by Vella Munn
Chapter Eight
Magadan didn’t bother to knock. He barreled through the door like an avenger on his way to do battle. He found Chela in the kitchen measuring granules into a pitcher for iced tea. She turned calmly toward him, her feelings, she thought, well in check. “Don’t you believe in knocking?” she asked. “If I’d locked my door, you would have broken it down.”
“To hell with the door. What are you doing?”
“Making tea. I’ll have us some in a few minutes.”
For a moment Magadan seemed fascinated by what she was doing, then suddenly his hand snaked out and stopped her. “That’s the fifth tablespoonful you’ve put in. No one can drink that.”
“Oh,” Chela said and then watched as Magadan took out about half of the dark grains. When he finally filled the pitcher with water, the resulting liquid was amber, not dirt brown the way it would have been if he’d allowed her to continue. “Do you have to criticize everything I do?” she asked as he was pouring tea over glasses filled with ice.
Magadan gave her an indulgent smile.
“I’m just glad you’re not with your migrant kids now. You’d have them so confused they’d wish they were back across the border. He gave you a rough time, didn’t he?”
Chela wondered if she’d ever find a way to hide her emotions from Magadan. She was so transparent around him. But suddenly it no longer mattered. She accepted the frosty glass and drank deeply, the cool liquid at least washing away a day spent in the orchards, if not what had happened in her house a few minutes ago. “I hate that man. I could kill him,” she said with a conviction that didn’t surprise her.
Magadan steered her out of the kitchen and onto the couch in the living room. “I don’t think I’d like to have that statement tested if I were Kohl,” he said as he joined her. “I just wish I understood why your hatred of him goes so deep.”
Never, Magadan. That’s something I’ll never tell you. “He’s going to be back in two days,” she said instead. “I told him I’d only give him half of the money now. He wants a thousand more.”
“That figures. But I think it’s working, Chela.” Magadan leaned forward but didn’t touch her as if he knew she was on the brink of igniting. “He’s falling for it. If he delivers Ortez to you without twisting a few screws, our case won’t be as strong. I’m just hoping his greed will make him use Ortez as a hostage for more money.”
He wouldn’t have to use Ortez if he thought he could get to her, Chela acknowledged. If only she could tell Magadan what Kohl was threatening her with, but she’d held that secret all her life. “Can you come up with the money?”
“Of course.” Magadan smiled, but the gesture was without warmth. “I figured this would happen. It’s part of the game we have to play.”
Rage, which Chela thought she’d conquered, surged through her. “It isn’t a game, Magadan! Not with me it isn’t. You don’t know the stakes—” She slammed her glass onto the nearby coffee table and sprang to her feet. She was almost to the door when she realized that this was her home and leaving it made no sense. “Can you have the money in two days?” she asked, her voice revealing none of what her tense, trembling body was saying.
“You let me worry about the money. You have to get control over yourself. That’s your job.” He joined her by the door but made no comment about her irrational behavior. “Did he hurt you this time?”
Chela stuck out her hands to reveal no marks on her wrists. Magadan didn’t have to know of the kiss that had been far greater punishment than any bruise. “Do I look as if I’ve been hurt?”
“You certainly act like it.” Something angry and dangerous flashed in his eyes but died an instant death. “Look, I was going to take you out to dinner tonight. The offer still holds.”
She couldn’t think of eating, of controlling her emotions enough to enter a restaurant. She shook her head. “You go. I’m not hungry.”
Magadan released his breath in an angry hiss. “I’m not going to go eat and leave you here. I’d think you’d have realized that by now. I’ll tell you what. You’ve been out in the sun all day and your hair’s clinging to your neck. Go take a bath. It might help you relax.”
Yes, that would feel good, Chela admitted. Cold water on her flesh might restore some sense of calm to her nerves. “I don’t want you to come into the bathroom,” she warned as she turned longing eyes in the direction of the room.
