Rosa watched him go, then shook her head. “Now that’s one man I just flat misjudged,” she said apologetically, and Dell flashed her a startled glance.
“What?”
“Yes, ma’am. I thought he was an arrogant, no-good — I don’t know what. But I’ll tell you right now, chiquilla — not many are as compassionate and straight-headed as that man is.”
Dell frowned. “Rosa, I think you’re putting a lot of stock on what you’ve seen in a few hours in an emergency situation,” she protested. Rosa was the one person she didn’t want on Jovi’s side. Now more than ever.
Rosa snorted. “What better way to judge someone than in an emergency?” she demanded. “A man who helps someone who can’t help himself — who’s lost everything like the Simmons — or someone alone and scared like the Vasquez kids, with their folks trying to save things at their home — now that’s a real man.” She turned to pull the whistling teakettle off its burner and filled two cups with hot water, then plopped tea bags into them and pushed one across the counter toward Dell. Rosa spooned sugar into her tea and stirred it methodically. Finally she looked up from the swirling liquid in her cup. “I thought you’d be glad to hear I realized my mistake,” she offered, lifting her cup to blow into it. “Don’t you want me to like the man you’re in love with?”
Dell’s eyebrows arched, and she barely stifled a gasp of disbelief. Or surprise. Or revelation. “What?”
“You heard me,” Rosa retorted, turning back to the stove. “Drink your tea. And after — you go get some sleep. They’ll reschedule Becky’s custody hearing as soon as they can, I’m guessing.” And ignoring Dell’s consternation, Rosa began adding seasonings to the soup simmering on the stove.
• • •
It took almost another forty-eight hours for the last of the storm’s refugees to leave the shelter of the spacious ranch house at Nueva Brisa. Mrs. Simmons and her caretakers were the last to go, hugging Rosa, the girls, and Dell, and expressing their gratitude over and over. Jovi helped load them into the SUV and drove them back to survey the damages from the receding water. Dell had planned on going with them, but one of Alicia’s daughters had managed to fly in from Dallas and was already at the ranch. Dell was sure the young woman could manage. And she couldn’t face the trip back alone with Jovi yet.
Dejected, Dell considered helping rearrange the living room and launder the towels and linens piled up in the laundry room. The girls were scuttling around busily, though, apparently glad to be occupied, and Dell decided to make the trek down to the barn instead.
Pete was nowhere in sight. He undoubtedly was taking a couple of hours off to rest. Like the others, he had worked through the worst of the weather, keeping the horses safe and calm. Stall by stall, Dell wandered down the aisle, looking in on each inhabitant, murmuring reassurance to those startled by her sudden appearance. Then she walked slowly back to the office, going in, sitting down and absently running her hands over the smooth, polished wood.
Tired. She was so tired. She tried to focus her thoughts on Becky’s upcoming custody hearing, but she could only think of Jovi. Of his smile, the dark eyes with the chispitas, the tiny, dancing sparks of flame in their depths. Of his passion that night he had kissed her, and his tenderness when he had held her. Of his betrayal. Sighing, she pushed herself off and forced herself across the small room on legs that didn’t want to work. She stared out the large window into the empty arena and fought off tears of exhaustion. She wouldn’t cry.
Could Jovi really be who he said he was? An informant trying to stop drugs? She bit her lip, not sure it mattered. Whoever he was, whatever — he wasn’t who he had said. He wasn’t the man she had secretly, foolishly believed might want to share a life here — a life surrounded by the horses. With Becky. With the girls, or others like them, who needed help.
Karla had warned her, hadn’t she? That when the right man came, nothing else would matter. But Karla had been wrong, really. She’d said nothing could come between a woman and the right man, yet their mutual recriminations, the suspicions, the accusations were an impossible wall to climb now.
And Karla had been wrong about one other thing, too. “Wouldn’t it be funny,” the woman had asked, “if Jovani Treviño were the man?” Well, he was the man … and there was nothing remotely funny about that unwelcome truth.
