by Day Leclaire
“I’d like that,” Manuel instantly agreed. Intense curiosity crept into his nut-brown eyes. “You’ll need a canasta. A wicker basket. And to protect your clothing, an apron would be wise.”
Both were almost instantaneously produced, along with a straw shade hat. Ella accepted each with a pleasant smile and sincere thanks. Once outfitted, she started back up the hill with Manuel at her side.
“Why do you wish to pick the beans?” he asked. “Is it your hope to bring an end to the strike?”
“Yes,” she admitted readily. “From what I gather, both you and my husband are stubborn men, each too proud to back down once you’ve taken a stance.”
“That is an accurate assessment,” he confessed with a charming smile. “However, there are reasons why we are forced to take opposing positions.”
“Both are valid reasons, I’m sure,” she said, trusting he’d catch her underlying meaning. Although she sympathized with the villagers, she wanted to be clear that she supported her husband above all else. “I’m hoping that if the villagers see La Estrella picking beans, they’ll decide to help.”
He glanced over his shoulder. “I expect you’re right.”
A quick look confirmed that they were being followed by a large crowd. “Once they’re back at work, I’ll try and convince Rafe to rehire you.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “And how do you plan to do that?”
“Oh, I have an idea or two that might do the trick.”
“I applaud your incentive. However, you must realize that I cannot follow my friends and family into the fields. Señor Beaumont would not stop the others from working. But he cannot allow me to do so until our differences are resolved. I must respect that, Estrella.”
With each moment that passed, he impressed her more and more. She sent him a hesitant look. “You do know that I’m really not this La Estrella.”
“Who is to say?” he replied with a shrug. He paused beneath the shade of a banana tree on the edge of the fields. “The people believe, which is the most important consideration. Your actions, as well as any inaction, will have a tremendous impact on them.”
“Rafe said something similar,” she admitted. “But surely it’s better to do something than nothing.”
Again he shrugged. “Time will tell.”
“Your English is excellent, Manuel,” she probed delicately. “What do you do aside from pick coffee beans—when you’re not on strike, that is?”
He chuckled. “I am a botany student at the University of San José.”
A sudden thought occurred to her. “And do you also provide love-struck young women with tickets to Cinderella Balls?”
“Guilty, I fear. Shayne wished to find her husband and I could not refuse her request.” A faint flush tinted his angled cheekbones. “Especially when Chelita added her pleas to those of your sister-in-law’s.”
“I see,” Ella said, struggling to keep a straight face. She slapped the wide-brimmed hat onto her head. “I guess I’m ready. What do I do?”
Amusement flashed in his eyes. “It’s quite simple, Estrella. You pick anything that’s red. Put it in your basket. And watch out for snakes.” With a friendly smile and a cheerful “buena suerte,” he turned and trotted back toward the village.
“Manuel, wait a minute!” she called after him in alarm. “Snakes? What snakes?”
CHAPTER EIGHT
“SEÑOR Beaumont?” Chelita knocked on the door before stepping into his office.
“Yes?” He glanced up from his papers. “What is it?”
“Los hombres malos son aquí.”
He sighed, capping his pen and dropping it onto the blotter. “Just because they’re interested in purchasing Esperanza doesn’t make them bad.”
“You are right. It makes them very bad,” she retorted. “We will all lose our jobs when they take over la finca. Then the villagers will have to leave their mountain homes or they will starve. We will end up begging on the streets of San José.” She shot him an ominous look. “Or worse.”
He struggled to contain his annoyance. “I’ve told you a hundred times, the new owners won’t do any such thing. Life will continue just as it always has.”
“Of course, Señor. I am sure you are right. You want I should let them in?”
His brows lowered. “You’ve left my guests standing outside?”
“I did something wrong?” she asked innocently. A little too innocently.
This was getting out of hand. Never had he dealt with such blatant defiance. Never, that was, until his darling wife had arrived on his doorstep. “You know damned well you did something wrong!” He fought to lower his voice, a task becoming increasingly difficult with every hour his wife remained his wife. “Please admit the visitors and then ask Ella to join us.”
“Er... who?” she asked in feigned bewilderment, her grasp of English miraculously vanishing.
“La Estrella. Remember her? The bearer of happiness and prosperity? Where is she? I’d like to introduce her.”
Chelita blanched. “I’m not sure that is such a good idea.”
His suspicion grew. “Mi esposa,” he rasped. “Dónde está?”
“I, ah... I have forgotten your guests. I go let them in.” She ducked out of the room.
“Chelita!”
She peeked nervously around the corner of the door. “Sí, Señor?”
“Where...is...she?”
“In the coffee fields,” Chelita whispered, wringing her hands.
“The coffee fields.” He fumbled for his pack of cigarettes with his bandaged hand, remembering an instant too late that he’d thrown them away. How could he have been so foolish? Of course, he knew how. One glance from a pair of pleading golden eyes and. his common sense drained straight into his trousers. Dios! It was enough to drive a man to drink. “Chelita, would you be so good as to tell me what the hell my wife is doing in the fields?”
Her voice grew even softer. “Picking coffee beans.”