For the first time today he touched her, gentle hands along the side of her neck. “I understand, Chela. I understand you better than you think I do. What I said earlier about our being lovers only when you want it still goes. Now isn’t the time, is it?”
She shook her head but didn’t move out from under his touch until he steered her into the bathroom and started to fill the tub with water. Maybe he was right about understanding her. She wanted him here—that she wouldn’t deny—but now wasn’t the time for lovemaking. Kohl’s visit and threats had placed her beyond that point. Chela slipped off her shoes but didn’t start to undress until Magadan had closed the door behind her.
She washed slowly, thoroughly, erasing from her flesh the imprint made by Kohl’s presence. She gave special attention to her mouth, washing and rewashing it until the bitter taste of soap stopped her. Finally she shampooed her hair and rinsed it thoroughly under the tap, taking simple pleasure in the squeaking sounds she could make by running her fingers through the strands. She stepped out, toweled off, and wrapped another towel around her hair.
When she opened the bathroom door, cooking smells reached her, but Chela didn’t go to investigate until she’d traded her twin towels for the white sundress that represented a complete departure from the world that brought her into contact with Kohl.
“I hope you like eggs,” Magadan said as she entered the kitchen. “I excel in omelets, but I’m afraid that pushes my culinary talents to their limit.” His voice dropped when he turned to face her. “You’re beautiful.”
Embarrassed, Chela pushed her still-damp hair off her shoulders and wondered, for the first time in her life, what it would do to her features if she was to wear makeup. “I…you’ve seen this dress before.”
“And I hope I never stop seeing you in it. White is your color. That and peach.”
Chela dropped her eyes. “You didn’t have to fix me anything.”
“Yes, I did. I’m starved, and you want to stay home,” he reminded her. “It’s a good thing you had eggs. There’s everything but the kitchen sink in this omelet,” he went on conversationally. “Onions, green peppers, chilies. You sure have a lot of vegetables around here.”
Chela didn’t dare come any closer because she wasn’t sure she could keep her hands off his body if she did. Everything had been all wrong before Magadan came into the house. Now it was becoming right again. “Some of the Mexicans have gardens,” she explained. “They keep me well supplied.”
“I’ll have to send them a thank-you card. Sit down. First we eat. Then we’ll talk.”
Chela wasn’t sure she was up to the kind of talking Magadan was hinting at, but by the time she’d finished off the omelet and American fries he’d prepared to go with it, the hollow feeling in her stomach was no longer crawling into her throat. At length she stopped eating and smiled at him across the kitchen table. “I didn’t know I was hungry,” she admitted. “The Mexican women tell me that a whining baby is a baby with an empty belly.”
“You weren’t whining,” Magadan pointed out. “Something else had you climbing the walls. Now, I want to know all about it.”
Chela shook her head and started speaking at the same time. Briefly she explained about Kohl’s supposed contact with Ortez and his reasons for increasing the payment. She repeated that he would be back in two days. What she didn’t tell him was the part of the conversation that followed.
“Did he threaten you again?”
“When doesn’t he threaten? That’s the only way he knows how to deal with people,” she countered, instead of giving Magadan the
answer she knew he wanted.
Magadan frowned. “I want to be here, hidden somewhere when he comes back. When I think of him here with you—”
Chela froze. It would be too dangerous. “No! Kohl would find out. I know the man. We’ve brought him this far. We can’t risk losing him now.”
Magadan cocked his head and fixed his eyes on her. “What happened to the confident woman I’ve always seen before? Something happened to change you. What is it?”
Instead of trying to answer a question she couldn’t, Chela turned the conversation around. “Something’s changed you, Magadan. You were so willing to have me deal with Kohl before. What’s different now?”
Magadan reached across the littered table and took her hand. “I think you know the answer to that. You. You and I have changed. I don’t see this the way I used to.”