Chapter Twenty-One
A slight noise startled Dell into wakefulness. She jerked upright, wiping a hand across her face and blinking in surprise as she realized she had fallen asleep behind Jovi’s desk. Strange — she remembered being at the window, not the desk. Remembered thinking of Jovi … nothing but Jovi. She ran a hand through her hair and yawned, then stretched. She wasn’t sure what she had heard, but a glance at the wall clock showed her she’d been dozing for some time.
“Finally,” Jovi said from the door, and Dell started again. He came into the room, tall and imposing, and Dell’s fingers curled into the soft warmth of the warm-ups she was wearing. He had changed and shaved, and stopped close enough to the desk that his aftershave teased her senses.
“I came in a little earlier,” he added, by way of explanation, “but you were dead to the world. I didn’t see any reason to wake you — you have to be drained.”
Wordlessly, she stared at him. How he could speak so blithely? Her own throat was constricted, squeezed tightly shut from the pain of seeing him so near when so much kept them apart. When he had lied to her. When he had accused her father — her — of being involved in something as sickening as the drug trade.
The silence stretched, cruel and unbreakable. Then he stepped closer, reaching out and touching her face. “Don’t,” he said. “Don’t look at me like that. I can’t stand what I see in your eyes.” He turned, walking over to the window, his shoulders hunched. “I have to leave now,” he said, not looking back at her.
“Yes,” she said tonelessly. She wanted to stand, to force him to confront her face to face, but she couldn’t push herself from the chair. Finally, he did turn back.
“Dell, I had a job to do.” He walked back across the short distance, crouching in front of the desk, making himself her height. “When I met you — as I got to know you — it wasn’t a job I wanted to do. But I had to.”
She managed a small, indifferent shrug. “I understand.”
“No.” He shook his head. “You don’t. There was reason to believe that you could be involved. If not evidence, certainly circumstance. I … I know you’re not. But the doubts I had — that I allowed myself to have — I can’t take those back. And I know how they hurt you.” He took a deep breath. “And my conclusions about your father — I can’t change those, either. Investigations stemming from what we believe about that have to go on. I just won’t be involved.”
“So what will you be after you leave here?”
“The same thing I am now … I hope. Someone who loves horses. A trainer, foreman for a stable. That’s what I am. The rest is … ” He paused, groping for words. “A matter of conviction. Something I only do if no one else will, or can.” Sighing, he pushed himself back to his feet. “Good luck with Becky — she should be here, with you.” He leaned over and brushed a feather-light kiss across her cheek. “La inalcanzable,” he murmured. “It fits … so well. But how I wanted them to be wrong. How I wanted to touch you.” With a final, desolate shake of his head, he turned and left the room.
• • •
With Becky’s custody hearing rescheduled for yet another Friday, Dell found herself concentrating on each day’s small trials and chores to get her through until then. She took Michelle to visit her mother, as the court ordered, and she spent hours with Becky, knowing the pain would be worse if she lost, but that the memories would be precious. She also spent hours in the stable, going over the records, considering her options with the horses. A man called from California asking to speak to Jovani about the stallion h
e had inquired about. Hiding her pain, Dell said Jovi had moved on and took the information herself. Apparently Jovani had planned on purchasing an Arabian stallion to reestablish the Nueva Brisa breeding program.
In spite of herself, she got out old bank records, old ledgers, and financial papers she’d never really looked at. Could her father have really taken De Cordova money for the reasons Jovi thought? She couldn’t imagine Samuel Rosales doing anything that wasn’t strictly ethical. And yet she, too, had known the money wasn’t entirely innocent. But she had considered it blood money — money Lionel De Cordova had paid to reclaim his daughter and be sure a granddaughter of embarrassing lineage stayed far away from the De Cordovas’ riches.
Late Thursday, as Dell puttered in the kitchen, Michelle wandered into the room. She nibbled a freshly baked cookie and offered to help.
“I’m almost finished with these,” Dell assured her, holding out a tray of chocolate chip cookies. “Here, have some more.”