Rafe’s hand closed into a fist as he fought for control. It was a long time coming. Finally, he shoved back his chair and stood. Chelita edged toward the door, her eyes wide with apprehension.
“Señor? What do you intend to do?”
“I intend to go fetch my wife. You are to invite my guests in and serve them a cup of coffee while they wait. Is that clear?”
“Café. Sí, Señor. I will use the estate blend. And I will be polite. Very polite.”
“What a novel idea.”
He left the room and took the back way to the coffee fields. To his utter astonishment, the workers were all there, laughing and joking...and picking beans. He was keenly aware of the sudden silence and surreptitious glances he received as he strode along the row of bushy trees. It took him several minutes to discover which wide-brimmed hat concealed his wife.
“Oh, hello, Rafe. Isn’t it a beautiful morning?”
She greeted him with remarkable nonchalance for a woman about to be strangled.
“I would like to speak with you, please.”
“Sure. Go right ahead.”
“Someplace more private, if you’d be so kind.”
“Okay. But I should warn you—”
“You may warn me when we’re alone.”
He stripped off the basket harnessed around her waist, seized her arm and escorted her through the crowd of avidly watching villagers. As she passed, they quietly removed their baskets and sat down.
“I tried to warn you,” she began breathlessly. “If I don’t work, neither will they.”
“That does not concern me at the moment. What does concern me is that my wife is picking coffee beans like a—”
“Like a common peasant?” she inserted blandly.
He clamped his jaw closed, waiting until he had sufficient mastery of his anger before continuing. “It is not appropriate for you to be here. The villagers know this, which is why they chose to go into the fields rather than continue with their strike. They cannot in good conscience allow you to
work unaided.”
She smiled at him from beneath the shade of her straw hat. “I assumed as much.”
His eyes narrowed. “If you knew this, then why are you here?”
“To try and end the strike. As a matter of fact, you gave me the idea.”
He stared at her as though she’d taken leave of her senses. “I did?”
“You told me last night that where I led, the villagers would follow.” Her smile turned impish. “So I just led the way to the fields. And you were right. It worked.”
It took every ounce of willpower not to grab her by the shoulders and give her a good, hard shake. “Explain to me how this solves the basic problem.”
“That’s what I’m hoping you and I can do now.”
He folded his arms across his chest. “I’m listening.”
“You want me to leave the fields, right?”
“Of course I want you to leave.”
“Perhaps we can reach a compromise. If you’d rehire Manuel—”
He shook his head, finally seeing the path her convoluted thinking had taken. “I cannot. It is a matter of honor.”
“But—”
“It was a good try, amada,” he said gently. “Unfortunately, it won’t work.”
Resentment crept into her gaze. “Only because you’re unwilling to make it work.”
He thrust a hand through his hair, thoroughly exasperated. “I refuse to argue the matter with you. Not while standing in the middle of a coffee field. And not while the entire citizenry of Milagro listens in.”
“As well as your buyers?” she asked innocently, glancing at a point somewhere over his shoulder.
He restrained the urge to turn around. Madre de Dios! What more could go wrong? “You will pay for this, my love,” he murmured for her ears alone. “I will see to it. Personally.”
She inclined her head. “I look forward to the experience,” came her impudent retort. “In the meantime, I’m afraid your wife will continue to pick coffee beans. It’s a matter of honor for me, as well.”
“Whose honor do you speak of?” This time he did grab hold of her, ignoring their fascinated spectators. He pulled her close so she would see his anger and determination. “Do you refer to the honor of La Estrella? She doesn’t exist. What you are attempting will end in disaster. You will bring harm to the villagers and to yourself. End this now, Ella. Before it’s too late.”
“It’s already too late.”
“I can force you to leave,” he warned. “I can physically remove you from this place.”
“But you won’t.” She stepped back and he released her, his silence confirming her guess. “It may not be a perfect solution, Rafe. But at least the beans will get picked and the villagers will be paid. The rest is up to you.” She started to leave, then hesitated.
He lifted an eyebrow. “Was there something else?”
“Are—are you all right?” she asked awkwardly, gesturing toward his bandaged hand.
A momentary softness gleamed within his silvery gaze. “I am fine. Thank you for your concern.”
Still she hesitated. “You’re sure?”
“Quite certain.”
She sighed. “In that case, I’d better get back to work.”
With that, she turned and headed into the fields. Picking up her basket, she fastened it around her waist and adjusted the brim of her hat to shade her face. Then she plucked a violently red cherry from amongst a cluster of green berries.
And as she led, so the people of Milagro followed.
Rafe approached the door to Ella’s room. It was closed and he couldn’t hear her moving around. He tapped on the wooden panel. When she didn’t answer, he pushed it open. “Ella? It’s time for dinner,” he called.
And then he saw her.
Apparently working all day in the coffee fields had exhausted her, for she lay in the middle of the bed, sound asleep. She’d showered beforehand, wrapping herself in nothing more than a lightweight robe. A reluctant smile touched his mouth as he noticed her damp hair. She would have a job taming it when she eventually awoke. It fanned out behind her, the tumble of inky waves a sharp contrast to the crisp white pillowcase.
