by Brenda Joyce
Lucy forced her way through the crowd, panic giving her unusual strength. She was near the park and she managed to push past four or five women to reach it. Lucy clung to the stone wall surrounding the park, panting, but it wasn't good enough. Lifting her skirts, careless of who should see, she climbed up so that she was standing on it. Her heart began to settle and she took great gulps of air. A few other people were standing on the wall, too, and Lucy began to look at them with interest. Many were young boys and teenagers. She began to enjoy her vantage point. The crowd around her on the ground was mixed, men, women, and children. Many wore worn cotton, the sign of the Cuban farmer and farm worker. Above them all, Jose Marti was crying out another fervent message that the government's promises were empty lies. They had promised reforms, but had the reconcetado policy ceased? Was the press free? Prisoners released? Autonomy was another empty promise, and even if it wasn't empty, they would never accept it, not ever!
Everyone in the crowd roared, the gustiest sound yet. Lucy gazed up at the terrace at Marti. She was on the side of the park closest to the balcony where he stood, and from her position, she could see him quite clearly now. He wore an ill-fitting suit, and had Indian features, his face high-cheekboned but flat and wide. He raised his fist in the air as he shouted.
The crowd echoed him. "CUBA LIBRE! CUBA LIBRE! CUBA LIBRE!"
The chant swelled and grew and reverberated around her. Lucy found herself caught up in the excitement, in the tremendous energy. She stared at the speaker, whose face was triumphant. The door behind him moved and another man stepped out onto the terrace and spoke urgently into Marti's ear.
Lucy froze. Her heart slammed to a stop. The other man was tall and dark and wearing faded Levis. It couldn't be. It could not be Shoz.
She would know him anywhere, even from this distance, even when his face was so close to the other man's that she couldn't see it. It was Shoz, she wasn't dreaming; he was here, in the middle of this protest!
He moved away from Marti, and Lucy saw his rough, dark features. She was trembling. Why was he here? What was he doing with the Cuban rebel leader?
She realized his gaze was sweeping the horizon, not the crowd, as if watching for someone or something. She couldn't take her eyes from him. Maybe he felt her stare, because suddenly he looked down—right at her.
Their gazes met and locked, and there was no mistaking his recognition and shock.
The crowd was still chanting, "CUBA LIBRE, CUBA LIBRE!" as they stared at each other. Lucy was vaguely aware that she was hearing glass breaking somewhere close by. Cries of approval sounded. The sound of more glass shattering caught her attention and Lucy turned to look behind her, but it was impossible to see anything other than the surging, angry ocean of people. The tone of the crowd had changed. Lucy heard hysteria, felt the frenzied intent. She also heard wood groaning and splitting, and then before her very eyes, she saw the carriage—her carriage—being overturned by a mob of shrieking youths.
Lucy froze, immobilized with fear. She saw a window in the building in front of her break as a huge rock hit it, thrown by someone in the crowd. More rocks began flying, some dangerously close, as one by one the windows in the same building began shattering. And all the while the roar of "CUBA LIBRE, CUBA LIBRE" echoed.
And then someone shoved her and she fell off the wall.
The crowd was packed so tightly that it kept her upright. Lucy looked up—but Shoz and Marti were gone. Disappointment claimed her for a second, then gave way to real panic. The crowd was jostling her, shoving her this way and that. Now the sounds of destruction and frenzy were everywhere around them—wood breaking, glass crashing, people screaming in exultation and in terror, the chanting of' 'Cuba Libre,'' the sound of sirens, the frightened whinny of a horse. Someone pushed her so hard, she thought she would fall and be trampled to death. She screamed.
She was shoved again, this time hard from behind, and Lucy went down on her knees. Someone stepped on her hand and she screamed as dizziness assailed her. She must not faint, she must get up, or she would be trampled by the crowd! Terror gave her superhuman power, and Lucy clawed her way to her feet, her nails digging into the strangers around her, pushing back at them as they pushed at her.
