by Vicky Loebel
Juan Esteban’s eyes pleaded with Ellie not to give him away. “Darling.” He hurried to help Sofía remove her apron. “You work much too hard. Sit down, sit down and visit with our friends. I will finish the cooking.”
That would have been more impressive if the cooking weren’t already done. Sofía looked pleased, however, and joined the group at the big dining table, holding her hands out to Ellie. “I said some terrible things the last time we saw each other. It was the worse day of my life. I was…that is, I’d just found out.” She gestured at her belly. “But I am very, very sorry. Can you forgive me?”
“Of course.” Ellie shivered at the thought she might have been in Sofía’s position. “It’s forgotten.”
“Truly? Because I’ve missed you so much.” Sofía threw her arms around her friend.
“Me, too.” Ellie sighed softly as the sense of betrayal she’d carried around for months melted. She and Sofía would never be best friends again, but not because Ellie was angry. Her eyes met Ryan’s across the room. It was because her husband had taken that role.
Ellie freshened up and joined Sofía, Gran, and Frank at the table while Ryan and Juan Esteban served individual bowls of broth and set out communal platters of rice and olla de carne. Lucas carried in a case of Imperial beer he’d apparently transported on ice from San José and poured a tall frosty glass for each person.
“My ankle’s nothing really,” Gran explained, adding rice and beef to the broth in her bowl. “I slipped, hiking to the top of the falls. We wanted you to come join us here, but I’m sorry you had a scare.”
Ellie knew that hike to the falls. It was steep, dangerous, and not suited to old ladies. “But Gran.” She selected carrots and sweet potatoes for her own bowl and slid the platter to Sofía. “You’re supposed to be in Brazil. What are you doing here?”
“Well.” There was a polite silence while the men served themselves, and then a long, happy pause while everyone sampled the stew. Sofía had outdone herself, searing the local beef, cooking the parsnips and taro to perfection. For the first time in weeks Ellie felt a pang of regret about Vista de la Selva. Not that she wanted to live here again. But it seemed sad that a place of such importance to so many people should fall into ruin.
“Yum.” Gran smacked her lips and chased the stew with beer. “As far as why we’re here,” she said, “that’s your college degree. A little bird told us your grades were being held for ransom, and Frank thought we ought to take a look into it.”
“A serious look.” Frank patted the bulge on his hip. “On account of blackmail’s a very serious business.”
“Blackmail?” Juan Esteban objected. “Never. I do not ask ransom. Believe me when I say I am desolate about the tuition fund that was…ah…misplaced.” He clasped Sophia’s hand. “My darling fiancée and I have thought of nothing else except how to regain the money.”
“Return the money,” his fiancée corrected. “Also, we may have thought of something else as well.” She glanced pointedly at her pregnancy.
“We’ll pay it,” Ryan said. “Not ransom, but the tuition. We’ll drive you to the university tomorrow. If you submit the grades for the five women you cheated, Ellie and I will cover the fees.”
“No, we won’t.” Ellie crushed the sudden greed in Juan Esteban’s eye. “Your—our—money’s tied up.” Ryan was rich on paper, but it was all controlled by that stupid trust. He couldn’t use CasParDev funds for something personal, and she’d never in a million years ask him to beg his dad. “Our degrees don’t matter.”
“Easy for you to say,” Sofía grumbled. “You have no worries.”
“I made the same mistakes you did.” Almost. “It isn’t Ryan’s fault.”
Sofía frowned. “We could have stayed open, kept on hosting guests, if you hadn’t thrown Juan Esteban out of Vista de la Selva.”
“He fled. Taking our supply truck. Anyway the rest of us did try to operate the camp on our own.” It was Sofía who’d left. “But we couldn’t pay our debts in the village, so eventually they had to cut us off—”
“Stop. None of that matters.” Gran held up one hand. “Your Grandpa Frank and I are going to pay. For your tuition,” she told Ellie, “and for the other girls, too. Or rather, Juan Esteban’s going to pay for it after he sells Vista de la Selva.”
“We’ve tried to sell,” he said gloomily. “Nobody wants the place.”
“I want it,” Gran replied. “I’ve taken a sort of liking to that waterfall, and I intend to own half. The other half, we’re still thinking about.”
