He looked back at the game. The Lakers were up by six. Jen shifted so that her oversize shirt fell off one shoulder. She’d put on her sexiest bra, with the lacy strap. Hopefully the visual would—
“You okay?” Kirk asked. “You’re fidgeting. Does your back hurt?”
“No. I’m fine.”
She sighed silently. So much for her sexy move. She turned to him, prepared to snuggle closer, only he’d leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his gaze intent on the television.
“Come on, come on! Don’t blow it. Pass the ball. Pass it!”
Kirk had entered the game zone. She had a couple of choices. She could try to be less subtle, maybe kiss him or something, or she could simply accept it wasn’t going to happen tonight. The danger with the first choice was he could give her that absent smile that said he wasn’t the least bit interested. Not that she’d seen it very much, but the threat was always there.
In her head she knew that the best response would be to simply tell her husband what she was thinking. That she was very much in the mood. Considering how long it had been, he would probably turn the TV off so fast her head would spin.
But saying that didn’t guarantee the outcome and while her head was very clear on the mature, straightforward action, the rest of her was less sure. What if he wasn’t interested in her that way anymore? What if there was a twenty-two-year-old? What if...
“I’m going to go pay bills,” she said, rising from the sofa.
“Okay. Is there ice cream for later?”
“Uh-huh.”
She walked into the study and sat behind what had been her father’s desk. According to her mother, her parents had gone at it, right up until her father’s death. They’d been married over thirty years. How on earth had they managed to keep the spark alive that long?
She wasn’t sure if the problem with her and Kirk was circumstantial or something more. To be honest, she didn’t think she wanted to risk asking that question either.
* * *
Late Sunday morning, Zoe checked on the chicken marinating in her refrigerator. She’d decided to go simple with the menu for her barbecue. Grilled chicken, an assortment of salads, pinto beans cooked in a Crock-Pot—the recipe compliments of her mother—and desserts from Let’s Do Tea. The drinks were equally simple. Sun tea, beer and margaritas made with Saldivar tequila.
Her father’s family had emigrated from Mexico four generations ago. Over the years there had been plenty of non-Hispanic spouses until the Saldivar family was just like most in Southern California. A little bit of this, a lot of that, with a sprinkling of I-have-no-idea thrown in. But the family business—Saldivar tequila—kept them connected to Mexico.
The agave plants were grown in Mexico, but the company was headquartered in Southern California. The liquor was exported all over the world. She’d been at least twelve or fourteen before she’d realized that liquor didn’t just mean tequila.
Her father and his brother had been raised to be in the family business. Her uncle ran the company, her father acted as the spokesman until just a few years ago. While Zoe enjoyed a margarita as much as the next person, she’d had no desire to join the family firm. Her cousins were doing just fine without her.
A little before eleven, her father showed up.
“I came early to help,” he said as he hugged her, then passed over a bag of limes. Mariposa, his papillon, trotted in on his heels.
Miguel Saldivar was about six feet tall, with thick, graying hair and a trimmed beard. A lot of her friends had gone on and on about how handsome he was—which Zoe didn’t get. To her, he was just her dad.
She bent down and scooped up Mariposa. The small dog relaxed in her embrace and offered a doggy kiss.
“How’s my girl?” Zoe asked. “Are you keeping Dad in line?”
Mariposa wagged her tail.
“I have a friend with a little dog,” she said, thinking of Pam. “You two could have a playdate.”
“Mariposa doesn’t hang out with dogs,” her father said. “She’s a people person, not a dog person.”
Zoe thought about pointing out that Mariposa wasn’t a person at all, but why go there?
“You came alone?” she asked with raised eyebrows. “No beach bunnies trailing behind.”
“You’re disrespectful. Where did I go wrong?”
She traded him the dog for the limes and started for the kitchen. “Maybe it was the time you showed me the pictures of you at the Playboy mansion.”
“That was a hundred years ago.”
