“We arrived in Florida in time to attend my uncle’s wedding, spent a week at my parents’ home, then returned to California to close up the house. We left the States for Mexico to avoid the photographers and reporters who had gotten word that we had married, and rented a small house near Acapulco. I thought living near the ocean would lift Oscar’s spirits, but it didn’t. Six months later we purchased El Cielo.”
Her eyes filling with tears, she tried blinking them back. “He loved living at El Cielo. Every morning he would get up and make his way over to the window and stare out at the mountains. He’d shake his head and smile, saying he loved the higher elevation because he felt closer to heaven. It took Oscar almost ten years to die. His will to live was so strong that it confounded every doctor who treated him.” She smiled through her tears. “He always protected me, even though I couldn’t protect him.”
“He was ill, Regina,” Aaron countered. “Terminally ill. There was nothing you or anyone else could do to change the manner in which he died.”
She bowed her head and bit down hard on her lower lip. “I refused to let him suffer. I made certain he was never in pain toward the end.”
A suffocating silence ensued, Regina and Aaron lost in their private musings. She was relieved that she had finally unburdened herself. She had told her parents she married Oscar because he was sick, yet had never disclosed the details of her near-rape at the hands of Harold Jordan. That was a secret she had carried for ten years—until now.
Aaron swallowed several times before he could bring himself to speak. “Words cannot convey my gratitude. You truly were an extraordinary wife.”
What he could not say was that it should have been him, not Regina Spencer, who should have taken Oscar to the hospital for his chemotherapy. He should have given his father the injections of morphine whenever the pain had become unbearable. And he should have been the one who sat at Oscar’s bedside, holding his hand when he drew his last breath. He should have been there for his father at the beginning and at the end of his illness, but he wasn’t because of his so-called wounded male pride—a pride that had kept him from a father whom he knew loved him with his last breath.
“I did nothing extraordinary,” Regina stated softly. “I did what I did because I promised Oscar I would take care of him.”
“And I thought you’d married him for his money.” Aaron could not help verbalizing what he had rationalized the moment he laid eyes on his father’s widow.
Her body stiffened in shock. She knew he had been stunned by her youth, but she did not think he would be like the others who thought she had married Oscar for his money.
“Do you actually believe that?” she whispered. She could not disguise her annoyance as the query flowed tremulously from her lips.
Shrugging a broad shoulder in a manner that reminded her of Oscar’s elegant body language, Aaron ran a hand over his face, nodding. “I’m ashamed to admit I did,” he confessed. “When I first saw you that’s what came to mind. Why else would a woman marry a man old enough to be her grandfather, if not for material gain?”
“Maybe other women, but not Regina Cole,” she stated arrogantly.
A frown furrowed his high, smooth forehead. “Cole?”
“Yes, Cole,” she confirmed, smiling.
Aaron studied her intently for a moment, his eyes narrowing in concentration. “Are you related to the ColeDiz Coles?”
He might have lived most of his life in Brazil, yet he had always kept abreast of the American business market. His diligence paid off, because three U.S. pharmaceutical companies had agreed to underwrite the cost of several of his research projects for five consecutive years. He remembered ColeDiz because Black Enterprise and Forbes had listed the company as one of the wealthiest in the United States.
Regina watched Aaron with smug delight. He was no different than the others, whose expressions had given them away whenever Oscar introduced her as his wife. Some of them thought, and many had whispered, that Oscar was her sugar daddy, and she was only waiting for him to die so she could inherit his money. Oscar Spencer had earned less money than his comparable contemporaries, and three-fourths of his wealth had come from astute investments.
“Yes.” The single word was a soft, husky whisper.
“Ouch,” he gasped, grimacing. He saw the slight smile tugging at the corners of her lush mouth, and let out his breath slowly. “I’m truly sorry, Regina. Can you forgive me for being a narrow-minded fool?”
“There’s nothing to forgive. And I’ve never apologized for marrying your father—not to anyone. I was the one who proposed to him.”
Aaron placed a forefinger alongside his lean jaw. “That really must have shocked Dad.”
“Believe it or not, he was speechless. He refused to give me an answer until I threatened to move out and leave him with the live-in nurse, whom he had come to despise. He fired her once, but I rehired her as she was walking out the door.”
“Why?”
“Because she was the only one who would put up with his mood swings. There were days when his food ended up on the floor or on the walls.”
“And you were the only other person who would put up with him.”
Regina heard a measure of gentleness in his voice for the first time. “I was Oscar’s wife, and the nurse was a trained professional. I paid her well to take care of her patient.”
“She stayed because you paid her. But what about you, Regina? You didn’t have to stay. And most of all, you didn’t have to marry him.”
She had asked herself the same questions over and over, but was never able to come up with a plausible answer. Was it gratitude because Oscar had saved her from becoming a rape victim? Or was it because of her own fears—fears that returned and attacked whenever she found herself alone? Living with Oscar and taking care of him had not permitted her time to think about the six days of terror which she would carry with her to her grave.
There were times when she had thought of returning to her acting career, but she dismissed the notion as soon as it came to mind. She had been away too long, and the lure of the bright lights had lost their appeal. She would follow through with her plan to return to Florida and start over.