Juan Esteban brightened. “The place is yours for two million American dollars.”
“Don’t be stupid. It’s not worth a quarter of that.” Gran looked at Sofía. “You’re a hard worker, and you seem to know what you’re doing. How do you feel about running this resort? And are you really determined to marry this two-bit grifter?”
“He may be a two-bit grifter, whatever that means, but he is my two-bit grifter.” Sofía’s soft voice was firm. “I love Vista de la Selva, and I love Juan Esteban. I want us to make a life together here.”
“Then we’ll be partners,” Gran said. “I’ll pay the debts, own half, and record the other half in your name.” She offered her hand and Sofía shook it. “Juan Esteban can remain as your employee.”
That might work, Ellie thought. The man had always been great with visitors. It was money—and women—he couldn’t be trusted with. Watching Sophia, Ellie had the strong impression there wouldn’t be any more woman problems.
“One moment, please.” Juan Esteban raised his chin proudly. “Can anyone explain why I should surrender my beloved home for nothing?”
Frank said, “Because you owe more than it’s worth. I’ve been going over the books. You’re about to lose the place anyway, with nothing left to live on and nowhere to take your wife and baby. If you accept this deal, your family’s future will be secure.”
“Perhaps.” Juan Esteban crossed his arms. “But you cannot force me to sell.”
“I wouldn’t bet on that.” Frank patted the bulge on his belt pouch. “I’ve put through deals with tough guys before. You and I are going to review the resort’s financial numbers very carefully. And then….” Frank unzipped the pouch and took out a large financial calculator.
A calculator? Ellie’s eyebrows shot up.
“And then,” Frank repeated, “I’m going to make you an offer you can’t refuse.”
Chapter Twenty
Ryan sat in the breeze from a wide-blade overhead fan and read his latest emails, downloaded courtesy of Lucas’ satellite phone. The gambling commissioners had returned to the islands and were demanding a media circus as part of the groundbreaking ceremony for Casino Paradise—two weeks from now, on Ryan’s thirtieth birthday. The day he rather expected to kiss his fortune goodbye.
“I still can’t believe Frank’s an accountant,” Ellie complained from outside the screen wall where she’d been sorting recyclables. It was less than a day since they’d arrived at Vista de la Selva, and already Ellie and Sofía—with hired help from the village—had whipped the resort into much better order.
“Frank consults for all the big owners in Vegas,” Gigi said smugly. “Or did, before it made him rich. He says accounting’s the only good bet in a casino.”
“Don’t let our future customers hear you say that,” Ryan scolded.
“But Gran.” Ellie washed her hands and joined them inside the lodge. “You hinted—you all but told me—Frank’s in the mob.”
Frank joined them, wearing a frilly apron, carrying a platter of fried plantains.
“Looks the part, don’t he?” Gigi reached up and pinched him. “I just adore my thick-necked gangster sugar bear.”
“Honey, please.” Frank blushed purple. “Not in front of the kids.”
Ryan typed instructions for his architects concerning the groundbreaking ceremony. They’d need something really impressive—an animated video showing the finished Casino Paradise, he t
hought, played on a giant truck-mounted LED screen. He sent a note to one of the CasParDev assistants to find out how to get a semi-truck onto the property. Beach access was out since they’d be holding the ceremony upslope where Gigi’s cottage used to stand. But they could probably bring a truck into the neighboring town of Cruz Bay and drive it down from the public road on the hill.
That should work. Now all he had to do was figure out how to tell Ellie he’d gone back on their deal.
“You know.” Frank clasped Ryan’s shoulder, making him jump. “Your uncle Henrik is a smart cookie. I’m surprised he’s letting you do a dumb thing like build on St. John.”
Ryan eyed the man with what he hoped was not a guilty expression.
“That’s what I keep saying.” Ellie stuffed a fried plantain in her mouth. “It’s dumb to ruin such a beautiful place.”
“Financially dumb, I mean,” Frank clarified. “The cruise ships, the infrastructure, the trendy vibe. It would have made a lot more sense to put a Casino on St. Thomas.”
Ryan closed his laptop. “My father picked the site. Something to do with a decades-old feud with his dead brother, Chris’ dad. I got permission to set up CasParDev out of my financial trust as long as I bought the property next to the Paradise Resort.”
