Fierce Pride

by Phoebe Conn

  “You mean your father could have known Victoria?”

  “He could have met her on the beach. She seemed to be staying somewhere close, and she could have taken him to her home rather than come into our house. It might have been a single afternoon. He loved the ranch and could have gone there and forgotten her. Things happened around him, but that doesn’t mean he noticed.”

  He had a detached way of discussing his father as though Miguel were a subject of a documentary. “You need the facts, the date of the baby’s birth, and your father’s whereabouts nine months prior. The baby, for that matter, so there can be a DNA test. But if Victoria had a son with your father and he ignored her, wouldn’t she have gone straight to the tabloids?”

  “Yes, on a rocket, unless…”

  “Unless what?”

  “My father guarded his privacy as I do mine, and she might have believed splashing the news he’d had a child with her would ruin her chances with him. But for Nuñez to twist the attacks against me as retaliation for what my father may have done to her is as absurd as you believe. I wonder if she has the rifle.”

  Now really cold, she rubbed her arms. “Let’s go inside.”

  Santos went into the kitchen. “Want some ice cream?”

  “I’d rather have tea and cookies. Where does Tomas keep the cookies?”

  “They’re in the pantry in a round tin on the shelf with the tea. Tomas always had them on the bottom shelf where I could reach them when I was small.”

  She found it and brought it out to the counter to open. “I’ll bet you were a cute little guy. These lemon cookies are so good. Do you want some?”

  He had the freezer open. “Ice cream is enough, and I wasn’t all that cute.”

  He’d obviously heard too many compliments to appreciate hers. She handed him a bowl and heated water in the microwave for tea. Windows lined the west side of the room, and they’d be easy target for someone standing outside. That the likely culprit was in the hospital in a coma made her believe they were safe. “Have you done anything about having exterior lights installed?”

  “I’ll do it tomorrow. Come into the dining room with me.”

  She carried his bowl and spoon and went back to the kitchen for her tea and cookies. “I don’t think I’m going to be able to sleep.”

  “I doubt I will either. I can’t hope for anything better tomorrow. If Avila dies, Nuñez will probably find a way to blame me for the accident.”

  “Manuel and I were there. Avila could have stopped. He didn’t have to follow us against the traffic. Could Nuñez have some reason to dislike your family?”

  He stirred his chocolate ice cream to make it smooth and creamy. “Have you taken a good look at him? He doesn’t wear a wedding ring, so maybe my father’s reputation with women annoys him when he can’t get one, let alone dozens of women for himself.”

  She licked cookie crumbs off her lips. “Maybe it’s something that petty. What’s happened to Cazares? Did you hear from him?”

  “He called just as I was leaving therapy. Photos are e-mailed to the tabloids. The wedding photo and photo of the fire came from a Jose Muñoz, and checks were sent to a private post office box. It’s a common name, and now that Avila’s in the hospital, there’s no reason for Cazares to track Muñoz, who might be Avila’s alias. I don’t care about the photo from the restaurant on Tuesday. Do you?”

  She picked up another cookie. “Not really. I wonder if there were any taken of us cruising the harbor.”

  “There’s no way to squeeze any news or scandal out of it, so probably not. I don’t want you to think my life is always this public or scary. It’s just a strange summer. Maybe the stars are misaligned.”

  “Just here over Barcelona?”

  He shrugged. “Rigoberto Avila’s luck is worse than mine. Why don’t you call the hospital, say you’re his sister and ask how he’s doing?”

  “What if they trace the call? I don’t want to see Nuñez here again tonight.”

  “Let’s go to the hospital in the morning and call from a pay phone downstairs.”

  It was an intriguing idea, but she still had doubts. “Santos, if you don’t have any trouble, do you intentionally make some?”

  “I want to know how Avila is, that’s all.”

  His sly smile told her otherwise. She sipped her tea. “Sometimes it’s a good idea to walk away.”

  “The way you did? I would have followed you if I could.”