“I was twenty. Most of the girls there were my age. It was a little creepy.”
Her father winked. “You’re jealous.”
“Of the bunnies? No. They’re not my type.”
“There were handsome men there, I’m sure.”
“Not interested in a guy who wants them. A ridiculous standard, I know, but there we are.” She put the limes on the counter. “I was thinking of serving vodka tonics to everyone,” she said, knowing the statement would cause a quick change in topic.
As if on cue, her father crossed his arms over his chest and his gaze narrowed. “Zoe Elizabeth Saldivar, don’t ever joke about that.”
“Oh, Dad.” She crossed to him, raised herself on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. “You have got to work on your sense of humor.”
“I have an excellent sense of humor. Where do you think you got yours?”
“From Mom.”
He grumbled something under his breath, then washed his hands. She got out a couple of small bowls. One would be for the lime juice. The other was for Mariposa. Heaven forbid his precious girl drink out of a cat bowl. Speaking of which...
Zoe left her father squeezing limes. She went into the living room and found Mariposa and Mason lying together in a patch of sun. The marmalade cat was about five pounds heavier than the papillon, and far more sturdy. Still, the two were friends. As Zoe watched, Mason tucked his head into the dog’s chest so Mariposa could wash his ears.
“You two are weird,” she announced before returning to the kitchen.
Miguel continued to squeeze limes. While he sliced, Zoe strained the liquid before pouring it into a large measuring cup. When her guests arrived, her father would make margaritas by the pitcher.
“How are things?” he asked.
“Good.”
“You seeing Chad?”
“I told you, we broke up.”
“You broke up before and took him back.”
“Not this time. We are totally done.”
“Good. I never liked him.”
Her father had liked him just fine, until she’d dumped him. Which, she thought with a smile, was the sign of a good dad. Now he would dislike Chad forever.
Miguel eyed her. “You’re happy without him?”
“I am, I swear.”
“If you start to get lonely, let me know. I’ll find you a nice guy.”
“I’m so going to pretend you didn’t just say that. I don’t need my father finding me dates.”
“Why not? I have great taste. I married your mother.”
“Yes, and then you left her. Stay out of my love life and I’ll stay out of yours.”
“It’s a deal. Now tell me who’s coming to this party of yours.”
* * *
Pam arrived at Zoe’s a little after one. The house was small but charming. This block had yet to see too much change, which she appreciated. Too many of the older streets in town had been turned into McMansions—huge houses on tiny lots. She preferred the older style of the original bungalows.
There were already several cars in the driveway, so she parked down the street and walked back to the house, passing Steven’s SUV. With luck, her plan was working. She looked forward to spying on the two of them. Surrep
titiously, of course. Steven needed a woman in his life—but the right kind. From what Pam knew about Zoe, she was sweet and caring. Chad had been a disaster, but Zoe had recognized the problem and walked away before any harm was done.
Pam walked up to Zoe’s partially open front door. She knocked once and let herself in. Through the back windows, she could see people milling around Zoe’s pretty backyard. There was a covered patio, several large trees and an expanse of grass. She started for the sliding door at the back of the living room, only to be stopped by the rapid approach of a tiny barking dog.
Pam immediately set her plate of brownies on the coffee table before dropping to her knees and holding out her fingers to be sniffed.
“Look at you,” she said in a soft voice. “You’re a beautiful little girl, aren’t you?”
The dog had big brown eyes and huge ears. Her face was multicolored, with splashes of white, brown and black, while the rest of her was mostly white.
She sniffed Pam for a second, before giving her a quick kiss. Pam rubbed the side of the dog’s face a few times until she collapsed onto the carpet and exposed her belly.
“Ah, Mariposa, you’re supposed to make them work for it, my love. Not give it away for free.”
The words, spoken in a low, melodious male voice, had Pam looking up. Her gaze settled on a tall, broad-shouldered man with very handsome features.