Chela freed her hand and nervously started clearing the table. “You’ll have to go back to what you saw before,” she tried to point out. “You can’t change things this late in the game. Kohl will smell it and slip out of your grip.”
“It doesn’t matter. Your safety is more important than that.” He’d picked up his dishes and was taking them to the sink. “Maybe it was a fool plan from the start, putting you in the position of working with Kohl just because—”
“Just because I’m the only one who would fit in with your plan.” Chela turned on him, free at least for the moment of the uncertainties that had assaulted her since her enemy’s visit. “You supply the money and the plan, Magadan. I’ll do my part.”
“I don’t like it.”
“You don’t have to like it.” She laughed softly. “You aren’t dealing with a helpless female, Magadan. I’m as much of a bulldog as you are. Once I put my teeth into something I don’t give up.” No matter what Kohl sends my way, she thought.
Magadan put away the salt and pepper without speaking. Then he took her hands and pulled her close to him. “You don’t look like any bulldog, Chela. You look like a beautiful, desirable woman, and I feel like protecting you. If you don’t like hearing that, I can’t help it. That’s the way it is.”
“You’ve changed, Magadan,” she challenged.
“You’ve changed me, Chela. If I knew I was going to wind up feeling this way about you…”
She didn’t try to draw away. Instead Chela let her body lean toward his, gave acknowledgment to what she’d wanted to do from the moment he walked in the door. She freed her hands and reached up to draw his face down toward hers. “It’s just as well you didn’t,” she said softly, wisely. “Neither of us did.”
Those were the last words either of them spoke until they were in the bedroom and Magadan had draped her white dress across the end of the bed. “I don’t know what you’ve done to me,” he said, his voice husky. “I’ve never felt this way toward a woman before. If I didn’t know better”—he stopped for a moment to caress her left breast—“I’d think you’d cast a spell over me.”
It wasn’t a spell, she admitted silently. She didn’t know anything about what took place between a man and a woman. “Maybe you should go back to Mexico. The air here might be doing strange things to you.”
“The air has nothing to do with this.” He kissed a nipple, smiling as a groan escaped her. “Let’s see if I can cast any spells of my own and make you forget what happened tonight.”
He did. It was still light outside when their bodies joined on the Mexican coverlet. Neither of them was aware of the deepening shadows that swallowed the room and hid the difference between dark and lighter skin.
They dozed briefly, got up, and read the paper together and then, without approval having to be asked or given, made love again and fell asleep with their bodies touching.
Sometime during the night Chela became aware of the breeze coming from her open window brushing across their naked bodies. Instead of getting up to look for her nightshirt, she snuggled closer to Magadan, her arm draped across the broad expanse of his shoulder as he lay on his side. Chela ran her lips lightly over his back before resting her head on her pillow. He had changed everything about the evening, taken her from feeling like she’d been punched in the belly to acknowledging that she’d never felt as secure as she did at this moment.
It was so easy to trust this man. So easy.
Chela continued to feel Magadan’s impact on her to cling to while she waited for the next two days to drag by. Although many school officials were still on vacation, she met with the migrant education supervisor to decide what they had to do to make sure each migrant child in the county would be accounted for and given a bus route and other essential information. Chela had to cut back on her tutoring in the orchards because she wanted to go to each barrio to make sure parents were aware that their children needed to be registered. Three times she agreed to drive the parents to the various schools to make sure the necessary papers were signed.
The concentration of job activities gave Chela the opportunity to turn her mind away from Kohl and the possibility that he could slip through their net no matter how carefully they’d planned. He had eluded arrest and conviction before. It could happen again. But Chela was immersed in Magadan’s warmth and the unreasoning belief that the man could make everything right just by being there.
“You’re mighty cheerful,” Jeff Clime observed when Chela volunteered to foot the bill for ice cream for the entire soccer team Thursday afternoon. “You uncover some rich uncle you didn’t know existed?”
“Not an uncle,” was all Chela would reveal.