  She imagined wild sex on the beach, and while sand might have been a problem, they could have lain on her full skirt. Her mind had a mischievous way of going to the same delightful place whenever they were together. She hauled it back. “How are the elevator repairs going?”

  He stared at her, his gaze filled with confusion. “I’d have followed to apologize for hurting you, and you want to talk about the elevator?”

  She reached for his hand. “You were talking about one thing, and I was thinking something else. There’s no reason to beat it to death now. I just wanted to change the subject.”

  “I’ll be able to walk up the stairs on my own before the insurance company settles up so work can begin on replacing the elevator. I’m tired of being trapped here, which has nothing to do with you, because you’ve kept me sane. Let’s go to the ranch this weekend. I can miss a couple of days of therapy.”

  She wanted a change of scene too. “Fine, but you should go tomorrow. Let’s find out how Avila is, if we can, and leave for the ranch in the afternoon.”

  “Would you mind if we didn’t come back?”

  “We have to. You need therapy for you knee. You have such a great natural strut, I’d hate to see you lose it.”

  He regarded her with a skeptical glance. “I save the strut for the bullring.”

  “No, you don’t.” He’d look good crawling along the ground, but she’d paid him enough compliments for the night. “Do you have some more good videos? If we can’t sleep, maybe we could watch something.”

  “Other than each other?” he teased. “I’ll find something you like.”

  Clearly he’d been raised to pamper women, and she enjoyed it. It was a shame he’d sworn off marriage and had no interest in raising children. Her mother had taught her to listen carefully to what men said; otherwise, the truth could go unnoticed. There wasn’t anything that had gone unnoticed with Santos, and she finished the last cookie and watched him lick the last bite of ice cream off his spoon.

  Late Friday morning, Santos and Libby leaned against the pay telephone wall on the first floor of the hospital where Rigoberto Avila had been taken. It was a newer construction than the one where Santos had been treated. Modern, with rounded corners and long hallways, it was alive with clattering motion.

  “How could we have overlooked the fact I don’t speak Spanish?” Libby cried. “How am I going to inquire about Rigoberto?”

  “I’ll tell you what to ask,” he replied.

  “Fine, but how will I understand the nurse’s response?”

  “I’ll listen.”

  He was patient with her and repeated the simple question until she was confident she could speak it clearly. They went through the hospital switchboard, but no calls were being forwarded to Rigoberto’s room. “Now what?” she asked.

  “We’ll buy flowers in the gift shop and carry them upstairs to his room.”

  “We don’t know where his room is,” she reminded him.

  “Watch me.” He led her into the gift shop and selected the largest bouquet they had. The clerk stared at him, frowning as though she knew him but couldn’t recall his name. He paid with cash so there would be no trace he’d been there. He turned to Libby. “Do you remember Rigoberto’s room number? I should have written it down.”

  “No, it went right out of my head,” Libby replied with a superbly innocence gaze.

  “Could you tell us Rigoberto Avila’s room number?” Santos asked the clerk.

  The clerk chewed her lip. “We’re not supposed to release the room numb
ers. You’ll have to go to the front desk and ask.”

  “I understand, privacy. We’ll ask, but will you send the flowers up to Rigoberto’s room for us so we don’t have to carry them around with us?”

  “Yes, sir, I can do that.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Wait, don’t you want to sign a card?”

  “Of course.” He took a small card from the display beside the cash register. “What should we say? Get well soon seems inappropriate.”

  “Maybe just love from your aunt and uncle?” Libby suggested.

  “Perfect.” Santos wrote Rigoberto Avila on the envelope and enclosed the best wishes from his aunt and uncle. “Will those reach his room soon?”

  “I’ll have one of our other clerks take them upstairs right away.”

  Santos thanked her again and led Libby down the hall to the elevators, where they could observe the entrance of the gift shop. He checked his watch. “This should work, but Rigoberto will have the flowers even if it doesn’t.”

  “That’s very generous of you.”