Panting, on her feet, locked between people whom she could not see, Lucy did not try and fight the crowd. It was moving her forward, and she went with it, tears of panic streaking her cheeks. She could not breathe. The feeling of claustrophobia was stronger. The crowd surged ahead un-evenly, and Lucy lost her balance again. She grabbed some- one's shoulder, while something wet blowing warm air shoved her from behind. She heard a snort and realized it was a horse. Lucy screamed in terror as the horse's muzzle pushed her again, causing her to stumble into someone. She had to move aside or be run over. But she couldn't move, she was hemmed in by hard-packed bodies. A hand anchored itself in her hair.
Lucy tried to run from the horse, into the people blocking her way. The hand yanked her back. The horse's body pushed her forward.
"Lucy!"
Lucy half twisted, her hands going up to claw at the stranger who wouldn't release her hair. Beside her, the horse danced in place, his hooves brushing against her feet. With a snarl, Lucy grabbed the man's wrist as he wrenched at her scalp so painfully, she thought he would pull a great hunk of her hair from her head. Like an animal, she tried to bite him.
"Lucy!" Shoz shouted.
She recognized him and started to go limp. He rode the huge black forward, and Lucy felt the horse's hoof clip her ankle, its shoulder brush her. Shoz grabbed her by her armpits and hauled her up in front of him. Lucy clung to him. "Hold on!" he shouted.
She had no intention of ever letting go. The crowd swarmed all around them, but Shoz was very skilled and determined; he weaved his mount through as if threading a needle, barely avoiding trampling those he forced aside, using a crop ruthlessly, slashing at those in his path and moving them out of the horse's way. Lucy clung, shaking. The stallion danced and snorted, people shrieked in hysteria. Lucy heard the roar of a fire, smelled the smoke. Someone screamed in terror. There was an explosion, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw a building crumble.
And then they were free.
Chapter 42
Not until they had ridden to the outskirts of Havana did they stop. Shoz pulled up the steaming stallion. Lucy abruptly slid from his lap, took two steps, and sank onto the ground. Shoz leaped down after her. "Are you all right?"
She was no longer trembling, but her breathing was shallow and fast. A series of explosions sounded, causing them both to jerk and look back the way they had come. They were on a hillside, and most of the city sprawled below them in a jumble of orange-tiled roofs. Lucy saw a thick cloud of smoke hanging over the center of Havana, marking where they had been. She thought about being caught up in that horrible riot and she shuddered. Then she turned her gaze to Shoz.
He was scowling and grim, and his eyes were sparking with anger. He was sweating, his blue cotton shirt half-open and clinging to his hard torso. His legs were braced apart hard, straining taut the fabric of his faded Levis, as he loomed over her. "Dammit, what the hell are you doing here!"
Lucy forgot about her near brush with death. Shoz was here—she had found him—but he didn't seem pleased to see her. To the contrary, he seemed furious. Slowly she got to her feet.
"I asked you a question."
She lifted her chin. "What a pleasant greeting."
"If you're looking for manners, than you're looking in the wrong place."
"Believe me, I know firsthand that you are thoroughly lacking in that department."
He smiled. "Mad, are we?"
"I wasn't mad until you made me mad."
Now he seemed pleased. What was she doing? She hadn't tracked him to Cuba to argue. "Shoz, please, I don't want to fight with you."
He ignored her. "What are you doing here, Lucy?"
"I had to leave New York."
His gaze narrowed.
"I didn't
marry Leon."
He stared. Suddenly he grinned—and then he laughed. "You stood him up at the altar?" He hooted. "It wasn't funny."
He was really laughing now. "Oh, that's funny, princess, that's really funny!"
Lucy clenched her fists. "Are you being obnoxious on purpose?"
"You still didn't answer my question. What the hell are you doing in Cuba?"
"I told you—I couldn't stay in New York, not with another scandal!"
Shoz grabbed her chin. His gaze pinned hers. "But Cuba? You have rich family all the hell over the world, and you run to Cuba?"
Lucy pursed her mouth shut. He was being a miserable bastard and suddenly she was all pride—she would never tell him that he was the reason she had come to Cuba!
