Within Reach

by Marilyn Pappano

Rafael looked at the face in the mirror before him and grimaced. He had slept poorly last night—and for five nights before that—and it showed in his face. His eyes looked sunken, with dark smudges beneath them, and his cheeks were hollow. The lower part of his face was prickly with a growth of beard, which he prepared to shave by lathering thick white shaving cream over his jaw.

  As he shaved his thoughts wandered to Krista. With the passing of each day he thought less about Ruiz and more about her. It had been five days since he’d seen or talked to her, and he missed her more than he would have believed possible. He’d wanted to call her Thursday night, only hours after she’d left, but he had still been so angry that he’d decided to wait. As each day dragged out, his anger had faded and his pain had eased, and now he knew he could see her without lashing out at her. Today he would call her.

  He rinsed off the shaving cream and dried his face on a fluffy red towel, then reached for his uniform shirt hanging on the doorknob. He was already wearing the dark green trousers. As soon as he put on the shirt he could leave for work, and the sooner he got through the day at work, the sooner he could see Krista.

  A flash of memory stayed his hand as it touched the soft green fabric—that of Jim Stone being knocked to the ground, blood seeping from the bullet wound to soak the shoulder of his shirt. Though the wound hadn’t been serious there had been so much blood…and it could have been prevented. Not the shooting, of course, but Jim could have come out of it with nothing more serious than a bruise.

  Rafael went to his bedroom, where he found what he was looking for at the back of the closet. He hadn’t worn it in a long time. Though it didn’t weigh much, it could be almost unbearable on a hot day—and the desert was always hot. Still, the multiple layers of Kevlar fibers could stop just about any caliber bullet and some knives. It was a precaution that he would take from now on, for his own sake and for Krista’s. He could stand the heat.

  He put the vest on, adjusting it for maximum protection and comfort, then put on his uniform shirt. A glance in the mirror assured him that only someone very familiar with bullet-proof vests could tell he was wearing it. He turned away, gathered his revolver, keys and wallet and left the house.

  Krista and Royce Ann finished a lunch of salad and fruit and carried their iced tea into the living room. Krista sat down in a white wicker chair that faced the picture window and looked out at the empty road. “It looks hot,” she said.

  “Haven’t you noticed that the air-conditioning has hardly stopped running today?” Royce Ann asked, fanning herself languidly in spite of the coolness of the house. She pushed her black hair off her forehead with the back of her hand, then touched the cold glass to her skin. “That feels good.”

  Krista laughed, something she hadn’t been able to do much of during the past few days. “You should be ashamed of yourself, Royce Ann, a Southern girl who can’t stand the heat. What if you’d been born back in the days of the plantations, before air-conditioning?”

  “I’d have moved up north,” Royce Ann replied in her best drawl. “I also would have absolutely refused to wear all the clothes women had to wear back then. I would have shown them what a woman looked like without two dozen petticoats or crinolines or whatever they call them…What are you going to do?”

  Krista’s surprise showed in her eyes. “Do? About what?”

  “Look, I love having you here, Krista, and you’re welcome to stay as long as you want, but sooner or later you’re going to have to do something. If Rafael doesn’t come around, you’re going to have to go to his house and make him see that he needs you. Especially since you can’t go to your house anymore.”

  Within an hour of her arrival at the Stone house Thursday, Art had shown up, demanding that she go home with him immediately. Her refusal had led to a shouting match, ended by Art’s threat that if she didn’t obey, she was never welcome there again. She had coolly replied that she would be by to pick up her clothes sometime in the next week.

  “He wants to be alone, Royce Ann. He made that abundantly clear. When he wants to see me, he’ll let me know.” Though her voice sounded light, she was troubled by his failure to contact her. She had spent the last five and a half days at Royce Ann’s house, afraid to leave for even short periods of time, afraid that he would call and she’d miss him. Now she knew she would, as her friend put it, have to do something. Jim was home from the hospital and back at work, so she was going to have to patch things up with Rafael or find a new place to live. She had imposed on her friends long enough.

