs a small market, if you’d prefer to pick up something besides what I stocked.” He glanced at her. “I had no idea what you would like.”
She wanted to understand him, wanted to hear about his family from him, not his grandmother. The look in his eyes made it abundantly clear he had no intention of obliging her.
“You did all right,” she relented. “I would kill for fresh vegetables, though.”
“Those,” he said, sliding from the seat, “You can’t buy here.”
She could see vegetables through the window. “I see them inside.”
He turned and laid his arms over the open pickup window. “Abuelita has vegetables to spare and it would be a mortal insult not to let her share them.”
“But I can’t ask her—”
“I can.” He smiled, and she wondered if she’d ever quit reacting to the shock of it. “And you can bet I will.”
“I’ll pay her for them.”
He rolled his eyes. “I don’t think I’ve seen my grandmother angry a handful of times in my life, but I assure you that merely offering to pay her would make Pompeii look like a puff of steam.”
“But, Rafe—”
“I know you don’t understand, but it’s our way here. We share what we have—it doesn’t matter that your hospital has paid for the cabin, but if it makes you feel better, consider vegetables included in the price.” He held up a hand when she would have protested again. “I know—it’s not her cabin, it’s mine, but if you must reduce it to Anglo debts, consider that you’ve worked in her garden and this can be your pay.” Then he eyed her and she couldn’t dismiss thinking that pity lurked somewhere in his glance. “Not all the world is about checks and balances or about independence. We all need others, Diana.” He shoved away from the window. “Even you.”
She wanted to argue with him, but he’d already walked into the store. She thought about staying where she was, but a flash of color in the window caught her eye. On the far side of the wooden porch sat a rocking chair. On one corner of it she saw a hat she might use to shade her from the sun.
She didn’t know if it was for sale and she had no money with her to purchase anything, anyway. Now that she knew the village was less than five miles away, though, she could come back. With only a moment’s fumbling, she opened the pickup door and emerged.
Just past the rocking chair, inside the window, she saw a little sign that said Tesoros. Next to it hung a quilt in a bold design of bright green, fiery red, ocean-deep blue. In the center glowed a sun in every shade of gold from pale lemon to hot orange. Diana’s fingers itched to touch it, as though it would thaw the frozen emptiness inside her chest.
She followed Rafe’s path and opened the screen door to step inside. Her gaze fastened on the quilt, and it took a minute for the explosion of aromas to register. She stopped in her tracks and looked around.
She’d never seen a grocery like this. Bare wooden floors swept painfully clean; sturdy wooden shelves shoulder-high, bearing jars and bottles and boxes she’d never seen, side by side with familiar brands. Ristras of red peppers and piñatas hung above the shelves. One shelf near her held candles bearing the likenesses of saints.
An old-fashioned ornate metal cash register stood on the counter to her left, the wood gleaming, smelling of beeswax and lemon. To her right were grouped four tables with unmatched chairs, the tables bright with cloth she’d swear was hand-woven. Past them a woman worked in a small kitchen from which heavenly smells emerged.
Diana’s stomach growled, and she remembered that she’d been too upset to eat breakfast. Like a starving pilgrim, she took a step toward the food before recalling her lack of money.
Then she realized all talking had ceased. Only the sound of Spanish music remained. She glanced around to see every eye in the place on her. She couldn’t spot Rafe anywhere. She readied herself to leave.
“Hola! You must be Rafe’s doctor.” The voice came from the kitchen. The woman who’d been cooking had turned around, greeting her with a big smile.
“Where is he?”
With a toss of black curls, she indicated the back of the store. “Talking to my brother Ramón.” The woman approached, her apron a starburst of tropical birds and vivid flowers. She was a few inches shorter than Diana’s five-foot-six, curvy and gorgeous, her brown eyes friendly. “I’m Evita Vargas.” She put out her hand to shake.
Diana extended her left hand. “I’m sorry—my hand—”
Evita waved it off. “No es importante,” she said. “You have another one.”
Before Diana could respond, Evita had already moved on. “You look hungry. I was just working on lunch. You can be my taster.”
“No, I can’t—I don’t have—” Diana fumbled for minute. “I don’t have any money with me.”
“Pah—” With a flick of her hand, Evita dismissed Diana’s concern. “I don’t charge for tasting.”