He smiled, releasing her. "Wait a minute. This isn't just a coincidence, is it? You knew I was here, didn't you? You came because of me!"
"You arrogant son of a bitch!" Lucy cried. She slapped him across the face with all the strength she had, tears of anger in her eyes. She had followed him to Cuba, but she would never admit it, because he just didn't care. He had never cared. He was making fun of her.
He drew back. "Ow! What the hell was that for?"
"That was for just about everything." She wasn't aware that she was still posed to hit him.
He grabbed her wrist as she swung again, pulling her up close. "That's the thanks I get for saving your delectable ass?"
"You get no thanks from me for anything!"
"You're mad because I came to your room that night, aren't you? You're mad because you damn well enjoyed
"I'm mad because you're a selfish, self-serving bastard." "It took two, baby." He yanked on her. "Or is it because I'm not falling all over you now? Is that it?" "What did I ever see in you?"
That shut him up. They looked at each other, Shoz grim, Lucy red-faced with anger. Finally Shoz said, softly, "I could never figure that out."
And in that instant, Lucy's heart went out to him. He wasn't a bastard, it was all show. "Shoz..."
"I want you out of here. Don't you have any common sense? This country's in the middle of a bloody civil war! This country is no place for a woman, any woman, much less one like you!"
"What does that mean!"
"It means that you belong in your fancy New York mansion with your liveried servants, Lucy. Not here. Not now."
"You don't give me any credit."
"Sure I do." He grinned, and eyed her.
She stepped back, her breasts heaving. She watched him warily. She watched him leer, knowing it was on purpose, knowing he wanted to alienate her again. But then his interest genuinely changed, damn his soul to the depths of hell. Lucy recognized the bright light in his eyes too well. His gaze made a more thorough sweep of her person.
A frisson swept her, and Lucy was too experienced not to realize, with dismay, that his interest only fueled hers. She wanted him. Needed him. She had always wanted him.
She took another step away from him. "Contrary to what you believe, I came here for the anonymity Havana could provide me. To be alone, and—recover."
"I don't care why you came. This is no place for you to be, Lucy. You had better get on the next ship bound for home, and I mean it."
"I am not leaving," she gritted. "And it is not your affair!"
"Maybe I'm making it my affair."
A thrill swept her. "That's your business."
He was furious. Lucy had to contain herself not to show her own emotions, which were far from fury.
He turned away first, rigidly. "Where are you staying?" "Daddy has a villa on Avenue Muralla." "I'll take you there."
Lucy looked back at Havana. Already the smoke was drifting away, leaving a blue sky in its wake. The city was picturesque and still. It was hard to believe that such violence had just occurred within its deceptively serene con-fines. "All right, thank you."
He extended his hand. Now that the riot, and their argument, were far behind them, Lucy hesitated. She had never been more conscious of his rawly male appeal than at that precise moment.
As if comprehending her completely, he smiled. "Maybe it's not so bad—that you're here for a while."
Lucy didn't respond, waiting, even wary.
"We never have had enough time, just the two of us, have we, princess?"
She looked at him. "No, we haven't."
He stared. Lucy smiled and held out her hand. Instead of helping her mount, he gripped her hand, hard. "What are you up to, Lucy?"
' T told you,'' she said. "I came here to escape the scandal in New York. That's all."
"You're lying."
He had turned away; Lucy approached and laid her palm on his damp back. The texture of him was so familiar, hard and smooth, warm and wet. He jumped as if she'd stung him.
"I'm not," she said earnestly. "My reputation was in tatters after being your hostage in Death Valley. Somehow it was leaked to all the newspapers. We had to maintain that I was, er, unhurt." Her voice cracked. "I couldn't handle another scandal, I just couldn't."
"It'd be an even bigger scandal if they knew we'd been married." His tone and expression were mocking, indifferent; his gaze was not. It held hers, searched hers.
"I'm not ashamed of our marriage. I never was."
"Like hell."