  She had refused to tell Royce Ann what Rafael had said to her to make her leave. Not even her best friend knew the things about her parents that she’d told her lover. Repeating his insults to her would require confessions about herself and her relationship with her parents that she didn’t want to make to anyone else. Royce Ann had tried to reassure her, telling her that whatever he’d said meant nothing, because he’d been angry, he’d been through a traumatic experience. When Jim came home from the hospital and found Krista in temporary residence, he had shared Royce Ann’s certainty. Rafael had to deal with his problem in his own way, he’d told her, but it certainly didn’t mean that he didn’t want Krista anymore. Give him time.

  Time. The small, four-letter word brought a sigh from Krista. She had all the time in the world, but it didn’t make waiting any easier.

  The sound of a truck’s engine caught her attention, and she looked out the large window in time to see a border-patrol truck turn into the drive. “Is Jim supposed to come home for lunch?” she asked, slowly straightening in her chair.

  Royce Ann leaped to her feet and whirled around. “No, he isn’t. What if something’s happened? Oh, Krista, what if they had to take him back to the hospital for something?” Then her fear dissolved into a smile of triumph when the driver got out of the truck. It was Rafael. “I believe you have a guest, Miss McLaren,” she teased. “I’ll be in the kitchen.”

  Krista crossed to the door and stepped out onto the porch just as Rafael reached the top of the steps. They simply looked at each other for a long, long time; then she smiled coolly and said, “Hello, Rafael.”

  Behind the mirrored sunglasses his eyes narrowed. For a woman who claimed to love him, she certainly didn’t look too happy to see him. Was she still angry about the things he’d said to her last week? Did she want to make him suffer a little now in return?

  Krista was quaking inside. It seemed like forever since she had seen him, and he looked so good, so strong and handsome. She longed to feel his arms around her, to hear him call her “cariña” or “querida.” “You look good.”

  “Do I? I feel rotten.” He took a step closer to her. “I owe you an apology.”

  Her heart sank all the way to her toes. An apology? Was that why he’d come? Not to see her but to apologize? “No, you don’t, Rafael,” she said a little sharply. “I understand.”

  Her disappointment was so obvious that his fears eased a little. “I’m sure you do. You’re a very understanding woman. But I want to give you the apology anyway.” He went to her, pulling her against him so quickly and so unexpectedly that it took her breath away, leaving her so weak she couldn’t have struggled if she’d wanted to. He lowered his head to hers, brushing his mustache across her ear, whispering, “I’m sorry, cariña, so sorry I hurt you. When you left I wanted to die, but I had to let you go.”

  “I wanted to stay,” she breathed.

  “I would have hurt you more. I’m sorry cariña, but the way I felt last week, I was no good for you.” His mouth moved to hers, tenderly taking possession of it. His tongue moved to part her teeth, but she was ready for him, leading him hungrily into the warm, moist darkness of her mouth. He took only a taste of her, then put her away from him. She made a sound of protest, but he refused to budge. “If I keep kissing you I’ll never be able to leave you, and I’m supposed to be working now,” he explained with a rueful smile.

  He reached down to smooth his hand over her hair, while his eyes dran
k her in. She was so damnably, achingly beautiful, and she was his. She loved him. He wanted to kiss her and never let her go, but instead he took a step back and looked at her again. This time his gaze took note of the faint circles under her eyes and the weariness in her face, and he knew that the last week had been difficult for her, too. His heart ached because she’d suffered such distress, yet he rejoiced that she cared so much about him.

  “You look lovely,” he murmured.

  “You look tired. Have you been sleeping all right?”

  “Without you? I told you, my bed is empty without you.”

  “I’ll be there whenever you want me.”

  “I want you tonight.” Then he almost grinned, following as her eyes dropped lower and lower, finding the proof that his words were lies. “I want you now, too, but I don’t have the time, and you’re worth far more than the few minutes I could offer.”

  Krista smiled then, that dazzling smile that affected his body, his entire sense of being, and for a moment he considered forgetting his job for the afternoon. But his sense of responsibility was too great, and there was always tonight.