“Well, that explains why you paid me so much money.” Gigi laughed. “For a while, I was afraid my granddaughter had married a kook.” She shook her head. “Those two brothers, Carl and Christopher Senior, hated each other’s guts. Then after Christopher died, sick and abandoned by his family, Carl had to hate him worse to keep from feeling guilty.”
Ellie’s brow wrinkled. “You mean, the idea behind the casino all along was to ruin the Paradise Resort?”
“My father’s idea, maybe, although I’m not sure that’s the whole story. But I’ve been working with Chris and Doris and made…um…other adjustments to make sure the Paradise will be OK.”
Ellie smiled conspiratorially and Ryan clamped his mouth shut.
“Well, good luck to you.” Frank punched Ryan’s arm. “Once you’re up and running, I’ll take a look at the numbers if it helps. I’ve been thinking I might come out of retirement after our honeymoon. Do a little dabbling with Henrik.”
“I’d appreciate your advice, sir.” Ryan accepted Frank’s hand.
“In the meantime, honey bunny,” Frank scolded his bride. “You’re supposed to be keeping ice on your ankle.”
“Oh, stuff. Ellie and I were about to go for a walk.”
“We most certainly were not,” her granddaughter said sternly. “I’m taking Ryan hiking while you rest your foot.”
“Hiking? Outside?” Ryan protested as Ellie dragged him from his chair. “In this heat?”
“Got to get going before the afternoon rains.” She went to the kitchen and filled three reusable steel bottles with ice water.
Ryan watched his wife’s slim figure moving around the kitchen and decided he was happy to hike as long as she walked in front. Ellie led him out, past the inviting waterfall, to what appeared to be a highly rickety spiral staircase that rose in circles a hundred feet before vanishing into the trees. He leaned an arm against the railing and gazed up skeptically. Ryan was from a hot climate and he was used to climbing, but at home the sun was bright and there’d always been a brisk trade wind to lift his spirits. Here beneath the tree canopy, the gloomy jungle heat was suffocating. His light khakis were already damp with dripping dew mixed with sweat.
“Feeling tired, old man?” Ellie removed the top from her water bottle and took a drink.
It wasn’t often Ryan remembered his wife was eight years his junior, but this was one of those times. “Hot,” he admitted. She’d been working outside all morning and still looked fresh. He shook the ice in his own bottle and pressed the metal surface to his cheek. “How do you stand it?”
“Practice. Clean living. And ice water down the back of my neck.” She dumped the freezing contents of her bottle over Ryan’s head.
“Woman!”
But she was already disappearing up the spiral stairs. Ryan sprinted after her, full speed, until the air turned to clotted lumps in his lungs. He covered another twenty feet at jogging speed, and then, legs screaming, finished at a determined groaning slog, punctuated by gulps of water. The staircase ended in a ten-foot square platform, lit by a trickle of sunlight that fought its way through the shifting tree canopy overhead. A rope bridge with netted sides stretched into the foliage, and it was here Ellie, also sweaty from her climb, waited sipping casually from her spare bottle.
Well, that explained why she’d filled three water bottles. Ryan dropped onto the platform, too worn out to seek revenge. He pulled the polo shirt over his head and flopped gasping onto his back.
“Good grief.” He wiped his face with the sweat-sodden shirt. “You make your tourists climb those stairs?”
“Just down, usually. There’s a tandem safety chair at the other end of the trail we use to lift people up. It’s more dramatic that way.” Ellie sat beside him and dribbled cool water over his brow. She’d taken off her shirt too, Ryan noticed, coming abruptly to life. And she wasn’t wearing a bra.
Ellie ran an ice cube over her breasts and slipped it, melting, into Ryan’s mouth.
He swallowed, no longer hot or tired, and reached for her.
“Time to go.”
Ryan’s hands closed on air. Ellie popped up, pulled on her shirt, and skipped onto the suspended walkway. Ryan rolled to his feet and looped his shirt through his belt. Now that he could breathe, he appreciated the light breeze in the canopy, so much fresher than the sweltering stillness below. He took his first few steps onto the walkway and froze as it swayed and rippled under him.