The girl declined the cookies but lingered, clearly wanting to talk but unsure she could.
“So what’s up?” Dell prompted gently. “Just say it.”
Still, it took Michelle a few moments, and she seemed to be visibly bracing herself. “Jovi’s gone,” she said at last, in her small, childish voice.
“Yes,” Dell said, forcing herself to keep her tone level and her expression indifferent.
Fidgeting, Michelle took a cookie, bit it, and then put it back on the counter. “Why?”
“There were … several reasons. We both thought it was best if he went.”
“Maribel said it was her fault,” Michelle pressed. “That she’d messed things up for you.”
“No.” Dell put the last tray of cookies in the oven. “Maribel did some awful things. But she had nothing to do with Jovi going.”
“But you … miss him?” Michelle blushed, but she seemed insistent on finding out as much as she could. “You … you liked him.”
“Yes.” Dell picked up a sponge and wiped the counter absently. “I cared a great deal about him.” She looked across at Michelle. “Sometimes, though, if you know someone just isn’t right — sometimes it’s better to move on. For everyone.”
“But … you’re so old — ” She blushed furiously, shaking her head. “No, that’s not what I meant. Not so old. Just — just old enough. Like, to marry and stuff. Don’t you want that?”
Dell closed her eyes for a brief second, closing out Michelle’s confusion. Her concern and embarrassment. Married and stuff — to Jovani Treviño. Yes, she would have liked that. But how little it mattered right now.
Sighing, she faced the girl honestly. “Michelle, I wish Jovi and I could have had more time together. Things might have worked out differently. But don’t ever think … A woman doesn’t have to have a man to be something, Michelle. Really.”
Michelle picked up the uneaten cookie, considering it with concentration. “Mi mamá — my mother said no. That a woman without a man daba pena — was nothing but a pity.” She frowned, breaking a bit off the cookie. “She couldn’t see herself alone. That’s how the trouble started with her boyfriends. And when I stayed with Beto, because I couldn’t go home … ” Her voice trailed off for a minute. “It doesn’t matter now. But I used to think I wanted to get married. Now I see it doesn’t make sense.”
“No. Not for you — not yet. But maybe it will someday.”
“And for you?” Michelle tilted her head, studying Dell’s reaction. “Will marriage make sense for you someday?”
The image of Jovi’s face — smiling, eyes laughing — forced her to suppress a shiver of longing. Could she marry? she asked herself. “Maybe,” she told Michelle hesitantly. “I don’t see it now — but maybe, someday.” The teenager nodded somberly, finished the cookie, and gathered a handful to take upstairs to Amy. If Michelle knew she had just been lied to, she didn’t say so.
• • •
Becky’s caseworker averted her eyes and fiddled with the thick file on her desk. “So, you see, Ms. Rosales, I really do have to apologize. But I’m sure you understand my position.” She finally looked up, meeting Dell’s eyes. “I have to take care of the children first and foremost. Would you want anything less for Becky?”
“Of course not,” Dell said. Beside her, Judge Patricia Ovalle-Martinez straightened her shoulders.
“Still, you made some serious accusations — or at least raised some serious questions about Ms. Rosales,” she said severely, in the courtroom voice that was really so unlike her. “Perhaps you should have checked those rumors and their sources more carefully before you forced Ms. Rosales to go through all this.”
The woman sniffed and dabbed at her nose with a tissue. “Look, Judge, I do the best I could. I was told the child might be in danger — ”
“Ms. Rios, you know I routinely send young ladies there to work out their problems, don’t you? Would you expect me to do that if I were not absolutely sure of their safety?”
“No.” The woman sniffed again. “This sinus is killing me,” she muttered plaintively. “Anyway, Ms. Rosales,” she said appeasingly, “our investigation has convinced us Becky should remain with you.”
Dell leaned across the desk, lacing her fingers together. “But for how long?” she asked insistently. “I’m not sure I can keep her now and then lose her later.” She drew back. “I ask myself,” she went on quietly, “if I’m more concerned with helping Becky or helping myself. If it hurts me this way — what is this doing to Becky’s real mother?”