  Santos touched a finger to his lips. “Try and appear serious, as though we were visiting a desperately ill nephew.”

  Libby took a tissue from her purse and dabbed her eyes. “How’s this.”

  “Perfect. Look.”

  A young man with a clerk’s green knit shirt was walking toward them carrying the beautiful flowers. He pressed the elevator call button and smiled at them. Santos nodded and dipped his chin to avoid being recognized. They entered the elevator together, along with another couple. Santos waited for the clerk to push the button for the fourth floor and stood back. The couple left on the third.

  “What beautiful flowers,” Libby said. She leaned close to read the room number written on the card, but there was only Rigoberto’s name.

  “Sorry, no English,” the clerk responded, and a bright blush filled his cheeks.

  Santos translated for him and added his thoughts on how women adored flowers for every occasion. When the orderly left the elevator, they followed at a discreet distance. The young man turned right at the first corner and entered the intensive care unit. There was a policeman stationed at the door. The clerk spoke to him and left the flowers at the desk. He nodded to Santos and Libby as he walked by.

  Santos pulled Libby close. “I’ll bet the guard is there for Avila. We’re not relatives, and they won’t let us in. I should have asked Cazares to find out how Avila is. He probably knows someone here.”

  “He’d have sources, and we don’t. Oh no, here comes Nuñez.”

  Santos glanced toward the elevators and winced. He forced a smile. “We were hoping to find out how Rigoberto Avila is doing. Do you have an update?”

  The detective appeared astonished to see them. “It’s more likely you were hoping to make certain he was deceased and help him into that category if he wasn’t.”

  Santos shook his head. “This visit may be ill-advised, but we’re curious, that’s all.”

  Nuñez stroked his mustache. “I hate to disappoint you, but there’s been no change in the man’s condition.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. I was hoping he’d feel up to telling us what he and his sister were after.”

  “What is it you don’t understand about the word coma? Now go home and stay there.”

  “We’re on the way to my ranch near Zaragoza. Are you forbidding me to leave town?”

  The detective’s eyes were an eerie pale blue, and he regarded Santos with a frigid glance. “I’ll find you wherever you go, Mr. Aragon. Good day.”

  When he entered the intensive care unit, Libby grabbed Santos’s arm. “Why didn’t we think how this would look before we came here?”

  “All I’d planned was a phone call, but I should have realized how twisted Nuñez’s thinking is. Let’s forget him and go out to the ranch.”

  They had another wait for an elevator. “Do you suppose Victoria knows what happened to her brother?” Libby asked. “I wonder if Nuñez still has men watching for her.”

  “If he does, he won’t tell us. Let’s go.”

  Manuel had the car waiting for them, and Santos slid the front passenger seat of his SUV all the way forward so there would be room for his legs in the back. Once they were seated, he laced his fingers in Libby’s. “I need to get started on the book. Will you help me with an outline?”

  “I’ll be glad to.” She hoped he’d reveal more of himself as he talked about his father. “I’ve been thinking about my parents. I’ve forgotten most of what I saw growing up. I don’t have any real sense of them other than as loving parents. You’ll probably remember more.”

  “I may remember too much.” He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and called Javier Cazares. He gave him the latest news and asked, “I want to know if Avila wakes. Find a way to get reports from intensive care. Keep looking for Victoria. She must have been staying somewhere near the beach house. Canvass the neighborhood with her photo if you have to.” He mentioned the boutique where she’d worked and asked the private detective to question the clerks there too.

  He sat back and took a deep breath. “I forgot about the outdoor lights. I’ll do it when we get back to the beach house.”

  “You’re a very young man to be saddled with so much responsibility.”

  “I’m used to it. Actually I’m ancient. Only what you can see is young.”

  She rested her head on his shoulder. “You have an old soul. Lots of people say that. Maggie is one. She’s always looked at the world through eyes that have seen too much. Even as a child, she was more mother than sister.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’m a little kid through and through. I may never grow up, or want to.”

