Battle for His Soul

by Theresa Linden

  Shapes, dimly lit and unfamiliar, surrounded him. Where was he? The window was on the wrong side of the room. The window—

  A lean figure stood about ten feet away in front of a tall window, a silhouette before a dark, blue-gray sky. Something reached up to the ceiling on either side of the figure, something thin, gray and quivering. Something like . . . wings?

  Jarret’s heart beat in his throat. “Where am I?” he said aloud, though he hadn’t meant to.

  The figure moved. “Oh, hey, you’re up too?”

  He breathed and leaned back on his elbows. It was only Roland. “Yeah, I’m up. What the heck are you doing standing there in the dark? You’re such a freak.”

  Roland huffed. “I’m not a freak. It’s morning. So it’s a little early.”

  “Well, turn on the light,” Jarret commanded. He would’ve done it himself, but he couldn’t remember if the nightstand was on his left or right. He still couldn’t picture the room.

  Roland slunk into the shadows and the overhead light came on.

  Reality flooded Jarret’s mind. He was at the Zamoranos’ home, and he and Roland had to share a bedroom. Roland had taken the bed near the back wall, leaving Jarret the one in the middle of the room.

  “We’re trading beds tonight,” Jarret said. “I don’t like this one.”

  “Why? That’s my bed. I already slept in it.” Roland marched to the bed against the wall and straightened the bedspread.

  “Not anymore. That’s my bed. I’ll have the maid change the sheets.”

  “Maybe they don’t change the sheets every day.”

  He grinned. “She will when I tell her you wet the bed.”

  Roland snatched a pillow from the bed and whipped it at Jarret, mumbling something that sounded like a bad name, though it wasn’t like Roland to cuss. “I’m getting dressed and going downstairs.”

  “So you can wake up everyone else?” Jarret whipped the pillow back.

  “They’re already awake. I saw them outside, the stable-hands anyways.”

  “Well, hurry up and get outta here so I can get back to sleep.” Jarret flopped down and buried his face in a pillow.

  When he woke again, muted sunlight filled the room, giving warmth to the yellow-ocher walls and the decorations of blue and orange. Sheer green curtains on either side of the open balcony doors fluttered in a breeze. The warm air carried the scent of dust and motor oil—probably from the creosote bushes. It gave a homey feel.

  Jarret took a leisurely shower, dressed in cargo shorts and an off-white Gucci polo shirt, and tied his damp hair back. Then he grabbed his cigarettes and galloped down the stairs. He couldn’t wait to lay his eyes on Selena and wash Zoe from his mind.

  Voices came from Señor Juan’s den, so Jarret slowed his pace. Not seeing anyone in either direction, he stopped by the half-open door and listened.

  “I know you said this was a vacation,” Roland said in the calm, respectful tone he used when trying to pump information from Papa. “But who visits Arizona in the heat of summer?”

  Papa chuckled.

  “I wish you’d tell me why we’re here,” Roland said.

  “You’re here for a vacation,” Papa said. “A change of pace. You’ve been saying that you wanted to see where I grew up, so . . .”

  “Fine. You don’t want to tell me.” Roland sounded offended. “I know about the thefts already.”

  Papa chuckled again. “All right, Roland. Here it is, but don’t blow it out of proportion. Juan asked me to appraise his valuables, the antiques in particular, for insurance purposes. That’s it.”

  “Doesn’t an insurance agent do that?”

  “Well, I suppose so. But he wants my expertise on the antiques.”

  “He doesn’t want you to find the thief?”

  Papa made a loud sigh. “No, Roland. I’m not here to catch a thief.”

  “Well, why not? Does he suspect who’s doing it? I hear it’s happened more than once, and Señora Kemina thinks it could be someone close to the family.”

  “Why, Roland, I never took you for one who pays attention to rumors.” Papa’s tone had a hint of challenge to it.

  “I’m-I’m not. It’s just, well, I don’t like the idea of someone stealing from them. They’re nice people. They’re like family to you, aren’t they?”

  “Well, sure they are, but . . . You’re not here for that. And you can tell Jarret to relax.” He raised his voice. “I’m not trying to put either one of you to work.”

