by Dee Tenorio
The same golden color as Chloe’s, he realized as he did so obediently.
“¿Qué estás haciendo aquí? ¿Qué, no debes estar trabajando?” she asked, knowing in that eerie maternal way of hers exactly where all her children were supposed to be.
“I left work for the day. I have some news I need to talk to you and Dad about.” Raul answered in English. It was their thing. He had no problems with his parents’ language, but Ophie refused to speak English as a matter of principle. So Raul only spoke English to her as a matter of his own principles. Whether they liked it or not, he lived in a broader world than the small sphere they inhabited.
“¿Habla?” She raised her eyebrow pointedly. “¿Tengo que poner mis tapones para oídos?”
Whether she needed her earplugs remained to be seen. “Probably not.” He hoped.
“Siéntete, yo traeré el almuerzo.”
He kissed her cheek again. “I knew I had good timing. You need help bringing all this out?”
He ended up carrying out the ceramic tortilla holder one of his nieces had made and put it on the table, shaking his head all the way. This had been his duty back when he was five, and Ophie had yet to trust him with anything bigger. He sat in the seat closest to his father’s right hand and waited, a strange smile curving his mouth. It felt happy even if he was scared of what lay ahead of him. Who’d have thought?
Thomas noticed. “You have something to tell me?”
“I should wait for Mom.”
“Continúe, puedo oírte,” Ophie called from the kitchen, accompanied by the sound of clinking dishes.
He didn’t doubt she could hear them just fine. She had senses like a bat in a cave and slippers that could hit him in the back of the head at equal speed. Come to think of it… He shifted his chair slightly, glad he was on the far side of the table away from the kitchen threshold.
“Well, it turns out…I have an eleven-year-old daughter.”
Dishes clattered and broke somewhere in the kitchen. Thomas’s brows rose so high the folds of skin pushing down the corners of his eyes lifted.
“Eleven?” Shock and outrage straightened Thomas’s spine. “¿Con quién? ¿Cuándo? Why the hell didn’t you say anything?”
“I just found out. She just found out. It’s…complicated.”
“Of course it is, cabrón. It’s a baby!” And babies were not born illegitimately in the Montenga family. Not ever. Another second and Thomas was going to start looking for a newspaper to roll up.
“I know, Dad. I know. If I’d known, I would have done something about it, but I didn’t. We’re doing something about it now, though. She’s going to be part of the family.”
That seemed to calm his father a little. The older man leaned back in his chair. “Who is the mother? Do we know her?”
Unspoken was the question that the child might belong to some random lay he had in those days.
“Penelope Gibson. She’s the doctor in town now, has a place out off Main. She delivered Julia’s last two, I think.”
Thomas frowned, his eyes moving slightly back and forth as he seemed to be trying to remember. His eyes widened again. “¿La güerita? The girl who followed you everywhere?”
Raul cringed inwardly. While the rolled newspaper was starting to look like a distinct possibility again, how much did it suck that Penelope’s most outstanding reputation was as the girl who followed him? “The doctor, yes.”
“’Ama!” Thomas called, leaning out past the table for a second, as if it were possible Ophie hadn’t heard him. “You are the one who left her pregnant and alone? She was a good girl, pendejo. I raised you better than that!”
“I didn’t know she was pregnant. Until we took the tests, she wasn’t sure I was Chloe’s father.”
Thomas paled under his sun-darkened skin. “Chloe? ¿La Changa?”
So, they’d been introduced. “She’s Danny’s friend. You might have seen her around—”
“Ophelia!” Thomas stood up, pushing his chair back so he could stalk into the kitchen.
Raul sat at the table and sighed. Well, no one was bleeding from a hundred paper cuts. That was a positive. He heard rapid Spanish going on in the kitchen in low voices, but couldn’t make out the words. Nothing good, he decided, pushing his own chair back and following his father. Before he could get past the entry, though, his mother pushed past him, all but running toward her bedroom where she slammed the door.