“I thought as much.” Jeff gave her a playful poke on the arm. “It wouldn’t happen to be the guy who showed up here that time, would it? It looked to me as if he wasn’t going to go away until you at least gave him the time of day.”
Chela laughed. “You’re too young to understand such things.” She didn’t add that she was the one who didn’t understand. Yes, Magadan had changed her life. The thing was, she’d never been able to figure out what he’d done to change her.
Friday wasn’t the time to think about Magadan and his impact on her life. Friday was for seeing Kohl. When she got off work, Chela toyed with the idea of not going home at all, where she knew Kohl would be sure to try to contact her. But Magadan had come out to the orchard that afternoon with an envelope full of the money she needed. He’d reminded her—as if she needed reminding—that Kohl wasn’t a man to be taken lightly. Not going home would only delay the meeting and possibly jeopardize what she’d already worked hard to achieve.
At least Kohl wasn’t waiting in her driveway when she turned off the road. Chela hurried inside, fought the urge to lock her door behind her, and called Magadan to let him know that contact hadn’t been made yet. “I’m not going to leave here,” Magadan said firmly. “And I’m coming over there if I haven’t heard from you in a couple of hours.”
“I’ll be all right,” Chela replied. “This meeting isn’t going to be any different from the ones we’ve had before.”
“Maybe, maybe not. I’ll be here. Call me.”
Where was here? Chela asked as she hung up. Magadan had spent the night at her house, in her bed, with her arms around him, yet she didn’t even know where he lived.
She didn’t have much time to think about that. The knock on the door came after she’d kicked off her tennis shoes but before she’d had time to pour herself something cool to drink.
Chela walked slowly to the door and opened it with numb fingers. She was ready to face Kohl. But two men stood outside. Even though she knew who else might be there when she opened the door, there was no way she could prepare herself to face Kohl’s companion.
“Are you trying to keep us out?” Kohl asked, his words cutting through the whirring sound that had suddenly filled her brain.
A breathy oath escaped from Chela’s lips. She clamped down on the sound before it could become more and pulled her eyes toward the coyote. Let the other man come to his own conclusions about her refusal to acknowledge his presence.
Kohl’s shirt was sticking to his bony chest and hung limp and damp from his shoulders. Chela focused on that fact, pleased to see that the hot valley afternoon touched weasels as well as people like herself. “You keep your appointments,” she said, moving back to let the two men in. She didn’t close the door after they were inside; neither did she breathe.
Kohl’s companion was the one to close out the sunlight. He was taller than Kohl with too much flesh around his jaws and a belly that hung over his belt. There were still signs that the man had once been athletic, but the years of sitting and letting others do his work had taken their toll. Chela was unprepared for the wave of emotion that assaulted her when she realized he was going bald. It made no sense to feel as if she might scream if she opened her mouth, but she knew the sound was dangerously close to breaking free. Being in the same room with the stranger who was in truth the farthest thing from a stranger was something she’d thought about a hundred times but doubted would ever happen.
So this was her father.
“Aren’t you two going to say hello?” Kohl mocked, obviously enjoying the moment. “This should be a touching reunion, father and daughter. What do you think of her, Lou? I thought you said she was a dirty little kid.”
“She was the last time I saw her up close.”
“I grew up. No thanks to you.” Chela deliberately turned her back on the two men and took her usual spot in her rocker. Now that she’d actually faced her father, the worst of the shock was over. He was just a man after all.
“Now, now,” Kohl mouthed. “There isn’t going to be a fight between you two, is there? This really should be a touching scene. Isn’t anyone going to say thanks for my bringing the two of you together?”
“Why did you?” Chela wasn’t sure she’d been able to contain her fury, but maybe it didn’t matter; he expected her to be emotional. “Lou Dye and I have nothing in common.”
“Except that you’re blood relatives.” Kohl sat down on the couch and with eye contact ordered Lou to take a chair opposite the rockerso that Chela was trapped between the two men.