“It’s safer than it looks,” Ellie jumped, making the bridge bounce and sway. “We left some wiggle in to excite tourists, but there’s a government grant paying the village for maintenance, and I double-checked that they’re up to date on inspections.”
Ryan started forward, finding his balance. “I’m not afraid of heights.” He remembered his first skywalk with Ellie. “But I’m used to ledges that hold still while the air moves around.” The terrifying instant when she’d almost plunged from his balcony flashed through his mind. “Just don’t try to grab me if I fall.”
“Why not? That worked out pretty well last time.” She offered her hand. “Oh, look, there’s a sloth. Three-toed. The two-toed ones are nocturnal. I wonder if she’s got a baby.” Ellie plunged forward, dragging Ryan from one observation platform to the next, reciting facts, pointing out plants, birds, and animals as if all the tours she hadn’t led during the last few weeks were gushing out at once.
Ryan followed, appreciating her enthusiasm without following the words. Normally he was quite good at sharing his friends’ interests and conversation. But today, seeing how deeply connected Ellie was to this place, he felt increasingly demoralized. She’d given up two homes in the last month—Vista de la Selva and her grandmother’s cottage. Now he was going to ask her to give up everything again.
At last they reached the end with the lift-chair for tourists. This platform was larger and more solidly built, with observation benches and even a thatched peak roof. Ellie led Ryan to a padded bench and sat beside him, silent at last.
He gathered his courage. “Ellie….”
“Wait.” She snuggled close. “I want you to see this.”
Thunder rumbled. The squawks, buzzes, and bird calls that had been their companions fell silent. Wind danced through the tree canopy, and then the jungle vanished behind a curtain of rain. A light clapping—thousands of raindrops on leaves—surrounded the platform like applause.
Ryan put his arms around Ellie. The world seemed timeless. Sitting dry—almost dry—on this bench, while primeval water rained down, washing away the problems of civilization, renewing everything. He’d like to imagine this bench, this intimacy, would last forever.
“Do you think,” he asked finally, “Sofía and Juan Esteban can make a g
o of the camp?”
“I hope so. Sofía’s a smart manager, and once the women in camp know Juan Esteban’s married, he’ll probably behave. He’s a good teacher and tourists love him. He’s just….” She hesitated.
“Irresponsible? Like the other love of your life?”
“There’s nothing other about you.” She snuggled closer. “Besides, you’ve never been irresponsible. Perhaps a little confused. Before your wife set you straight.” She smiled. “You put a lot of time and energy into caring for other people. I love you for that.”
Her words both warmed and frightened him. “You don’t mind leaving the jungle?”
“I thought I wouldn’t. A month ago, I thought all I wanted to do was get home to St. John. Then Gran sold her cottage and I didn’t know what to think. But I do now. You’re my home.” She cupped her smaller hands around his. “You’re my shelter, like a turtle shell, and I’ll be yours. Whether we’re on St. John, at Villa Louisa, or in a bio-dome on the moon.”
Ryan took a breath. “How about Vegas?”
Ellie didn’t quite fall off the bench. “Why there?”
“Because we own the suite at Hotel Ten. It’s more of a three bedroom apartment, and Lucas won’t need a room after I’m broke.”
“You really think your dad’s going to take back your money?”
“Very likely.” About seventy-thirty, Ryan guessed. “He’ll probably offer to keep up the allowance. But I don’t want to live on handouts any more. And we can’t stay at Villa Louisa. I had to sell it. We’ve got to be out in three weeks.”
“Oh.” Ellie blinked. “Oh, no. What about Oscar? And Mr. and Mrs. Jamala?”
It was like her to think of other people. “Strictly speaking, Oscar lives with my dad. The Jamalas will get a cut of the sale price as severance. Enough to buy their own home on St. Thomas, if that’s what they want, although Lars and Lucas are trying to convince them to work in Denmark.”
“So, everybody knows about this except me?”
“Not everyone. Counting Henrik, that’s the list.” He felt her hands tighten around his. “I’m sorry we haven’t discussed it. Do you mind? Everything’s moved so fast. Between the wedding, the casino….” And his own gutlessness. Ryan still couldn’t bring himself to confess his change to the building plans. “I wasn’t sure I had a buyer for Villa Louisa until this morning.”