Disappointment filled Raul. He’d hoped it would go better than this. He looked up, meeting his father’s sad expression as the older man turned the dials on the stove to the off position. The shattered ceramic bowls were still in a pile on the floor. “I didn’t think she’d take it so hard.”
“You know how she is about…things like this.”
Raul frowned, not even having considered his mother’s issues when it came to skin color. He’d known she wasn’t happy about the women he tended to date, but she hadn’t ever reacted by walking out of the room without even looking at him. “This is different. Chloe’s her blood.”
“She’ll come around. Give her time.” Thomas leaned his hands on either side of the stove, not looking at Raul. Not happy. “You have to make this right, Raul.”
“I intend to.” And he did. Chloe was going to be as much a part of this family as he was.
“Are you marrying her mother?”
Raul gave himself credit. He didn’t choke. “I don’t think that’s really the issue right now.”
“It better damn well start being the issue,” Thomas growled.
“Penelope and I are just starting to talk to each other. I don’t think I’d be able to get her to marry me without kidnapping and drugging the woman.”
Thomas only harrumphed. His glare was on the food, but his sigh said his mind was definitely anywhere else. “Chloe Gibson. All these years…I should have known. She’s exactly like you.”
Finally, the knot in Raul’s chest started to loosen. “She’s funny?”
“She’s loud.” Thomas’s smile was both pained and pleased. “Your mother and I always noticed her with the others. Always the leader. Always doing something. Like her shoes are on fire.”
His tone made Raul smile. “She’s a good kid, Dad.”
“Yes, she is. But you owe her mother for that. And believe me, if she’s been like you her whole life, you owe that woman more than you know.”
Raul laughed. “I wasn’t that bad.”
“Ha, half these gray hairs are from you alone.” Thomas shrugged off the sentiment. He fixed Raul with a steady stare that felt like it was going into him. “Are you ready for this, mijo?”
Raul wanted to reassure his father. Wanted to tell him he was all set to be father of the year. Except his organs were all but cramped up and his heart wouldn’t stop thumping whenever he thought of screwing up Chloe the way he managed to screw up most things. He shrugged and held out his hands. “I don’t know, ’Apa. But I want to be.”
No, he needed to be.
Thomas stared at him silently for a few long seconds, then nodded and walked back into the living room. He went to the glass case where all the best dishes and family keepsakes were kept and pulled out a small cardboard box. He weighed the little package in his hand, lifted it to his lips and kissed it before turning around and holding it out. “Give this to her. Tell her what it means.”
Raul reached for the box, noting the old printing on top, a green scroll design in the corners. He smiled, some of the weight coming off his shoulders. When he reached for his father, whispering his thanks, it didn’t feel strange at all to have his father hug him back.
Chapter Four
Penelope knew as soon as Raul walked into her waiting room. A deep, teasing rumble was answered by a few nervous titters. He walked up to the front desk where Cara, her receptionist, and Erica, her nurse, watched him with curious eyes. They’d had questions when Raul had arrived with Chloe on Wednesday but, quiet souls that they were, they didn’t ask them. At least, not of P
enelope. Both women—one young and excited, the other older and considerably calmer—turned their heads to where Pen was standing, signing a prescription for a patient.
“If this one gives you any trouble, Sally, just call in. I’ll set up another kind.” Penelope handed her blonde patient the slip. Mondays were her obstetrics appointments and Sally Bishop was almost happily expecting her second.
“I don’t understand it.” Sally rubbed her hand over the curve of her belly. “When I was pregnant with Jack, I didn’t have any trouble with that brand of prenatals at all. Now they just make me sick. Hayne thinks it’s different because he thinks this one is a girl.”
“He does have an eye for the pretty ones.” Raul winked and leaned his forearms on the counter to peek into the office area.
Sally Bishop’s cheeks turned pink, but she glowed under the compliment. “I’ll see you next month, Dr. Gibson.”