Diana frowned. “I don’t need charity.” Saying it underscored just how different her life was now. Once she had needed it desperately, though she’d been too proud to accept any. Her finances were now secure, but in an instant she’d reverted to the teenage runaway who understood hunger.
“I wasn’t offering it,” Evita responded. “But if it bothers you, we can put it on Rafe’s tab—” She smiled as she saw the refusal rise to Diana’s lips. “Or you can start your own.”
“You don’t know me,” Diana insisted. “I might not pay you.”
Evita shrugged one pretty shoulder. “Of course you will. Abuelita wouldn’t trust you if you did not deserve it.”
Abuelita? “Is she your grandmother, too?”
Evita laughed. “Pero, no—but she might as well be. I spent my childhood trailing in and out of her house.” She grinned. “Rafe’s brothers thought I was a pest, a necessary evil because Ramón had to watch me. Rafe himself didn’t even deign to notice that I existed.”
“Are you and Rafe—?” She broke off in mid sentence, astonished that she would ask something so personal of someone she’d just met.
Evita laughed. “Ah, that one—qué padre, eh? What a man.” Her voice held almost a purr. “But no, to Rafe I’m no different from Jilly.” Laughter rippled through her again. “Except that I’m not so hard headed.”
“Depends on who’s making the call,” said Rafe from behind Diana. “Jilly would say she’s easygoing.”
Evita laughed, and Rafe chuckled along with her.
Diana stiffened, horrified to have been caught gossiping about him. She had no interest in his personal life. None at all. “I—uh, I was—I just came inside to look at the quilt.” She moved in that direction.
“Ah, a woman with a taste for color,” Evita said. “Mi madre y mi abuela pieced that one.”
Vibrant color had never been part of her image. Her apartment was shades of white and cream and taupe, tasteful and—
Lifeless.
Where had that come from? Her life was about order and precision, control and moderation. The pressures of her profession required them or she’d drown in the drama of life and death.
But she wanted this quilt. Somehow it called to her. “Is it for sale?”
Evita laughed. “Everything in this place is for sale. I’d sell Ramón to the right buyer.”
“N
ot if I get a chance to sell you first,” said a man’s voice.
Diana turned to see a man near Rafe’s age put Evita in a feigned headlock. He was several inches shorter than Rafe, bulky and more rounded where Rafe was tall and lean. His brown eyes sparkled as brightly as his sister’s.
“Unfortunately, it doesn’t take anyone long to realize that acquiring my sister would be a big mistake—” He grunted as Evita’s elbow landed in his middle. “What do I tell you? I think we must auction her off, sight unseen, if we are ever to get rid of her. No man is going to put up with her mouthy ways.”
“I’m not going to spoil any man the way Mariela does you. The poor woman can barely draw a breath between babies and she’s still looking at you like you hung the moon. One of these days, hermano,” Evita threatened, a smile playing around her mouth, “I’m going to take her aside and explain how that keeps happening.”
“Oh, she knows.” Ramón shrugged. “I can’t help it that I’m irresistible.” He waggled his eyebrows, and Rafe chuckled.
Evita rolled her eyes. “Careful you don’t trip over that machismo.” She swatted her brother’s arm. “Come look at my tesoros,” she said to Diana. Tongue in cheek, she rubbed her hands. “Doctors make a lot of money, don’t they? Let’s see what else I can sell you.”
Diana couldn’t help but laugh. “Why not? I don’t even have a car to drive. I’m a captive audience.”
Evita leaned over whispering like a conspirator. “If you’re very generous, lunch is on me.”
Diana was generous.
In addition to the hat and the quilt, she bought an embroidered top unlike anything she’d ever worn. She added a beautiful handmade rag doll for the little girl who lived next door to her in Dallas.
By the time she’d gathered up all her booty, she was truly starving. She fell upon Evita’s offered meal like a shipwrecked sailor come to shore. A full order of cheese enchiladas with borracho beans and homemade tortillas preceded the sopapilla—her third—dripping with honey and almost too hot to handle. She’d consumed a week’s worth of fat in one sitting, but she couldn’t recall ever enjoying a meal more.
Finally, she looked around, realizing the crowd had thinned out, and wondered where Rafe had gone. It wasn’t really her business; she wasn’t sure how she’d transport all her goodies, but she’d told Rafe she intended to walk back. She’d have to figure it out.
Texas Healer Page 7