“You must be my daughter’s friend Pamela. She told me about you. I’m Miguel Saldivar, Zoe’s father.”
Pam blinked. Wowza. The voice, the face, the voice—they were all so appealing.
Miguel held out his hand. It took Pam a second to realize he was helping her to her feet. What on earth? She was perfectly capable of... Oh, right. He was being polite because nice men did that sort of thing. John had. He’d always been so considerate and polite.
The unexpected reminder of her late husband caught her off guard. Pain and longing sliced through her until she found it hard to breathe. Her reaction was as sudden as it was powerful. Miguel immediately crouched beside her.
“Pamela? You are not well?”
She forced a smile. “I’m fine. Is this little girl yours? She’s beautiful.”
Miguel stared into her eyes for a second. She had a feeling he was debating whether or not to accept the change in topic.
“She is. Mariposa is very spoiled, as you’ve already seen.”
He held out his hand and she put her fingers on his palm. Together they stood.
He was taller than she’d first realized, with broad shoulders and a trim physique. She would guess he was only a few years older than herself. There was something about him, she thought absently. Almost a memory. As if they’d met previously.
Before she could ask about that, she heard a familiar laugh and turned to find little Jack running toward her. His arms were outstretched as he barreled into her. She caught him and pulled him up in the air.
“There you are,” she said happily. “I’ve been waiting to see you.”
Jen and Kirk followed. She greeted her daughter and son-in-law, then turned to find Miguel had gone into the backyard. Pam looked back at Jen and noticed the dark circles under her eyes.
“How are you feeling?” Pam asked.
Jen shrugged. “I’m okay. I haven’t been sleeping well.”
Pam pressed her lips together to keep from saying something she would probably regret. While she appreciated that Jen was an attentive parent, her daughter was making herself sick with worry about things that were never going to happen. Or at least were unlikely to. She was in a constant state of alert about Kirk getting injured on the job. While being a police officer was certainly dangerous, Kirk was now a detective. He had experience and a partner. As for something being wrong with Jack...
Pam told herself not to go there. She didn’t want to fight with her daughter, but she couldn’t help worrying about her. Jen was making things harder than they had to be. Pam had a feeling that whatever Jen had shared, there was so much more she wasn’t saying. Jack’s first few years were supposed to be wonderful, not terrifying.
They all went out to the backyard. Zoe had set up tables in the shade. There was a play area for the kids and a drinks station.
Zoe came over to greet them. She tickled little Jack and thanked them all for coming.
“Have I met your father before?” Pam asked her. “He looks familiar.”
Zoe grinned. “He was the face of Saldivar tequila for years. You’ve seen him in magazine ads and on TV.”
“Of course. I should have remembered.”
Jen took Jack and set him on the ground. He ran toward two other children and Jen followed. Kirk went with her. Zoe leaned close to Pam.
“My father is very charming. He can’t help it. Just so you’re warned.”
“Don’t worry. I promise not to be swept off my feet by him.” She appreciated the information—not that she was interested or anything, but the man was very appealing. She linked arms with Zoe. “All right. Introduce me to your friends. I want to find out what the current slang words are. I’m sure mine are all outdated.”
The afternoon was sunny and warm. Pam enjoyed chatting with everyone. She took charge of Jack during dinner so Jen and Kirk could hang out together. Sometime after, she found herself sitting in a beach chair on the lawn next to Miguel.
He eyed her glass of iced tea. “You don’t like margaritas?” he asked. “I made them myself.”
“I like them just fine and I had one earlier. But I have to drive home.”
“A cautious woman. Interesting. Tell me, Pamela, what do you do?”
She thought about correcting him—she always went by Pam. But there was something about the way the more formal version rolled off his tongue. It was nice, she told herself. Fun.
“I volunteer with an organization called Moving Women Forward. They support women entrepreneurs. I’m a mentor. I also take care of my grandson and spend time with my friends. I travel a few times a year, that sort of thing.”
