MEANT TO BE MARRIED

by Ruth Wind

  Sarah sat up, feeling the familiar knot in her chest. Her parents were products of their times. She knew that. Most of the time she tried to accept it. "There had to be times you wanted to, Mom. Wasn't there ever a handsome Indian or Mexican boy you wanted to talk to?"

  Mabel lowered her eyes, and Sarah suddenly felt Elias between them. "No," she said, and looked up. "But I understood what you saw in Eli the first time I saw him."

  "I don't want to talk about that."

  Her mother ignored her. "I was down in Penasco to see about some fabric a woman had there, and was about to drive home when I saw a girl who looked like you sitting on some steps. With a boy. Remember how his hair was so long? He was sitting there beside you with this … look on his face, and that hair was blowing like a piece of pure silk, as beautiful as anything I ever saw."

  With a pang, Sarah remembered. The house, little more than a single room with a half kitchen, belonged to a young cousin of Eli's, and sometimes Eli got the key and took Sarah there so they had a place to just be together without driving all over the county. "I remember the place," Sarah said, and found to her horror that she had to blink hard.

  "Have you seen him?"

  Sarah lifted her face and lied. "No. And I hope I don't."

  Mabel only nodded. Then she yawned. "I think I am going to go have a nap. You go on and have a good time with Joanna. Tell her I said hi." At the door to her bedroom, she paused. "Sarah, it's so good to have you home."

  Accepting the olive branch, Sarah smiled. "It's good to be here."

  * * *

  She met Joanna at La Paloma, an old restaurant in an old hotel, once patronized by Mabel Dodge Luhan and her crowd in the twenties. Sarah arrived first, and when the waiter seated her by the window overlooking the street, she ordered a glass of merlot. When the wine came, she sipped it with a sense of decadence, and suddenly remembered the lunch on her birthday in London. It was only a little more than a week ago, but it seemed a lifetime.

  And yet, again she heard the sound of many languages. German behind her. French at the table to her right. And around them all the mingled rhythm of English and Spanish and Indian inflections that she'd heard in London, the sound that spoke of home. She sipped her wine and closed her eyes, listening, doubly pleased when the sound of Spanish guitar, woven through with song, added its flavor. The air smelled of margaritas and roasted green chiles.

  Home. She had not known the depths of her homesickness till she came back. Had not realized the desert was in her blood, that too many trees made her claustrophobic and she needed to rest her eyes on the mountains and the sky. Now that she was here, she didn't know how she'd borne being away for so long.

  "Are you meditating?"

  Sarah laughed and opened her eyes. "No." She jumped up to hug her friend Joanna, a tall, lovely brunette with yards of hair she wore long and loose. "I'm so happy to see you!" Between them, the baby, a fat, round-faced boy with straight black hair and rosy cheeks, laughed and caught a handful of Sarah's hair. "And I'm glad to meet you, too," Sarah said, kissing his forehead.

  "Jacob," Joanna said.

  He gave a happy shout and reached for her. Pleased, Sarah kissed his little palm, and when he giggled, took him from Joanna. "Hello, Jacob. Aren't you a doll," she murmured, and buried her face against his neck, smelling baby powder and fresh clothing and the pointed sweetness of baby heat. He gurgled and nuzzled her back. Sarah laughed. "Joanna, he's adorable."

  Joanna inclined her head. "He doesn't often take to strangers like that. You should feel honored." She slid into the booth.

  "Do you mind if I hold him for a little while?" Sarah asked. His soft, lumpy weight felt good.

  "Of course not."

  "I always have liked babies," she said, settling with him on her lap.

  "I remember. I never did, until this one." She grinned. "And I'm making up for it now. I want about twenty more."

  "Really?"

  "Well, maybe three or four." She ordered a margarita from the waiter and leaned over the table. "So … how is it, being back after all this time?"

  "I should have come back a long time ago." Joanna nodded. "It gets in your blood. I don't know how anyone stays away once they were raised here." She dipped a tortilla chip into a bowl of salsa. "How is your father?"