"Believe what you want." The anger came back so easily. "You will anyway, won't you?" Now it was her turn to be bitter.
"That's right."
They had reached a standoff. Somewhat reluctantly Lucy allowed Shoz to help her mount; he climbed astride behind her. He urged the black into a slow trot, and for a while they rode in silence, each immersed in his or her own thoughts, but overwhelmingly aware of the other.
It wasn't comfortable. It had been so long since they had made love properly, and Lucy felt the enormity of her desire engulfing her like a tidal wave, and she was filled with yearning and anguish. She knew he felt it, too. His forearm braced her firmly across her abdomen, her back was glued to his chest, she sat in his lap. His body, against hers, felt as hard as steel and as tight and tense as a newly coiled spring.
"How are you involved with Jose Marti?" He stiffened. "Don't ask."
The implications of his involvement began to seize her. "Shoz, if you're caught with him ... !" He laughed. "Suddenly concerned for my well-being?" "Of course I am."
He was silent. Then his grip tightened, and his arm lifted, pressing into her breasts. His mouth, when he spoke, touched the side of her cheek. "You don't care about me. You never cared about me. You only care about what I can do for you in bed."
Lucy could barely breathe, his breath sending a delicious frisson through her. "Th-that's not true."
"Should I prove it?"
"Shoz, stop."
"Why?" His mouth moved over her cheek. His hand closed over her breast. "Face it," he said, his breath warm on her ear. "You start coming in your lacy French drawers when I barely touch you."
For one second, Lucy could not breathe, could not move. Then she wanted to kill him.
"Deny it all you want to," he said, releasing his hold and urging the horse on. "But that won't make it go away."
"Why did I ever like you?" "For the same reason you still like me." He leered. "I want to walk." She moved to slide off the stallion, but he held her firmly in place. "Forget it."
She seethed silently. Nothing was going the way she had dreamed, nothing. "Why are you so mean?" she flung, before she could stop herself.
"You always did bring out my worst side."
There was such rueful sincerity in his tone that Lucy twisted around to look at him. Incredibly she saw his cheeks darkening with a blush. He looked away, avoiding eye con-tact. She thought, he is such a complex man. Unfortunately, she chose that moment to remember his sensitivity and love for Roberto in a series of sharp, focused images. She felt her own anger draining, and rising in its stead was an answering warmth. "How is Roberto?"
"He's fine."
"You still see him?" She faltered, th
inking of Carmen. "When I can."
She didn't want to know. "He's in Death Valley?" He studied her. "Yes."
Lucy hid her gaze. Jealousy surged through her with such force, it made her feel momentarily faint. She didn't have a doubt that if Shoz periodically went to Death Valley, Carmen was there, still his mistress. God, she hated her— she hated him!
They did not speak anymore. Lucy still wanted to know what Shoz was doing here in Cuba, among the rebels, but Shoz refused to be drawn into a conversation. He was the only person she knew who could upset her so quickly, with just a word, or an innuendo. She felt drained from their encounter, the riot, her voyage. They began passing the homes of the well-to-do who resided in Havana's finer districts.
"We're almost there," Shoz told her, turning onto Avenue Muralla. He asked for the villa's street number, and Lucy told him. "Lucy, listen carefully."
His tone was very serious, and Lucy was all ears.
"It's very dangerous here in Havana, and in all of Cuba.
The situation is out of control. I want you to leave. And until you do, I want you to be very careful."
"I'm not going to leave, Shoz," she said firmly. "But I will be careful."
He grimaced. "I want you to follow the rules. You don't go out unescorted. You stay to the areas of the city that are trouble-free, like this neighborhood. And Lucy, before doing anything, think it through first."
It was as if he cared about her safety, as if he really cared. "You sound like my mother," she joked. But she was agitated, and so very hopeful!
"This isn't a joking matter!"
"I'm sorry."
"One more thing. There's a secretary in the consulate, Janice. If ever you have a problem, or an emergency, just tell her that you need to reach me, or give her a message. Don't hesitate. Okay?"