  Jarret backed farther from the doorway. Had Papa realized he was listening to—

  “Are you looking for the dining room?”

  Jarret’s insides jumped. He spun around. “What?”

  Selena stood behind him, arms folded, leaning a shoulder against the wall, grinning. She wore a sleeveless white shirt, faded jeans and boots.

  Boots? Why hadn’t he heard her come down the hall?

  “I said, are you looking for the dining room? Because it’s not in there.” She nodded toward the half open door of her father’s den.

  “Yeah, the dining room. Wanna show me the way?” He checked her out again, from head to toe, making sure she knew it.

  She pushed off the wall and gestured for him to follow. “You’re a late sleeper, huh?”

  “Not really.” He walked beside her. “I never sleep this late. It’s so hot; I couldn’t get to sleep. I think Roland had the balcony door open all night.”

  “Maybe he likes the night sounds. I do too. They’re peaceful.”

  They stepped into the dining room, where a servant woman cleared the long dining room table. She glanced at them but kept working. “Would you like something to eat?” she said in Spanish.

  Also in Spanish, Selena gave a big, detailed order, smiling and sauntering about playfully with the servant woman. “She’s so sweet,” she said, after the woman left the room. “She’ll do anything I ask.”

  “Yeah, I bet.” Jarret sat at the head of the table. “Kind of hot for jeans, ain’t it?”

  “I was out riding.” Selena fluttered to one of the dining room windows and gazed outside. “I like to go riding in the early morning before the sun comes out and it gets too hot.” She glanced at him over her shoulder. “Or the late evening before it’s too dark. But Papá does not like me riding alone at night.”

  “You could always take me. I’m at home on a horse.”

  She looked at him a moment before responding. “I’m sure you are. With Tio Ignace as your father, I’m sure there is much you can do.”

  Not sure how to take that comment, he only nodded. “What do you say we go swimming after—”

  Selena’s gaze shifted to one of the doorways off the dining room.

  Dressed in black shorts and a dark t-shirt, cowboy hat in hand, Roland strutted into the room. He gave Selena a slight smile. “Hey, you’re up,” he said to Jarret as he sat down a chair away from him. “What do you want to do today?”

  He had in mind to say, “Nothing with you,” but with Selena there, he refrained. “We’re gonna go swimming.”

  “Swimming?” Roland gulped, glanced at Selena, and dropped his gaze to the decorative cactus in the center of the table. “What about . . . I thought we could meet Enyeto. He’s one of the stable hands, isn’t he?”

  Jarret grinned. Roland wasn’t gonna listen to Papa. He wanted to catch the thief. “Why do you wanna meet him?”

  Selena sat down opposite Roland, her eyes fixed on him, looking anxious to know his answer.

  Roland took a deep breath and glanced over his shoulder, back at the doorway he had come through. “Well, I came here because I wanted to learn about Papa’s early years, how he grew up.”

  “But?” Jarret said, still grinning, wanting to hear for himself that Roland was going to disobey Papa.

  Roland’s gray eyes turned cold. “But nothing. That’s why I came. And I hear Enyeto’s worked here since Papa was a boy.”

  “Uh-huh.” Jarret made eye contact with Selena, wondering if s
he, too, had overheard Roland and Papa.

  Selena smiled at Roland. “That’s nice. I’d like to go with you. I’ve never thought to ask anyone what my father was like when he was young. Old Enyeto would know. He’s the ranch manager now but, you’re right, he’s been around for years.”

  Roland nodded, his face turning salmon pink.

  Jarret leaned back in the chair and looked away. Roland’s uneasiness with girls made it embarrassing to be related to him. How could a girl find him—

  Did Selena really choose talking to stable hands with Roland over swimming with him? “So you don’t wanna go swimming, huh?” He tried not to look annoyed.

  “We can do both. We have all day.” She tilted her chin up and gave the hint of a smile. “Or are you going somewhere?”

  He acknowledged her challenging tone with a crooked grin. If he wanted something, he would have to go after it.

  Strangely, his mind turned to the Monastery in California again. Why did that miserable experience keep coming back to him? He had found something to hold his interest there, too, something forbidden but worth pursuing.

