by Ginny Baird
Consuelo passed back by them, and Fernando called after her. “Consuelo, if you please, ask Don Pedrito to saddle up two horses.”
Jess stared at him aghast. “First I’m pregnant; next I’m riding?”
“My mother rode until she was full term.”
“Oh! That’s what happened to you! Too many prenatal bumps to the noggin!”
“You can ride?” he asked.
She set her hand on her hip. “I was raised in a saddle.”
“That settles it.”
“Gracias, Consuelo,” he said to the housekeeper, who studied them agape. Consuelo backed away, clearly not wanting to miss one moment of the action.
“What’s all the shouting about?” Señora Garcia de la Vega called from outside.
Fernando pressed his palms together in a prayer position. “Please, dear Jessica, I’m begging you—for only a few more hours of your time. The rest of your life…whatever you opt to do with the information…those choices are yours.”
Mrs. Garcia de la Vega stood in her spacious kitchen sternly appraising her son. “Are you sure you should take a woman in her condition riding? She’s an American, you know, on the soft side.”
“She’s as healthy as a horse. Kickboxes, even. I’m sure she’ll be fine.”
“Kicks boxes, eh?” his mother asked. “And then what will she beat up next? Your heart, more than likely.”
“No, Mamá, you misunderstand. It’s an exercise.”
His mother frowned, fine lines creasing her brow.
“Well, I hope she leaves kicking behind once she’s a mother. It doesn’t sound dignified and surely won’t prove any sort of example—”
He fondly patted his mother’s cheek. “I’ll put her on Valencia, okay? She’s as gentle as a lamb, and too old to trot too fast.”
“We need to talk about this, Fernando. In detail.”
“I know,” he said, briefly holding her gaze, “but not yet.”
“This has all happened so quickly. I didn’t even know you were dating!”
“We more or less skipped over that part.”
Señora Garcia de la Vega inhaled a sharp breath and narrowed her gaze. “Does this have something to do with your birthday?” She leaned into the center island as Fernando packed libations for his trip. Some noncarbonated water and a bottle of a regional Rioja. Almost as an afterthought, he tucked a wedge of Manchego cheese and a small hard roll in his satchel.
“I’m sorry,” he asked blithely, “did you say something?”
She stood with her arms akimbo, lording over her kitchen. The moment Consuelo had sensed the ensuing fireworks, she’d made herself scarce.
Señora Garcia de la Vega disapprovingly shook her head. “You’re forgetting the almonds. And, oh yes, the olives.”
“Gracias. They slipped my mind.”
She huffed as he stuffed small portions of these in his bag as well. “So?” she asked. “Are you going on a picnic or running away?” Since he’d been eight years old, the latter had crossed Fernando’s mind more than a dozen times. Yet he would never leave her. When his father had died at forty-nine, Fernando had been left manning the ranch. While he’d grown older and had moved to Madrid, his heart remained in La Esperanza del Corazón. He would always take care of his mother. She’d been his source of strength and had granted him the freedom to follow his dreams, even when they included—for a time—dabbling in the one profession she’d prayed to God he’d never pursue.
“We won’t be gone long,” he said, buttoning up his satchel. “Back by nightfall, vale?”
She paused for a thoughtful moment, seeming to soften just a little. “Fernando,” she said, “are you sure you’re doing the right thing? Is this girl really the one?”
He pensively eyed his mother, knowing she wished only to protect him.
“The situation is…complicated,” he said truthfully, without giving too much away.
“Love is always complicated,” she admitted with resignation in her eyes.
“Yes, Mamá,” he said, kissing her on the forehead. “It is.”
“I still don’t think this is a good idea for the baby!” she called after him. “I was an experienced horsewoman, you know!”
He turned back with a gentle smile. “If she shows any signs of trouble, we’ll abandon the horses immediately. Jessica’s in top form, and it’s still very early. I can assure you with my word as your son, I would never take my new bride riding if I felt that our child was in danger.”