  "Okay." Sarah lifted a shoulder. "The doctors seem to think he shouldn't be as sick as he is. He's made a lot of changes in his health. He's lost the weight he needed to get off and he walks with my mother for a few minutes every day, but he's just languishing."

  "How are things between the two of you?"

  "I came home to make peace with him. He seems to want to make peace, too." She took a sip of wine.

  "But—"

  "But he wants me to forgive him, for the baby. He wants to talk about it." She set her mouth. "I don't want to go down that road. It's over and done with and there's no point."

  "You don't forgive him?"

  "No." Sarah said the word without apology. Joanna sobered, looked at her son and back to Sarah. "In a way, I do understand, but it isn't going to do either one of you any good for you to hold a grudge."

  Sarah bent her head, curling her fingers around Jacob's plump hand, rubbing her thumb over his tiny fingernails. He cooed. "I know." She looked up. "I can't help it."

  For a moment Joanna focused on something behind Sarah. Then she turned her attention back to her friend. "Have you seen Eli?"

  She snorted. "About five minutes after I got here, believe it or not."

  "Fate," Joanna said with a smile.

  Sarah rolled her eyes. "Sure."

  She chuckled. "Yeah, fate. He just walked in."

  A spasm touched Sarah's stomach. She narrowed her eyes. "Not really."

  "Really." She gestured subtly toward the other side of the room.

  Reluctantly, Sarah glanced in the direction Joanna had pointed, and saw a waiter seating at a table a dark-haired woman in a luscious red dress. Eli waited politely as she was settled, then took his own seat.

  "Good lord," Sarah said.

  "My thoughts exactly," Joanna said with a faint purr. He was elegantly dressed in a black suit that fit his trim form exquisitely, emphasizing his broad shoulders and lean hips. His hair was combed back from the chiseled face, and the smile he gave his dinner guest was charming.

  Sarah looked back at Joanna, and found she had no words in her throat. Joanna lifted her eyebrows. "He's grown up nicely."

  Sarah couldn't help it – she laughed, and made a fake coughing noise to indicate her agreement. "No kidding." She glanced over again, noticing with a pang of jealousy the way the woman leaned closer, eagerly, to tell Eli something. Warm yellow light haloed her hair and made her flesh look like cream. "Who is the date?"

  "Jennifer Jaquez. She's a graphic designer. I think she's doing some work for Santiago Teas, designing new logos and labels and the boxes for the teas. They wanted something distinctive."

  "You know a lot about this."

  "Thomas and Eli are good friends."

  "Mmm." Sarah nodded. "Well, it doesn't look like a business dinner, now, does it?"

  "You sound jealous."

  "No. Just curious." She reached for a chip herself. "Has he ever been married?"

  "No way. He's not the same man he was when you left, Sarah. You wouldn't even know him now. Not really. He never dates anyone very long, pours everything into his business – which is probably why it's so successful."

  Sarah's throat tightened with tension and she scowled. "Let's talk about something else. I don't know that I've forgiven him, either, to tell you the truth."

  "For what?" Joanna looked up, genuinely puzzled.

  "He could have tried to find me. Write to me. Something. If I'd had one tiny glimmer of hope, I wouldn't have given the baby up."

  Joanna went very still. She put down her spoon. "Sarah, you didn't … you can't mean to tell me you didn't know he went to jail."

  "Of course I knew. He was arrested the night we came ba
ck to town, but he hadn't done anything." The expression on Joanna's face chilled her. "He didn't really go to jail?"

  "Oh, Sarah – I had no idea you didn't know this. The old-boy network kicked in pretty good for your father. They couldn't make the charges stick, but Eli spent two months in jail waiting for his trial."

  Sarah stared at her. "I didn't know." She closed her eyes to hide the sudden tears. "Oh, God."

  Joanna touched her hand. "I'm sorry. I would never have said anything – it just never occurred to me that you didn't know."

  For long moments Sarah could not speak as she struggled with a sudden rush of emotions – sorrow and regret and rage in equal proportions. "No wonder," she whispered.

  "Sarah, he's coming to the table."