  ❖

  Jarret sat at the table in the guest dining room, leaning his chair back on two legs and watching the activity in the open kitchen. His experience in the tunnel had left a bad taste in his mind. Now that Brother Mario had stopped by to see them, he knew exactly how to get rid of it.

  With the weak light of two lanterns, they had followed the dark, nasty tunnel for a quarter of a mile. Once it split off, Papa decided they should go back for the measuring and mapping equipment rather than go explore and get it over with. Papa thought the tunnels ran from the winery to some of the other old buildings: the chapel on the front of the property, the church toward the back, the refectory, and the monks’ cells.

  Jarret had wanted out of there. He needed a shower. After walking face-first into fifty-seven, sticky spider webs, every inch of his clammy, filthy body itched. And his mind reeled with a debilitating paranoia.

  After a long, hot shower—and a cigarette while Papa cleaned up—he’d started to feel normal again. He and Papa had then strolled to the guests’ dining room for dinner.

  Papa lifted the lid of one of the covered dishes in the kitchen. “You monks cook a mean meal.”

  “You have Brother Sylvester to thank. We are all quite pleased with his cooking. Perhaps he is a bit too extravagant for the austerities required of monastic life.” The stern-faced monk cracked a smile.

  Papa chuckled and said something else, but Jarret ignored it. He gazed without blinking at the bottles of wine the monk had placed on the countertop. Drops of condensation covered the dark green bottles. His mouth watered. A chilled glass of wine would taste great.

  The monk said something about them being late for dinner and not getting to taste the wine with the other guests. Jarret’s ears perked at Papa’s reply. “I’m sure it’s good, but we won’t be needing that.”

  Jarret’s chair slipped and the front legs slammed down.

  The monk gave Jarret a friendly nod and left.

  “Hey, Papa.” Jarret jumped up. “I’m not really hungry right now.” He zipped to the door. “I’m gonna . . . I’m gonna take a walk.”

  When he opened the door, he saw the monk, Brother Mario, hoofing it toward the cloister line. Not wanting to get caught following him, Jarret waited by the huge oak tree until the monk had gotten a good distance away.

  Brother Mario passed the cloister, the winery, and the church before disappearing behind a storage building. With caution, Jarret slunk over and peeked around the storage building. Then he found exactly where Brother Mario and the bottle of wine went: the refectory.

  After waiting a few seconds, he jogged to the front door of the refectory. The doorknob turned freely, so he cracked the door open to listen. Hearing nothing, he opened it more. Then he saw them.

  Two dozen white-robed monks, most with black scapulars, sat on one side of a long, dark table, hunched over bowls and plates. Brother Mario shuffled to the far end of the table and set the wine bottle next to another bottle. Then he took a seat.

  Jarret sighed and closed the door.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  POOLSIDE

  Roland

  “An Arizona summer has gotta be hotter than hell,” Peter once said. After having walked under the high noon sun from the house to the stables and from the stables to the pool, Roland believed him.

  Roland sat in a poolside chaise lounge in the shade of the pergola. The Zamoranos’ curvy pool of sparkling blue water tempted him. The thought of actually jumping into it and the cold water hitting his head and face made his stomach flip. What if he dove in and totally freaked out—in front of Selena?

  Selena, in a fluorescent pink and green swimsuit, swam the length of the half-shaded pool, into and out of the sunlight. Jarret swam, too, deep under the water, probably planning a playful attack. He obviously liked her. Amazing how quickly he could fall in and out of love. Did Zoe even cross his mind anymore?

  A warm breeze blew, cooling Roland’s sweaty neck. He did want to swim, but he needed to work himself up to it. Relax.

  Roland laid his head back and closed his eyes.

  He had liked seeing Papa’s house yesterday. Rufino had added a few of his own decorations, but most of the paintings and wall ornaments once belonged to Papa’s family. Sun-faded pictures of Jesus and Mary and the crucifix in each room gave testimony to their faith. In Papa’s old bedroom, now a junk room, hung two pictures which had belonged to Papa, both of them in old, dilapidated frames. One was a painting of a forty-niner with a pickaxe on his shoulder, the other a page ripped from a magazine, a picture of a tribe of Native Americans.