****
Chapter Three
Jess gripped the satellite phone with white knuckles. “He’s a liar and a cheat, and I don’t know how I let myself get talked into this!”
Evie’s calm voice resonated from the other side of the Atlantic. “Now, if you’d just take a deep breath and calm down, maybe I’d be able to understand you. Inhale, come on.”
Jess imagined Evie was twisting up her hair, as she did when taking on her consultant role. Evie’s fiery red tresses fell in ringlets to her shoulders. She had a habit of twisting them into a French knot and securing it with any handy implement. Even a chopstick or a pencil would do. Jess had always envied that ability, as her own stick-straight hair wouldn’t even hold a barrette.
Jess took a deep breath, then let it out slowly.
“Better?”
“Are we on speakerphone?” Jess asked.
“Nobody’s here. Out for the three-martini lunch.” Evie worked in a small yet prestigious publishing firm where publicity deals were forever being cut. As an assistant, she practically ran the place but still barely got paid. Jess was secretly ashamed to earn so much more than her, knowing that Evie worked just as hard. Jess didn’t feel nearly as smart or savvy as everyone thought she was. She owed her early success to a series of lucky breaks. If things had broken differently, it could just as easily have been her sitting in her old college roommate’s chair.
“Well, I’d appreciate you taking it off, just the same.”
Evie’s reply came back without the previous echo effect. “Okay, so tell me again, because I know I didn’t hear you clearly. It sounded almost like you’d said you’d gotten married!” She affected a laugh.
Jess’s heart lurched in her chest. It did sound absurd, and she knew it. Especially for her. Jess winced, hearing her voice come out as a squeak. “It’s true, Evie. Oh my God.”
“What?”
Jess bit into her knuckle, stopping her knee-jerk reaction at the first flash of pain. Her pulse was racing, and her head pounded. As bad this already was, somehow it sounded worse admitting it to her best friend. “I did it, Evie. Just last night. I married a matador.”
Evie’s tone was shrill with disbelief. “How did you do that?”
Jess grimaced. “It was a mistake.”
Evie huffed into her mouthpiece. “No, Jess, a mistake is missing your connection at the airport, forgetting to pack extra panties! A mistake is not marrying a matador!” She paused a beat, then began slowly. “I know what this is. It’s a joke, isn’t it? Ha ha! Right?”
Jess stared down at the naked spot on her ring finger. As soon as there was time, he’d told her, he’d buy her a big, beautiful engagement ring—and a wedding band to match. Didn’t matter to him that they’d never technically been engaged.
“Jess…” Evie queried. “The silence is scaring me.”
“He’s not really a matador,” Jess said, blinking hard. “I mean, not anymore. It’s more like the family business.”
“So what’s this guy do?”
“He’s in telecommunications.”
“Hold the phone. Wait just one New York second. This couldn’t possibly be…? Is it Fernando we’re talking about?”
Jess felt her face flash hot.
“But you hate the guy!”
“That’s just what I was saying!”
“No. You said you’d married him.”
“That too.”
“Hoo boy.”
“Yep.”
“S
o, what did you do? Fly to the Spanish version of Vegas?”
“More like stepped into a time warp.”
“I don’t understand.”
“La Esperanza del Corazón, some little Spanish town near Seville.”
Jess could imagine Evie massaging her forehead. While Evie often got into trouble, she very rarely got stressed. Stressing was Jess’s department. “When did this happen?”
“Just last night.”
“Oh, good, then it’s a fresh mistake. Go out and get it undone.”
“I plan to,” Jess said with more resolve than she felt. “Just as soon as everything here opens back up.”
“What’s wrong with today?”
“It’s Sunday, Eve. And tomorrow is some sort of saint day. It will be Tuesday before we can get things straightened out.”
“Did you sleep with him?”
Jess hesitated a moment too long.
“Maybe a little.”
“A little?”
“Okay, it was a lot. Quite a lot. Four times, to be exact.”