  She laid her hands on his shoulders and stood on her toes to press a kiss to his lips. “I love—” The words forgotten, her hands moved quickly over his back, then his chest, and her eyes were questioning. She pulled away and walked to the end of the porch. When she turned Rafael was watching her somberly. “You’re wearing a bullet-proof vest.”

  He nodded.

  “I’d forgotten about the danger….”

  “The danger is always there, Krista. This just evens the odds a bit.”

  This time she nodded. “Be careful, Rafael.” She returned, throwing herself into his arms and hugging him tight, vest and all. “Please be very careful. I love you.”

  “The only happiness in my life is with you, Krista. With you I have hope. No matter what I do—” he had a brief mental image of José Ruiz, lying dead on the ground “—I know I’ll find peace with you.” He kissed her quickly, then walked to the steps. “I’ll be home between four and four-thirty. Do you still have the key?”

  She nodded. He’d given her a house key the day he’d let her use his truck; it was still on her key ring.

  “Be there for me,” he said hoarsely.

  “I will. I love you, Rafael.”

  They were the last words he heard from her as he walked away.

  “Well?” Royce Ann asked excitedly when Krista reentered the house. “I didn’t hear much talking, so I assume you were making up instead.”

  “I thought you were going to be in the kitchen,” Krista scolded with a mock frown.

  “I was, but since you didn’t bring him in, I figured it was safe to come out. Besides, it’s hard to eavesdrop from the kitchen.” Royce Ann dropped her playful teasing. “Did you get things settled?”

  Krista nodded. “I’m going home this afternoon.”

  “Home meaning with him?”

  She nodded again.

  Royce Ann gave a whoop of excitement. “That’s great! Now I won’t have to watch you mope sixteen hours a day and listen to you pace the other eight. I’m happy for you, Krista!”

  They spent the next hour talking; Krista was finally able to really enjoy Royce Ann’s company. The afternoon quiet was frequently broken by their laughter, until Krista was forced to say goodbye. “I’m going to go to Dad’s house and get some of my clothes,” she said as they walked out to the Mustang.

  “It’s been nice having you,” the black-haired woman said, giving her a hug. “I hope nothing like this happens again, but if it does, remember you’re always welcome here.”

  Krista’s response was halted by the passing of a border-patrol truck. Inside were Darren Carter and Martin Thompson. She and Royce Ann watched them until they were out of sight. “They must be so shorthanded while Jim’s at a desk that Martin has to go out. He really hates that,” Royce Ann said. “Let me know how it goes.”

  “I will.” Krista turned to get into her car but was distracted again, this time by a helicopter flying overhead. When the noise was gone she said goodbye and drove away.

  At the McLaren house Juana went upstairs with Krista to help her pack. Krista had decided to take just enough clothes for a week or two, and Juana would pack the rest and store them for her until she knew where she would be living. She and Rafael hadn’t made plans; she didn’t know if he wanted her to live with him or if he would prefer that she find a place of her own. Though he didn’t seem to mind sharing his home with her, he was still a very private man. Oh, well, apartments were plentiful in Nueva Vida. If Rafael didn’t want them to live together, she could easily find a place in town.

  “You’re happy, aren’t you?” Juana asked, carefully folding clothes into the suitcases on the bed.

  “Very.” Krista’s smile said it all. “He’s a very special man, Juana.”

  “What about your father?”

  Krista shrugged. “You’ve been here since I was born, Juana. You know what it’s like for Dad and me. He never really cared much what I did. He only dislikes Rafael because he’s…”

  “Because he’s Mexican. I tried to warn you, Krista. Your father has no objections to hiring us. But that’s the extent of his involvement with us. He’ll never approve of a son-in-law who’s Mexican.” She closed one suitcase and reached for another. “Are you sure you want to make this choice?”

  “Rafael cares about me, Juana. He really does. How could I turn that down in favor of a father who…who can’t stand me? Rafael’s never said he loves me, but he does care. I know it.”