“I stayed because I loved him.”
Aaron shifted his attention to the passing landscape, Regina’s statement reverberating in his head. I stayed because I loved him. Sharon had said almost the same thing: I can’t marry you because I’m in love with your father. Try to understand that I can’t leave him.
He had not understood—not at the time, because he had felt betrayed by the two people he loved most in the world. But Sharon and Oscar were his past, and it was time he began anew.
He was thirty-seven, in excellent health, all of the institute’s research grants had been renewed for another year, and his coffee plantation was thriving. It was the first time in a long time he looked forward to reaping a bountiful harvest.
His father’s death reminded him of his own mortality, and he realized it was time he existed for more than his research. Oscar had his movies, but he also had taken time to marry and beget a child to carry on his name and bloodline.
Aaron wondered how he had become so obsessed with his work that he had neglected himself, as well as ignored his own need to share his existence. When had he become so selfish that he had not permitted a woman into his heart and into his life? How had he survived the past twelve years, interacting with women only when he sought physical release?
There had been one exception. He had had a fleeting liaison with a woman two years ago, but decided to end it when she broached the subject of marriage.
Closing his eyes, he tried conjuring up Natalia Estevào’s face and failed. What he did see was the hauntingly delicate face belonging to Regina Cole-Spencer. He opened his eyes and turned around to look directly at her. As he studied her with a curious intensity, his gaze seemed to undress her as she observed him through lowered lashes.
His strong, masculine mouth cur
ved into a sensual smile, and she returned it with one of her own. He was transfixed with the dimples in her velvety cheeks as they winked back at him. Reaching over, he held her hand, squeezing her fingers gently and not letting go until the driver stopped the car in the courtyard of the house built on a hill overlooking a picturesque valley.
He and Regina were connected by a bond, and the bond was Oscar Spencer. She had taken on the role as his father’s helpmate and comforter, and for that he was grateful. Eternally grateful.
Their smiles were still in place when he helped her from the car. She squinted against the blinding, brilliant rays of the blazing summer sun. Mexico was experiencing one of its hottest summers in decades. Even in the mountain region the daytime temperatures peaked in the nineties.
“I’m going to take siesta in my garden,” she informed Aaron in the low, smoky tone he had come to listen for whenever she opened her mouth. “Feel free to take advantage of anything at the house. I’ll let the household staff know that they’re to take care of your requests. If there is something they can’t provide for you, just let me know.”
The front door opened at their approach and Rose greeted Regina in rapid Spanish, exclaiming excitedly about el abogado and una carta.
She smiled at her efficient housekeeper. The petite, forty-something woman had never cut her hair and a single, black, silky plait hung past her knees. “Dr. Spencer and I will see Señor Morales in the solarium. We will also need some liquid refreshment.”
Aaron waited until Rosa left before he turned to Regina. His gaze raced quickly over her face. “Are you having a legal problem?”
A slight frown formed between her eyes. “I don’t know. I suppose we’ll find out once we talk to Ernesto Morales. Oscar retained him to oversee his legal matters.”
She led the way down a long, narrow corridor that opened out to an expansive hallway laid out in the shape of a cross, with arched passages leading in four different directions. Turning in a northerly direction, they walked into a large, cool room filled with rattan furniture and massive potted plants. Thick, pale plaster walls kept the heat of the sun from penetrating the space, making it a cool place to sit and enjoy the beauty of the surrounding foliage, outdoor garden, and the towering peaks of the nearby mountain range. Decorative wrought-iron grillwork on arched windows brought to mind a Moorish, rather than a Spanish, influence.
Aaron walked over to an antique armoire rising more than ten feet in height above the brick floor, running his fingers along the smooth surface of the nearly black wood. He did not have long to admire the quiet magnificence of the space when a slender man entered the room, cradling a leather portfolio under one arm. The lawyer’s eyes caught fire as they caressed Regina’s face and body. He watched Ernesto Morales lean over and place a kiss much too close to her smiling lips. It was more than apparent that the man was attracted to his father’s young widow.
“¡Buenas tardes! Regina,” Ernesto whispered in her ear.
Her smile widened. “¡Buenas tardes! Ernesto. I’d like you to meet Oscar’s son, Dr. Aaron Spencer.”
Ernesto jumped back as if someone had seared his flesh with a white-hot branding iron. Turning slowly, he widened his gaze as Aaron moved from the shadows and into the middle of the room. He drew himself up straighter, knowing he could never match the height of the tall American looming above him. Oscar Spencer had been tall, at six-two, but Aaron Spencer eclipsed his father’s height by at least another two inches.
Extending his hand, Ernesto inclined his head slightly. “Señor Spencer. Ernesto Morales. I’m sorry we have to meet under these circumstances. However, I must say that your father was truly a great man.”
Aaron shook his hand. “Aaron, please. And I’d like to thank you for handling my father’s estate.”
Regina waited until the introductions were concluded, then extended a hand toward a cushioned sofa. “Gentlemen, please be seated.”