Raul left the appointment window to open the door for Sally. Penelope just shook her head, going over her paperwork one more time before handing it across the slim counter. Cara barely caught it, watching Raul move as if he were a dancing snack.
Go ahead and look, Penelope thought irritably, trying not to grind her teeth. Everyone noticed Raul. Was charmed by Raul. Had a secret appreciation for his brand of masculine beauty. She had no right to be annoyed by that. Or by his absolute comfort in being appreciated. Clicking her pen and slipping it into her pocket, she waited for him to come back inside.
Only after he’d opened the outer door for Sally did he show up again.
Penelope stared up at him, fists tightening in her pockets. “You’re early.”
Raul grinned, unrepentant. “Just a little. Figured I could wait in your office again. I got left on a cliffhanger last time. Does Nancy get out of the hole in the old gray cove or not?”
“I’m pretty sure she makes it.” She refused to be tempted by his deep dimples. Been there, done that, had the stretch marks. She gave a nod to Cara, hoping to grab the young woman’s attention. “Send Chloe right into my office as soon as she comes in, please. Were you able to reschedule that three o’clock?”
“What?” Cara blinked wide blue eyes at Penelope as if she had to remember where she was. Oy. “Sorry, yes, your three o’clock was moved to next week. Once we finish with the patients in the waiting room, we’re clear for the rest of the day.”
Penelope nodded, then led Raul into her office, sucking in a breath when he passed her so they wouldn’t touch. “Nancy’s on the third shelf over there. I’m sure you two will be very happy together.”
He glanced at the shelf with a bemused expression, leaning against the front of her desk. How did he just walk into any room and take over the space? Standing there in crisp, dark blue pants, long legs crossed at the ankles, his white uniform shirt peeking through the open fire-station windbreaker, he almost made her think she’d walked into his office.
“Sure you don’t want to hide in here with me?”
She jolted, almost gasping. Was that some kind of…proposition?
“Those last two patients of yours look like they’re about to explode. They aren’t going to like you telling them they’re not ready.”
Oh. She relaxed slightly, almost shaking herself for assuming…well, anything. “How would you know they’re not ready?”
“I’ve got eight sisters who have, between them, a hundred and thirty kids. Believe me, I know when they’re ready.”
Penelope smiled despite herself. “You have twenty-nine nieces and nephews, counting your brother’s kids.” But he was right. One patient was hovering around twenty-nine weeks and the other was a more ripened thirty-two. Uncomfortable definitely. Ready? Not quite.
“Is that it? I could have sworn there were more.”
She almost walked out, but had to ask. “What did you say to them when you first came in?”
A slow grin spread his lips. “They looked so shocked to see me. I just asked them not to tell anyone I was pregnant until I told the mother.”
Yup, that would do it. “I should be back around the same time as Chloe. Then we can all go to my house, maybe? Tell her there?”
“We could tell her here.”
She studied him. Despite his seeming casualness, his hands were gripping and re-gripping the edge of her desk. Was he nervous? Funny, she’d always thought he was immune to that feeling.
“All right,” she said as evenly as possible, determined not to be concerned that anyone still in the office would hear. People were going to find out soon enough, anyway. If anyone overheard anything, well…that was life in Rancho Del Cielo. Chloe had no intentions of keeping her father a secret and, given the energy coming off Raul, neither did he. She nodded and left, the smallest part of her mind starting to worry where that left her.
She went through her final appointments by rote. Making notes, asking questions, even displeasing her patients by telling them there was no sign that delivery was imminent. In the back of her mind, though, the worry continued to grow.
Chloe loved her, of that there was no question, but they’d always been so different. Chloe was strong-willed, for one. Athletic. Aggressive, not to put too fine a point on it. All parts of herself that Penelope hadn’t been able to really relate to, parts that were becoming dominant in her personality. All parts of Raul. Would Chloe turn to him now, when she had needs or questions? Would she go to him and his family, searching for a warmth Penelope had never been able to provide?
Did her selfishness with her child mean she’d get in the way of that?
Penelope liked that question the least.