The caseworker and judge exchanged glances.
“I think you should tell Dell the whole story,” Patricia said after a moment, darting a meaningful glance at her friend before turning implacably back to face the other woman. “The whole story,” she repeated firmly.
Dell arched an eyebrow at the judge, who merely settled back in her chair, crossing her arms and waiting.
“What should I know, then?” she asked the caseworker, who discarded her well-used tissue and plucked another from the box with its ornate floral covering.
“Well … we found out Becky’s mother was given a sizeable sum of money to tell us she wanted her back.” The caseworker paused, risking a glance at Patricia, then decided to continue. “The money was from a small but well-known drug dealer. What his interest was, we’re not sure, but we know he paid for her to come to us. And we also know,” the woman went on, her tone becoming contemptuous, “that she used that money for drugs. Drugs! And she expected us to consider her a fit mother? Really.”
Dell shook her head. Although she couldn’t deny the relief she felt — she wasn’t losing Becky, at least not now — it was colored with sadness. How could anyone trade a child’s love for the momentary pleasure of drugs? She just couldn’t conceive of the desperation the woman must face, or the sadness she would know if she ever realized what she had lost.
“There’s more,” the caseworker said. “We’ve already spoken to your attorney and to the judge. We’re planning on filing a motion to terminate the woman’s parental rights. We don’t believe the child can ever be safely returned to her mother. She is literally a puppet of drug dealers and drug users, not to mention being an addict herself. Given your financial situation and your reputation — the help you’ve provided to Becky already — it’s very likely you can adopt her.”
Dell closed her eyes, breathing a silent prayer of thanks. Then she looked back at the caseworker. “So what do I do now?” she asked.
“Well, really, not much. Your attorney can take care of the paperwork.” She smiled, a tired smile, but sincere. “I truly am sorry I doubted you, Ms. Rosales. I see a lot in my line of work, but I should have checked things out more carefully, as the judge has said.”
“I know you were thinking of Becky,” Dell said, adding honestly, “I couldn’t do what you do. Sometimes just providing
some shelter and attention to teenagers takes more than I think I have in me. I can’t imagine having to decide … whether or not a child should be taken from its mother.” She held out a hand, and the caseworker stood and shook it briefly. “So — everything’s done? Becky stays?” Dell repeated again.
“Yes,” the caseworker agreed. “Becky stays.”
Dell thanked her, and Patricia softened enough to shake the woman’s hand and give her a slight smile. “Take care,” she told the woman pleasantly as she accompanied Dell to the door.
“What was that all about?” Dell asked as they stepped into the hall. “Why were you picking on the poor woman? If anyone should have been angry, I should have. You positively intimidated her just for doing her job.”
“No,” Patricia said with conviction. “Believing rumors without checking them out — damaging rumors like the ones someone spoon-fed her — that’s not her job. Her job is protecting children from real harm, not harming children’s protectors.”
“You should be a politician,” Dell teased, and they laughed.
“I may run for the Senate someday.” The judge grinned. They walked together out of the building and into the morning sun. “You’d never know it rained for most of a week, would you?” she groused. “Same old, same old.”
Dell shrugged. “I don’t mind the heat,” she said absently.
“You don’t sound like a woman who just got what she wanted,” Patricia said bluntly, eyeing her shrewdly, and Dell shrugged.
“I can’t celebrate. I keep thinking what a devastating loss it is to give up someone you love forever.”
“Dell, don’t hold yourself responsible for another woman’s stupidity,” Patricia warned. “There are women who can’t — or who shouldn’t be mothers. We both know that.”
“Yes,” Dell agreed, thinking of her own mother rather than Becky’s. She managed a slight smile. “Don’t worry about me, ’Tricia. And I’m delighted — happier than I’ve ever been, really. Becky means the world to me. I just wish … ” She shrugged. “Everything will be fine.”
Unattainable Page 24