Both men waited until she was settled on a matching loveseat before they sat down. She turned her attention to Ernesto. He was fashionably attired in a melon-green linen suit which flattered his dark hair and suntanned face. She had always found him attractive in a delicate sort of manner. He was of medium height, slender, and his features were too fragile for a man. They would have been better suited on a woman.
Her gaze shifted to Aaron, widening appreciably. She much preferred his strongly defined masculine face and body, and his deep, powerful voice. If she had to choose between the two men, there would be no doubt that Aaron would be her choice. He hadn’t just sat on the sofa, but had draped his tall body on the cushions while crossing one leg over the opposite knee. There was something about the manner in which he sat that reminded her of her own father.
“Ernesto, Rosa mentioned something about a letter.”
The lawyer blinked slowly as if coming out of a trance, then unsnapped the lock on his leather case and withdrew a single sheet of paper from an envelope.
“Oscar Spencer gave me specific instructions as to how he wanted me to handle his estate. I was not to open this envelope until forty-eight hours after his death.” He stared at Aaron before shifting his gaze to Regina. “I cannot reveal the terms of the will until ten days following his burial.”
“Why the delay?” she queried.
“Lo siento, Regina,” he replied. “I’m only following your husband’s wishes.”
She, too, was sorry. That meant her life was on hold for the next two weeks. As it was, she had to wait three days to bury Oscar, then wait another ten. It was as if she were in suspended animation. There was no going back and no forward movement.
She glanced over at Aaron, who hadn’t taken his gaze off her from the moment he sat down. “How soon do you have to return to Brazil?”
He blinked once. “I have an open reservation for my return flight. I’ll stay as long as it will take for you to conclude everything here.”
What he did not say was that he would remain in Mexico as long as it took for him to shield Regina from men like Ernesto Morales, who looked at his father’s widow as if she were a sacrificial lamb offering herself up for his personal agenda. Oscar might not have been able to protect her, but as long as she remained in Mexico he would. He owed her that much.
Rosa entered the room, carrying a tray with a carafe and three glasses. She quickly and expertly filled the glasses with a frothy fruit drink, handing one to Regina. Within a minute the men were served, and then the silent, efficient housekeeper walked out.
Ernesto, not bothering to taste his drink, placed his glass on the tray beside the carafe. He gave Aaron a sidelong glance. “There’s no need for you to stay away from your research, Dr. Spencer. As Regina’s legal counsel I will make certain to safeguard her interests.”
Turning his head slowly, Aaron glared at Ernesto. “I have no doubt about that, Señor Morales. But because Regina is mi familia it has become my responsibility to protect her.”
A rush of color darkened the lawyer’s face with his increasing annoyance. “Do you think Señora Spencer needs protecting?”
Aaron arched an expressive eyebrow. “Not now. But there may come a time when she will.”
Regina stirred uneasily on the loveseat. The two men were discussing her as if she were not in the room. She decided to change the subject, because there was one thing she did not need at this juncture in her life, and that was protection from either of them.
“Ernesto, you should know that the service has been scheduled for Friday morning at ten o’clock. It will be held here at El Cielo.”
He nodded, vertical slashes appearing between his eyes. “I’ll be here. If the funeral is Friday, then the reading of the will shall take place on Monday, September first, at eleven o’clock in my office.” Rising to his feet, he forced a false smile. “Please excuse me, but I must get back to my office.”
Aaron rose with him, extending his hand, but Ernesto busied himself with his case, pretending not to see it. “I’ll have Rosa show me out,” he
mumbled angrily under his breath.
Waiting until Ernesto left the room, Regina stood up. “What was that all about?” she shouted at Aaron.
Slipping his hands into the pockets of his suit trousers, he closed the distance between them until they stood only inches apart. He was close enough to feel the moist heat of her breath on his throat.
“Don’t tell me you didn’t know what was going on?”
Running a manicured hand over her neatly coiffed hair, she closed her eyes, then opened them. “No. All I know is that you insulted him.”
Leaning down from his superior height, Aaron flashed a feral grin. “The man could’ve called you with the same information he felt compelled to deliver in person. Can’t you tell that the man has the hots for you?”
Regina stared at his mouth, then laughed, the sound bubbling up from her silken throat like warm honey. “You’re imagining things.”
She knew Ernesto was attracted to her, but it wasn’t something she would admit to Aaron—not when she was no better than Ernesto. She was equally attracted to her stepson.
“And you’re in denial, Mrs. Spencer. Do you ever look in the mirror? You have to know that you’re a beautiful woman. I don’t blame the little man for salivating. What annoys the hell out of me is that he can’t wait until his client is six feet under before he—”
“You’ve said enough, Aaron,” she warned quietly, cutting him off.
His jaw tightened in frustration. She was wrong. He hadn’t said enough. What he wanted to tell her was that she was the first woman in a long time who made him physically aware that he was a male—a male who desired a female for more than a slaking of his sexual urges. He longed to tell her that she had unknowingly rekindled a fire he thought long dead—that she was a woman who made him examine himself and acknowledge his weaknesses and shortcomings, a woman he needed to repay for her selflessness. She had sacrificed ten years of her life to care for his father.
His head jerked up and he stared at the wall behind her. “Forgive me. I was out of line.”
Harvest Moon Page 7