“That’s some Latin lover.”
Jess sighed, reliving the heat of Fernando’s caress trailing down the length of her spine.
“That good, eh?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to!”
Jess heard footsteps on the stairs. “Look Evie, I’ve got to run. Fernando’s taking me riding.”
“Not on a bull, I hope!”
“Horses, Evie,” she said in hushed tones. “He’s promised to explain the whole thing.”
“Which thing?”
“Why he wants to keep this sham of a marriage going.”
“This sounds dangerous, Jess.”
“He’s not dangerous, I swear. In fact, he’s a very devoted son.”
“You met his mother?”
“And she thinks I’m pregnant.”
“Jess!”
She heard him approach the door and rap soundly.
“Is my new bride ready to ride?”
“Oh my God, is that him? Love the accent.”
“I’ll call you later,” Jess whispered. “As soon as I know more!”
“Wait! Don’t—”
But Jess had already pressed End Call and opened the door.
Fernando smiled at her sweetly, a bulging satchel slung over his shoulder. “I’m glad to see my sister’s riding clothes fit you so well.”
Her face flushed as he gave her an appreciative perusal. The fact was, they were a bit snug, but Jess had managed to struggle into them.
“What will you tell your mother about taking a woman in my condition riding?”
“I already told her what I’ll now promise you.” He leveled her a look with his deep green eyes, and Jess once again had that tumbling sensation. “That I would never, ever put you in danger.”
Jess caught her breath, wondering for a panicked second if he’d overheard her phone conversation.
Fernando brought a hand to her face and gently stroked her cheek. “You do believe that, querida?”
Jess felt her heart thunder in response.
In spite of herself, she did. She was actually starting to fear she’d too easily believe just about anything Fernando told her. She was glad they were going outdoors and far from this room and its host of heated memories.
“After you,” he said, gallantly stepping aside and letting her pass.
Eve pulled the ballpoint pen from her hair and anxiously thumped its cap against her desktop. Married to a matador! How could the normally sensible Jessica have let herself get talked into that? What was more concerning still was that she actually seemed to be considering staying in that hasty marriage. Eve turned toward her laptop and quickly pulled up a search engine, typing in Fernando Garcia de la Vega, bullfighter. Links for the name “Garcia de la Vega” popped up. More than two thousand results. Wow. She selected “search images,” and photos of the devastatingly handsome Fernando flooded the screen. Fernando as a boy beside his equally attractive father, both dressed in full matador regalia… Fernando in the ring at twenty-two… A more mature Fernando with a gorgeous woman on his arm at an animal rights fundraiser in Madrid… What?
Eve clicked on the related story and began reading. It seemed that Fernando’s grandfather had not only been one of Spain’s most prized matadors, he’d also introduced a new form of “a mano” bullfighting in which the bull was killed cleanly with one stroke. Picadors were still present in the ring but only for show. None were allowed to injure or torment the bull. This was a game of pure skill, man versus beast, each with his own pointed weapon. One matador’s blade against two deadly horns. His insistence on fighting this way had made him more than a famous matador; he’d become something of a folk hero, known for his respect for the bulls as well as his utter bravery. He’d died in the ring before the age of fifty, just as his son—Fernando’s father—had, leaving behind an enormous estate.
Eve returned to the images, studying the one of Fernando as a boy who appeared to be about eight. She scanned the date of the picture, mentally calculating that Fernando must now be in his early thirties. Jessica was twenty-eight, and beautiful and talented. She hadn’t had the best luck with men to date, but that didn’t mean she’d have to run off and marry some guy in Spain! If Eve had the leave-time and the money, she’d get on a plane herself and talk some sense into Jess. Eve drew a deep breath, hoping that wouldn’t be necessary. Eve twisted her hair back up and penned it in place. Surely, Jess would come around on her own and quickly extract herself from that marriage by mistake. If she didn’t, Eve might just have to go begging to her boss and break out the credit card. What else on earth were best friends for?