  She barely had time to swallow a sip of water and arrange her features before he was standing there, smelling of some heavenly cologne, his jaw newly shaved. His eyes were dangerous, full of a hot, piercing light Sarah did not want to see. Did not want to feel.

  "Hello," he said pleasantly, the tone so at odds with the dangerous look that Sarah wondered if it was her imagination. "Sarah, Joanna." His gaze fell on the baby. "Your son is growing."

  Sarah ducked her head, taking refuge in the baby's hands, but Eli was kneeling, putting his face at a level with Jacob's, and reaching out a hand – that slim, beautiful hand, masculine and sensitive at once – to brush the boy's cheek gently. He wore a single carved silver ring on his right hand, and with shock, Sarah recognized it as the wedding band they had chosen. She looked at him.

  His face was so close she could see a faint, tiny scar at the bridge of his nose where he'd been struck with a rock when he was ten and the individual pores of his jaw where his beard came in. His lower lip was faintly chapped from the hot day.

  His eyes, boring into hers, were as fathomless as they'd always been, pools of unbroken darkness. She had no idea how long they stared at each other like that, with a baby between them, a plump brown baby they might have made, but she could not look away. Could not speak.

  Abruptly he stood. "I just wanted to say hello," he said with an urbane smile. "Maybe you would both join Jennifer and me for dessert?"

  "That would be great," Joanna said immediately.

  "Good." Eli turned toward Sarah. "You and she will have much in common – she is also an artist."

  "I'll look forward to it."

  With a single nod, he departed. As soon as he was out of earshot, Sarah said, "Why did you say yes?"

  Joanna's expression was sober. "For you," she said. "I had no idea there was still so much between you."

  "There isn't," Sarah said fiercely.

  "Oh, please."

  "Joanna, don't do this. I can't stand it." She looked over her shoulder. "He scares me now."

  "Maybe that's good. He isn't the man he was," she agreed.

  "What do you mean?"

  Joanna hesitated. "They say he lives to have his revenge on your father."

  "And you're afraid he might take his revenge through me."

  "Yes." The word was simple and chilling.

  Sarah thought of the way he had looked this morning as he watched her come toward him, his eyes boiling, his lips parting, his arms rigid at his sides as if he controlled himself with only the most intense effort. And along her spine she felt her response, a tingling awareness that ached for expression.

  "I'm not the girl I was, either," she said calmly, and knew it was true. "I'm not naive or innocent or prone to being carried away by passion." She shook her head. "I have no intention of allowing him anywhere near me."

  "Not even for a curious roll in the hay?" Joanna teased. "Even with an old lover who looks like that?"

  Sarah laughed throatily, remembering her urge this morning to take him inside. "Well, the thought might have crossed my mind. But it would be like curling up with a coyote. Too dangerous."

  "Good."

  Reaching around the baby playing with her necklace, Sarah picked up the menu. "Let's order. I'm starving."

  * * *

  Eli cursed his choice of restaurants from the moment he walked in and saw Sarah with Jacob Concha curled comfortably on her lap.

  All day he'd thought of little but Sarah in her red robe. He'd thrown himself into his work, had even gone out and hoed in the fields, trying to burn away that vision of her in the water-thin cloth, the light kissing her breasts and thighs…

  Nothing had worked. When Jennifer had called to ask him to supper, he'd jumped at the chance. She was beautiful, intelligent and lushly sexy. He did not, as a rule, mix business with pleasure, but there was an undeniable, enjoyable attraction between them, and he decided to throw caution to the wind.

  Looking at her now, dark and lovely, made of a zillion soft, inviting curves, he knew he ought to be aching to tumble with her into a feast of sensual delights. He genuinely liked her as a person. She had worked hard to create her business, fighting family and friends to set up a competitive graphic arts studio in a town overflowing with starving artists.

  But she'd had to wear red. Red that made him think of—

  With controlled effort, he focused. "How are the plans for your new business coming along?"

  Jennifer smiled. "You know, Elias," she said in a voice as pleasant as everything else about her, "I am getting the distinct impression you might be a little distracted tonight." She leaned closer, and he was afforded a dazzling display of cleavage that moved him not at all. "Is this about the blonde over there?"