Unable to resist, he approached, staring down at her. She’d curled into a snug ball, her thin, silk robe pulled taut across her pertly rounded bottom and slender thighs. Her hands were folded beneath her chin, cushioned by her breasts, but he could still make out faintly stained fingernails. His smile grew.
Marvin had told him that she’d pried open a fair number of cherries. From what he could gather she’d repeatedly examined the twin beans inside, each time hoping to find a peaberry. If her rosy lips were any indication, she’d tasted her fair share of the sweet pulp, as well.
He crossed to her dresser and opened drawers at random until he found the one he sought. Removing a frothy silk nightgown, he crossed to the bed and eased her into his arms. Her lashes quivered for an instant and then she sighed, burrowing against him.
He held her for several long minutes, absorbing her warmth and sweet feminine fragrance. With a sigh of reluctance, he untied the robe and briskly stripped it from her. She was as beautiful as he remembered, full-breasted and narrow-waisted, her skin softer than a quetzal plume. He ignored the ache building in his loins and pulled the nightgown over her head. Just as he’d finished easing her arms through the appropriate openings, her eyelids fluttered and she blinked up at him.
“Hello,” she said with a wide yawn.
“Buenas noches, amada.” To his relief, the lemon-colored silk drifted downward, concealing what tempted him almost beyond endurance.
Her head dipped to his shoulder again. “Did the buyers leave?” she asked sleepily.
“Long ago.”
“Were they upset that your wife was working in the coffee fields?”
“Intrigued would be a more accurate description. They wondered if I were forcing you to pick the beans as a means of discipline.”
She laughed, the sound low and husky and unbearably intimate. “The perfect excuse. I hope you took it.”
“Tempting as it was, I did not.”
Curiosity glittered in her gaze. “What did you tell them?”
“The truth.”
“Oh,” she murmured. “What was their reaction?”
“They were upset. Naturally, news of the strike did not please them.”
“I’ll bet.”
He shifted her in his arms so her head rested more comfortably in the crook of his shoulder. “They requested that I bring in migrant laborers from Nicaragua to complete the job.”
She tilted her head to look at him, alarm registering in her golden gaze. “Did you agree?”
“No. The villagers have traditionally picked Esperanza beans and they will continue to have that opportunity as long as I am owner of this finca.”
“And when you’re no longer the owner?”
He shrugged. “It is too early to say. I will do my best to protect them.”
“I’m relieved to hear it.” Another yawn caught her by surprise, blurring the end of her words. “Is it dinnertime? I guess I should get dressed.”
“There’s no point since I have just undressed you.”
She glanced down, clearly amazed to discover herself wearing her nightgown. The tip of her tongue crept out to moisten her lips as she peeked up at him. “You undressed me...?”
His gaze grew fiercely possessive. “Do you think I’d allow anyone else the pleasure?”
Disconcerted, her lashes flickered downward. “But dinner—”
“Chelita will bring you something on a tray.”
“I can come down,” she objected.
“Don’t bother. You’d only end up falling asleep in your olla de carne.”
“My what?”
“Your beef stew.”
“But—”
“Do you intend to return to the coffee fields in the morning?” At her stubborn nod, he swept back the covers and deposited her between the sheets. “In
that case, you will need your rest. Make sure you put on strong sun protection tomorrow. At this time of year, a little exposure can prove quite painful. If you need lotion, ask Chelita when she brings your meal.”
Ella plumped the pillows behind her with unnecessary force. “Why do I feel like a child who’s been put to bed early for acting naughty?”
“I can’t think of a single reason,” he retorted in an even voice. “Can you?”
She curled into a ball again, her lids drifting closed. “No,” she muttered crossly. “I can’t.”
He brushed her hair from her cheek and feathered a kiss across her temple. “Good-night, amada,” he whispered. “Dream of me.”
By the time he’d reached the door, she’d fallen asleep again. He frowned in concern as he headed for the kitchen. This stalemate had to end or La Estrella was likely to collapse. And that wouldn’t help anyone. He released his breath in an exasperated sigh, forced to concede the inevitable.
The time had come to have a serious talk with Manuel.
The next morning Ella dragged herself from bed and headed for the coffee fields before she could think of a good excuse to avoid it. She hurt. Badly. In fact, there wasn’t a muscle in her body that didn’t ache. Who would have thought picking coffee could be so difficult? Not that a few sore muscles would change her mind. Not a chance. She’d decided to attempt this particular miracle. And by heavens, she’d see it through to the bitter end. The villagers were waiting for her on the outskirts of the field. The moment she plucked the first cherry off the first tree, they immediately followed suit. Not five minutes passed, however, before nervous whispers warned that Rafe had once again come after her.
She turned to welcome him with a jaunty smile, praying that her exhaustion couldn’t be seen on her face. Her prayers weren’t answered. A frown crashed down on his brow.
“You look like hell, amada.”
“And good morning to you, too.”
“Fair warning,” he leaned close to say. “Today this ends.” Then in a louder voice, he announced, “I’ve come for my wife.”