“Jessica! Wait up!” Fernando called, galloping after her.
It had been years since she’d been on a horse, and she delighted in the freedom of the ride.
Fernando gave a loud call, and his bay Andalusian stallion picked up speed, drawing alongside Jess’s gray mare.
“You are moving awfully fast for a woman in your condition.” He shot her a charming grin. “Not that I’d expect anything less from a spitfire like you.”
Jess slowed her horse to a trot as Fernando kept pace. “The pregnancy thing was really over the top,” she said, giving him a glance. “Even for a flamboyant inventor like you.”
He tilted his chin in her direction, easily reining in his horse. “I know, and I apologize for surprising you. It’s just—when the idea occurred, it fit so perfectly with everything else.”
“What everything else?”
He gestured to a grove of olive trees up ahead in the distance. “We’ll find some afternoon shade over there. Let’s stop for a while and rest the horses.”
Jess was irritated he kept putting her off. She was ready for the truth and deserved it now.
Fernando dismounted, then held out his hand. She accepted his help in getting off her horse, nearly sliding into his arms. He was ruggedly handsome out here on these windswept plains, the sun dancing above them in a nearly cloudless azure sky.
“Would you mind holding this?” he asked, depositing the satchel in her arms. He withdrew a light picnic blanket from its interior and spread it beneath the craggy branches of an ancient tree.
“Won’t you sit?” he said, retrieving the bag to lay it on the ground, where he kneeled beside it.
Jess sat uncertainly at a safe distance, taking in the lovely landscape, the ranch, and the riding ring barely visible beyond the rolling vineyards. “How much property do you own?” she asked.
“Enough to get by,” he said, uncorking the wine. “Although it’s not really mine.” He handed her a plastic cup filled to the brim with the lush, aromatic wine.
“It smells divine,” she said, taking a sip and appreciating its full-bodied warmth and peppery finish. “Hmm. Is this one of yours?”
“A Bodega Garcia 2005. Do you like it?”
Jess more than liked it. It was fabulous, as was this place. Yet, she reminded herse
lf, Fernando hadn’t taken her into the country for some casual wine tasting. There were more serious matters at play. “It’s delicious,” she said, cupping her glass in both hands. “Now, your story?”
Fernando sighed, worry lines creasing his brow. “You’re terribly angry with me, aren’t you?”
“It takes two to tango, Fernando. I’m not saying all of this is your fault. I played a part in what happened yesterday too.”
He turned toward her with a penetrating look. “That’s what I don’t understand. Why did you?”
Jess felt a lurch of emotion as he dissected her with his earnest green gaze. “I…don’t know.”
He leaned toward her with a husky whisper. “Oh, but I think you do.”
He drew nearer, his mouth hovering over hers. Jess cursed herself for so badly wanting his kiss. His kisses had been so tantalizing last night, they’d made her lose all sense of reason. And it wasn’t just the way he’d held her. When he’d looked deep in her eyes and said that one thing, she’d inexplicably believed him as she had no man before.
“Why did you?”
Fernando reached out and cupped her chin in his hand. “Because, querida, when I saw you standing there in that garden, with that beautiful smile on your lips, I knew with a certainty that I’d have to claim them. That I wouldn’t rest until I made you mine.”
“It was a simple sexual attraction.”
“There was nothing simple about it,” he said, brushing his lips to hers.
Jess closed her eyes as her heart stilled. She couldn’t let herself do this, but she couldn’t stop herself either. His masculine scent washed over her as she felt his palm press into the small of her back.
“Jessica,” he said, resting his forehead on hers. “When I tell you the truth about this morning, I don’t want you to believe that anything last night was a lie.” And then to prove it, he kissed her deeply, with a skill and a passion that made her lose grip of her wine, sending the contents of her cup sloshing sideways.
“Your sister’s riding pants,” she said, nearly breathless.
“They’ll wash,” he said, tenderly stroking her thigh.