  Their conversation continued in a light vein until Manuel turned off the freeway onto the road to the ranch. Libby sat up and loved what she saw. “What beautiful country this is. It looks as though it stretches to forever. Do you have horses to ride?”

  “We have a whole stable. Do you like to ride?”

  “I rode at summer camp, so I’m still a novice, but it was fun.”

  He smoothed back the tendrils escaping her braid. “You find fun everywhere, don’t you?”

  “Does that sound shallow?”

  “Not at all. That’s the house up ahead. It’s a comfortable home while the beach house is more of a museum.”

  She was surprised to find the house looked even larger than the Aragon home at the beach. Built of sandy-colored stone with a red-tile roof, the house had a wooden balcony running the length of the second story that shaded the wide ground floor porch. There was a stable nearby, a bunkhouse for the men and modest homes for the servants who worked in the house. There was even an arena, complete with bleachers.

  “You’ve a whole little town here,” she remarked in wonder.

  “This is where I grew up. I used to hang over the side of the bullring to watch my father practice. That’s one of my first thoughts of him. I must have been three or four, and he would have been twenty-two. He used to carry me on his shoulders, and I loved to hear him laugh.”

  She touched his knee. “That’s how your book ought to open, the way you saw your father.”

  “A lot of it wasn’t good,” he replied. “And it’s disrespectful to speak ill of the dead.”

  The housekeeper opened the front door as they left the car. “Santos! Welcome home! Now tell me the truth about your knee.”

  He moved toward her smoothly on his crutches. “It’s healing. You needn’t worry.”

  “I always worry about you.” She hugged him, then stepped back to give Libby an appraising look. “Another beauty. Welcome. I’m Anita Lujan. Please all me Anita.”

  Before Libby could brace herself, Mrs. Lujan swept her into her arms. Surprised, she stood stiff in her warm embrace and was relieved when the housekeeper stepped back. “Thank you. There’s so much to see here, I’m sure I’ll enjoy it.”

  “Mrs. Lujan raised me, so I forgive her abunda
nt affection. Libby is one of Magdalena’s sisters.”

  Mrs. Lujan’s eyes widened. “You’re so fair, but you aren’t one of Miguel’s daughters, are you? Are you hungry? Refugio will make whatever you’d like.”

  “Refugio is as excellent a chef as Tomas, but on a cattle ranch, his masterpieces are usually roast beef. Would you like a sandwich?”

  “Whatever you’re having.” She’d worn her lime-green outfit to the hospital and felt overdressed. “I’d like to change my clothes first.”

  “Let me show you to your room,” Mrs. Lujan exclaimed. “We love having guests.” Libby followed her up the stairs and Manuel came along with her luggage. They walked down the long hallway. “Santos has the last room, and you’ll be next door.”

  “Does Santos bring his girlfriends here often?” Libby regretted the question as soon as it left her mouth.

  “Only the very special ones,” the housekeeper replied. “Come downstairs when you’re ready.” Manuel laid Libby’s carry-on bag on the bed and left to bring Santos’s luggage upstairs.

  The room opened onto the balcony and faced west as her room had at the beach. The furnishings were delightfully old-fashioned with a fancifully coiled brass bedstead and a thick mattress covered with a cream colored quilt. The sturdy wooden dresser, matching desk and chair looked as though they might have been made right there on the ranch. There was a glass vase filled with wildflowers set on a doily on the dresser. It was like stepping into a western movie, and she loved it.

  She walked through the equally Spartan bathroom into Santos’s room and found similar furnishings complete with a flower-filled vase. There were no paintings or photographs on the walls, nothing to make the room look like one he’d grown up in. She wondered where all his boyhood treasurers were.

  She changed into her jeans and a fresh top. Santos waited for her at the bottom of the stairs. “What do you think of the house?”

  “I love it. It has a unique charm.”

  “It does.” He led her into the dining room, where two enormous roast beef sandwiches waited for them. “Refugio is used to cooking for the ranch hands, but I’ll eat whatever you can’t finish.”