  The visit brought to life things he’d always sensed about Papa’s upbringing, things he admired. Papa showed an interest in archaeology and geology in his childhood. He had humble origins, devout and hardworking parents, and a few close friends. His choice of friends showed no partiality. Rufino had nothing, and Juan had it all.

  Water splashed and Selena giggled.

  Roland, still with eyes closed, took a deep breath. He wasn’t ready to join them in the pool.

  It was too bad old Enyeto, the ranch manager, hadn’t given them the time of day. It would’ve been great hearing a few of his stories.

  Half an hour ago, they had found him in the cool of the stable’s tack room, a clipboard in his hand. A long, coal-black braid hung down his back. He wore jeans and a t-shirt, dressing like the other hands, but he didn’t wear cowboy boots. He wore tan work boots instead, the newness of them drawing Roland’s eye.

  Even with his head down and his back to them, his strong posture and efficient movements gave an air of dignity and strength of character. His age showed only when he turned. The deep creases in his copper skin, his high cheekbones and square jaw made him look Native American, not Mexican like the others. One feature stood out the most to Roland and appeared vividly in his mind even now: Old Enyeto had eyes like an eagle’s, sharp and piercing.

  When Selena had neared Enyeto, he tugged the rim of his tan Stetson and gave her what might have been a smile. His grim mouth made it hard to tell.

  “These are my friends,” Selena said. “Tio Ignace’s boys.”

  Roland and Jarret stood in the doorway.

  Enyeto gave a nod, shifting his eagle eyes to them. He stared for a moment, as if sizing them up. Or maybe the interruption had annoyed him. “Do your friends wish to ride?”

  “No, we’re going to swim.” She glanced at Roland then batted her eyes at Enyeto. “They wanted to meet you since you knew their father when he was a boy. We thought you could tell us a few stories.”

  Enyeto grunted and turned his attention to the saddles and pads on the wall. “I do not have time for stories today. Maybe some other day.”

  That ended that.

  Jarret had strutted with a bounce in his step all the way to the pool, stripping off his shirt along the way. Without breaking his stride, he stepped
out of his sandals and dove into the pool.

  ❖

  Water splashed Roland’s legs. He opened his eyes.

  Selena clung to the edge of the pool on the end nearest Roland, the deep end. “Aren’t you coming in?”

  “What? Yeah, I will, in just a—”

  “He ain’t coming in.” Jarret treaded water. “Roland’s scared of water.” He grinned then submerged.

  “Oh, you can’t swim?” Selena sounded concerned.

  “I can swim.” Roland glared at Jarret. “I was just relaxing, just thinking.”

  “About what?” She folded her arms on the edge of the pool and rested her chin on them.

  “Um . . .”

  Jarret came up for air, his eyes squinting and lip curling as soon as he saw Selena talking to Roland.

  “Enyeto’s been here for years and Rufino, too,” Roland said. “What about the other hands? Any of them new?”

  Selena pulled herself out of the pool and sat on the edge, facing Roland. Water dripped off her glossy black hair and ran in lines down her face and her tan, athletic limbs. “Well . . .”

  Jarret shook his head, a sneer distorting his face.

  “Most have been here since I was a child,” she said. “Alamar’s the newest, I guess. He’s a stable hand. He’s been here two years.”

  “Why do you need to know?” Jarret climbed out of the pool and strutted toward Roland and Selena. He stopped between them and readied himself to dive.

  Not wanting to get into it with Jarret, Roland leaned to peer around him. “Do they all live here? Those are apartments on the back of the stables, aren’t they?”

  “Enyeto lives there, upstairs. Laszio and Lupeta are in the lower apartment, but the others live nearby. Why?” Her eyes twinkled and a smile played on her lips. “Do you want to check out his house and see if he is our thief?”

  Jarret dived into the pool.

  “Well, no. I’m not suggesting that Enyeto’s the thief.” A wave of heat hit him. “If he’s been here all these years, I-I’m sure . . . When was the first robbery?”

  “A few months ago. I suppose if Enyeto was dishonest, he could’ve taken something years ago, huh?”