Just when she was sure she was breaking out in a sweat, she heard the bell over the front door and familiar clomping footsteps. “Hey, Cara, Mom around?”
“She said to go right into the office,” Cara replied breezily.
Penelope waited in the hall between the patient rooms, a smile pasted to her lips. Chloe spotted her right away and, to Penelope’s relief, she looked happy. She wasn’t even dirty. Her sweater was tied in a knot around her waist, though, something Lorna would have grumbled about. Penelope didn’t care. She met her daughter halfway, putting an arm around her shoulder and steering her to the office door.
“The coolest thing happened in my math class today. We had a logithon. And I won!” Chloe hefted her beaten green backpack on her shoulder. “I figured out the most logic problems and won a certificate for free pizza, how cool is that?”
“That’s great,” Pen said through numb lips as she turned the knob and opened the door.
This is good for Chloe. Pain wrenched her heart when Chloe stopped in her tracks at the sight of Raul sitting behind the desk.
Raul caught her daughter’s gaze and unfurled the slow smile Penelope had seen a million times in her unwilling dreams. Under her hand, Chloe drew in a breath that felt too big for her lungs. “Whoa.”
Sharing her doesn’t mean losing her. Penelope pulled her composure tight around herself.
“Does this mean what I think it means?” Chloe looked up at her and Pen’s throat strangled.
Say the right words. Say the right words. Say the right words.
“Raul’s your father.” They both looked over to where Raul was rising to his feet. He came around the desk, then his smile faltered and his gaze shot to Penelope’s, as if he didn’t know what to do next. She could have laughed or choked or cried or all three, really, because she didn’t have the first clue either.
Chloe, as usual, had all the answers.
She slipped out from under Penelope’s hand and threw herself at him with complete abandon, arms tight around his waist. Raul almost didn’t get his footing in time, but at the last second he managed the impact and righted them both. A soft chuckle and he cupped his hand around the back of his daughter’s head and relaxed into her embrace.
“I’m happy, too, kid.” He was, Penelope realized, eyes stinging. He smiled down at Chloe, giving her back a gentle pat. No awkwardness at all. Some relief, even. After
all she’d done to get him, had he thought Chloe would be anything but happy? “I have something for you.”
Chloe pulled away. “I get a present?”
“Actually, it’s a little different than a present. It’s…tradition.”
Chloe frowned. Penelope found herself drawn a little further into the room while Raul dropped down to one knee and pulled something from his jacket pocket. A box, no bigger than a matchbox.
“In my family, my dad has always said that if it weren’t for all the saints in heaven, we’d have all driven him crazy.” He gave the two of them a little half smile. “It sounds better in Spanish.”
“No, it makes sense in English,” Pen interjected, taking another step closer to see.
Raul opened the box delicately, pulling the lid with his thumbnail. “Well, when we were born, he gave us all saint medals, to protect us. And when each of us had kids of our own, he gave one to them, too. For the firstborn.” He poured something out of the box, something silvery and fine. “As soon as I told him about you, he gave this to me. So you’d know that you belong.”
Chloe reached out to touch the thin, dime-sized medal, then yanked her hand back as if it would burn. “Is it bad that I’m not Catholic?”
“You’re not?” Raul lifted both his brows, as if surprised that anyone wasn’t.
Penelope raised her hand briefly and waved. “Protestant.”
His fleeting frown gave way to the shrug he answered everything with. “We just won’t tell your grandmother.”
Penelope pursed her lips, fairly sure Chloe’s religious affiliations were not of the least concern to Ophelia Montenga. Too late, she realized Raul caught the expression, but she didn’t answer the question in his gaze. “Are you going to put it on?”
“Can I?”
Pen tried not to be bothered that Chloe asked Raul.
He opened the tiny lock and held the open ends out to her. Chloe stepped into the silver circle, touching the coin reverently. Raul clicked the pieces together under her braid, pulling his hands free with a sigh. As if seeing his medal on her daughter satisfied something in him.