  “Love is a word that doesn’t come easy to your Rafael. You can see it in his eyes, in the way he treats you, but it may be a long time before he says it.” Juana paused in her packing to draw Krista into a motherly embrace. “Señor Contreras is a good man, Krista. Always trust him, and be happy with him.”

  “Oh, I will, Juana. I promise that…. You’ve been the closest I ever had to a mother, and though I’ve never said it, it meant a lot, knowing that you were here. Thank you.”

  The ringing of the telephone interrupted the emotional exchange, and Juana moved to the nightstand to answer it. She spoke briefly, her eyes remaining on Krista as the younger woman brought an armload of dresses from the closet to sort through. When Juana hung up she uttered a silent prayer and crossed herself.

  It had been Royce Ann Stone. She’d said very little; she’d just asked Juana to keep Krista there until she and her husband could arrive. She had sounded so somber that the housekeeper knew something had happened to Rafael, and the news wasn’t going to be good.

  Krista didn’t notice Juana’s preoccupation. They finished packing and were carrying her four suitcases downstairs when the doorbell rang. Art came out of the office, Juana hurried to the door, and Krista waited at the stairs.

  Like any woman who loves a law-enforcement officer, Krista dreaded seeing a uniform and an official car in the middle of the day when Rafael was working. The fact that Jim had brought his wife, who looked as pale and frightened as the day after he’d been shot, increased Krista’s fear. Her throat was too dry to swallow, and her hands were trembling so badly that she had to push them into the pockets of her skirt.

  “Is he all right?”

  Her voice sounded remarkably calm. She couldn’t believe she could sound so normal when she thought she was going to collapse.

  “I don’t know.” It was Jim who answered. “He was shot three times. His vest stopped two; the third one went into his abdomen.”

  Royce Ann slipped her arm around Krista’s shoulders. “They’ve flown him to a hospital in El Paso. We’ll drive you there, okay? Juana, are these her bags?”

  “Take these two.” The housekeeper indicated a large suitcase and a smaller overnight bag.

  “I forbid you to go.”

  Everyone turned to stare down the hall at Art McLaren, varying degrees of surprise on their faces. Except Krista. She had expected no less from her father. “Let me carry t
he big one, Jim; your shoulder’s not healed yet,” she said, still sounding incredibly calm. “What happened?”

  “He was ambushed by Gregorio Ruiz.”

  Ruiz. That name was beginning to arouse a surge of hatred in her when she heard it. “Gregorio?”

  “José’s brother.”

  “Damn it, Krista, did you hear me? You will not go to the hospital to be with that bastard!” Art was livid.

  Krista ignored him. “Thank you for helping me pack, Juana,” she said, and the housekeeper hugged her.

  “He’ll be all right, Krista. I’ll pray for him.”

  Krista switched her purse to her left shoulder and picked up the bigger suitcase, then left the house, followed by Jim and Royce Ann. Art was left staring in outrage.

  It was fifty miles to El Paso, and they traveled the entire way in silence. Krista stared out the window, alternating between silent prayers and attempts to determine if this was real. It was all a terrible mistake, she told herself more than once. She’d seen him no more than two hours ago. How could he be in a hospital now, hurt, or possibly dying?

  They were met at the hospital by an El Paso-based border-patrol agent who introduced himself as Dave Brown. He was a tall man who matched his name—brown skin, brown hair, brown eyes. He informed them that Rafael was in surgery, his condition critical. Gregorio Ruiz, shot once by Rafael, was in good condition and in protective custody.

  Krista was grateful in some small corner of her mind that the boy hadn’t died. He was seventeen, a year older than José, Brown told them. If Rafael had killed him, even in self-defense, his guilt would probably have destroyed him.

  She had taken up a position at the window of the waiting room when they arrived and hadn’t moved since. After an hour or so Brown brought her a cup of coffee. He was interested in her. He’d heard a few rumors from other agents about Contreras—that he was ruthless and hard, more machine than man, someone to be feared. He must have something going for him, he thought, to have a woman like this. He hoped the news that eventually came for her would be good.