It wasn’t a life that would change the world, but it was a very good one and she knew she’d been blessed.
“What about you?” she asked. “Zoe mentioned you’d worked in the family business. As the spokesman.”
He raised one eyebrow. “Did she? I’m retired now. My nephew is younger, which has an appeal, I suppose. But he’s hardly more handsome.”
Pam laughed. “I’m sure that’s true.”
Miguel winked at her. “You’re going to hear stories about me.”
“Am I?”
“Yes. That I’m charming and fickle when it comes to women.”
“You’re saying neither is true?”
He touched his hand to his chest. “You wound me. Of course I’m charming. As for the women, perhaps years ago. After my divorce. I had a modest amount of fame and I might have used it to my advantage.”
She would guess that was quite the understatement. “And now?”
“I have learned to appreciate different things. Maturity and wisdom bring their own kind of beauty.”
Pam did her best not to snort. Talk about a line. Sure, it was a good one, but still. “Miguel, I promise I will only believe the good things about you.”
“I appreciate that.” He glanced around the backyard. “This reminds me of when I was in Rio many years ago. One of our distributors invited me to his home for a birthday party for his youngest daughter. She was turning seven and the whole family was there. So many generations celebrating together. I fear we are losing that.”
“I know what you mean. I appreciate getting to hang out with at least two of my children, but not enough people do.”
“How many children do you have?”
“Three.” She pointed to Jen and Steven. “Brandon is in San Francisco.” She smiled. “If I say he�
��s a doctor, will you accuse me of bragging?”
“I promise I will not.”
“Then he’s a doctor. Brandon was one of those kids who makes you want to bang your head against the wall. If there was an easy way and a hard way, he would find the impossible way. But he’s doing great now.”
Miguel studied her. “You were a good mother.”
“I like to think so but you can’t possibly know one way or the other.”
“I have a sense about these things. There is a determination about you. Whatever the problem, you would have seen it through to the end.”
A lucky guess, she told herself, slightly surprised he would have figured that out about her.
“You are out of iced tea.” Miguel rose and reached for her glass. “I’ll be right back.”
Pam watched him go, appreciating the view. Yes, he was a very interesting man. Charming and—
Steven dropped into the empty seat. He angled toward her. “Mom, you have to be careful. With Miguel. You’ve been talking to him for a while. Zoe’s told me all about him. He’s a player. I know he’s charming and all that, but it’s superficial.”
“Oh, dear God.” Pam stared at him. “First Zoe and now you? How incompetent do you think I am?”
“Not incompetent,” Steven said hastily. “Just, you know, inexperienced. You were married to Dad for a long time and you’re not used to...” He seemed to be searching for the right word.
“The ways of the world?” she offered dryly.
“Uh, sure.” He shifted uncomfortably. “Mom, I love you and I don’t want you to get hurt. You know, thinking that Miguel is really—”
She stared at him. “Go on.”
“Um, nothing.”
“You don’t want me thinking that Miguel could possibly be interested in me? Is that it? Because I’d like to point out he’s several years older than me, so it couldn’t possibly be an age thing. Are you saying I’m not attractive enough? You think your mother is ugly?” She supposed it was wrong to torture him like this, but seriously, he’d started it.
Steven nearly whimpered. “Mom, I’m just—”
“Oh, I know what you are and what you’re thinking. That I’m so pathetic I would think that Miguel was actually interested in me. That I’m so unsophisticated and backward that I would be swooning over the first man to bat his eyelashes at me. Let me tell you something, Steven Eiland. You and your generation didn’t invent sex. I was doing it years before you were born. And while I might have been happily married for thirty years, I’m not an idiot. I understand exactly who and what Miguel is. Now, unless you want me to start talking about all the things I know that you don’t—when it comes to what goes on between a man and a woman—I suggest you hightail it back to the other side of the party.”
A Million Little Things--A Novel Page 7