  Eli winced. "Sorry."

  "Don't be. I thought I recognized her. Sarah Greenwood, right?"

  "Yes. Jennifer, I really am sorry. I promise I'll be more attentive."

  She laughed. "No, don't promise. We have been friends for some time and I have always sensed you were not emotionally available." She lifted one creamy shoulder. "But it was worth a try to coax you out. A woman never knows."

  "Still, this makes me feel rotten."

  "Don't." She touched his hand. "Being friends is good, too. And not to be vain, but I do not have trouble finding lovers."

  He chuckled, as he was meant to, and took a deep breath, relaxing for the first time since he'd come to the restaurant. "I'm not emotionally available," he said honestly. "Probably never will be."

  "Fair enough." She sipped her ruby-colored wine. "Is she the reason? That whole feud between your families?"

  "Yes," he said without elaboration.

  "What really happened to cause that war, anyway? I've never heard the story. Do you mind telling it?"

  He smiled. "Do you want the facts or the romantic version?"

  "Oh, the romantic one, please."

  "Ah. Good choice." He leaned forward, donning an exaggerated Spanish accent. "Once upon a time, this land belonged to the descendants of the proud conquistadores, and their language and customs were Spanish, and all was well."

  Jennifer chuckled. "Except for the Indians."

  "Details," he said, waving them away. He smiled ruefully to let her know he was kidding. "Anyway, into this peaceful, abundant land came a horde of americanos who changed everything, took the land and changed the language, and would not go away.

  "In those days, the Santiago family was proud and strong and rich. They held acres and acres of rich land and were respected throughout the country. Even when the americanos came in, the Santiagos made peace and kept on with their work, and did not even make trouble when an americano named Greenwood bought up the land nearby and made a cattle ranch."

  The waiter came with plates of steaming food: a steak for Eli, a large, exotic salad for Jennifer. Eli waited as the waiter poured a little more wine into their glasses, and he carefully cut a bite of meat, tasting it and nodding his approval before he went on.

  "It happens that there was a young son of the Santiagos, a boy with a hot temper and hotter passions. He was so handsome all the mamas in the valley had their eyes upon him for their daughters, and there was fierce competition among the young girls themselves to catch his eye
without angering their papas."

  Jennifer's eyes twinkled. "Like a Santiago in this generation, no?"

  "Exactamente." He winked. "But it happened that the young Manuel had been smitten by his neighbor's daughter, the lovely, sweet Emily Greenwood, fresh to this land, as pretty as peach blossoms."

  He sobered, and wondered here, as he always did, what had really happened. "The facts are simple from there. Manuel Santiago was accused of raping the Greenwood girl, and he was hanged one bright fall morning. The girl was disgraced and humiliated and killed herself that same night." He cut a precise triangle of meat. "From that day to this, the war between our families has burned hotter with each generation."

  Jennifer inclined her head. "You need to work on that ending a bit."

  He lifted a shoulder. "There is no romantic way to say it."

  "The romantic part comes in with you and Sarah Greenwood. Falling in love as teenagers. Being torn apart by this old feud. Maybe it belongs to the two of you to heal that feud."

  "Never." The word was low and fierce.

  "Too bad." She was quiet for a moment, then lifted her head. "It will happen again, you know. Somewhere down the line, in twenty or forty or a hundred years, another Santiago and another Greenwood will fall in love and the war will keep them apart."

  "So be it." Across the room he saw Sarah and Joanna stand up, smoothing their skirts and gathering purses. He put down his fork, unable to pretend he did not need to look at her now. She wore a simple sheath, with a scoop neck and no sleeves, made of some unusual weave of silk the color of blue turquoise. It showed off her tanned skin, her flat belly, her long legs, and he liked it a lot.

  "Are you still in love with her?" Jennifer asked.

  Eli shook his head, very sure. "No." But with a sense of relief, he realized he could admit to something more base – lust. Yes, lust brewed like this in a man's veins, making him fill with heated blood that made him ready, made him hungry. Desire was a chemical thing, made of sights and smells and a need for release. It had nothing at all to do with love, which was soft and too complicated.