“I understand.” No dignity had come harder. “I’ll wait for you here.”
He raised her hand, dirty, scratched and cold, to his lips and kissed her scraped knuckles.
When he disappeared, she dressed in her still damp clothes, gathered what she could of her belongings, kept the fire going at a low, steady burn. And waited.
A corner of her mind knew she should question if he would return, but she never did.
When he returned–she didn’t know after how long–she stood outside the fire’s light in case the footsteps belonged to someone other than Paulo. She could see his face a moment before he saw her, could see his fear for her.
“Paulo.”
She dropped the wood, and stepped into his arms. He wrapped her tightly to him, and kissed her temple, her cheekbone, then her mouth. Their tongues delved in the rhythm their bodies ached to follow. But they broke apart.
“I know,” she said. “There’s no time.”
He took her hand and led her into predawn darkness of a day that promised clear skies over the storm-devastated island. They slipped through ruined streets, following twists and alleys, ducking into a deserted building and out of an empty doorway to a courtyard that spilled into another alley, over barricades formed of broken dressers, battered bicycles, shredded roofs, always edging higher.
Finally, Paulo drew her in front of him as a darker mass rose out of shadows. Only when he reached over her shoulder and she heard a staccato knock on wood did she realize he’d brought her to a gate. The wooden surface opened, she blinked into the brightness of battery-operated lights and knew they’d reached the U.S. consulate.
“Ms. Jenner! What a relief to see you!” She blinked fast, trying to adjust to the light, and recognized a female consulate employee. “Are you all right? We were so worried–”
“I’m fine. Thanks to Paulo.”
“Paulo? Who’s Paulo?”
She turned, but Paulo Ayudor was nowhere to be found.
*
Nowhere to be found until he arrived at her front door in Far Hills, Wyoming, three years later.
“Paulo?” Ellyn and Marti echoed the name, then moved closer to Kendra, closing ranks.
She reached out, needing to touch him. Below the rolled back sleeve of his shirt, his forearm was warm and firm, the hair crisp beneath her fingertips. Real. He was real.
“You’re alive. You’re really alive. . . . Oh, God.” She put her hand to her mouth, but a sob still escaped.
He reached to her, wrapping his large, warm hands around her upper arms, his eyes looking directly into hers. “It’s okay, Kendra. Everything’s going to be okay.”
“But . . . but Paulo Ayudor doesn’t exist.”
“I’ve used that name, and others. But I’m Daniel Delligatti.”
She stepped back abruptly, breaking the connection. His hands dropped to his side.
“What are you doing here?”
“I came for you–and our son.”
CHAPTER THREE
“You . . . you know . . .”
The death of a fragile hope staggered Kendra. How many times in the lonely, uncertain nights had she pitted her common sense, her realism against the stubborn, foolish hope that if he was alive and knew she’d had their son he would have found her somehow? But the hope had persisted. Until this moment, when his own words revealed he had known, and he hadn’t come.
She sank back to support her hips against the top of the couch’s back. Ellyn took her arm, but Marti turned on her heel and headed for the kitchen.
The man remained standing before her, hands loosely fisted at his side, eyes intent on her, expression solemn.
“Now I do. I didn’t for a long time. I couldn’t look for you. Not until recently. And then–you weren’t easy to find. The network wouldn’t tell me anything. Official channels weren’t much help, not even the consulate. But I heard you were pregnant when you left. Eventually I found out you’d had a son–and when he was born.”
The heat of his dark eyes threatened to kindle memories from nine months before Matthew’s birth. She doused them by an act of will.
His shoulders shifted as if he’d wanted to take a step toward her, then thought better of it. “I knew . . . I’m his father, aren’t I, Kendra?”
But her mind had snagged on one phrase. One phrase clicked a thousand shards of memory into a mosaic that made sense for the first time.
“The . . . consulate . . .” She had to form the word twice to get it to come out. “My God, you were there. That day. The day of the hurricane, before I went to La Baja. Before I found the guide. Before . . . You tried to talk me out of going. Tried to send me to the airport with the others. The baggy suit. The hair. And the bad posture . . . Tompkins.”
“Yes.”
“That was you. And afterward, after the hurricane, you’re the one I talked to–the one I talked to when I called to try to find–that’s why the voice nagged at me. It seemed so familiar, but . . . My God, I talked to you when I called the consulate asking for help finding Paulo. How’s that for irony?” The strangled sound from her throat could hardly be called laughter “When you – Paulo–had walked away from me, from us.” Her hands spread over her abdomen, an instinctive gesture to protect the child she’d carried from his father’s desertion. “You must have had a good laugh over that.”
“You know I didn’t.”
“I know? How can I? I know nothing about you!”
Memories streamed through her mind now, driven by a different kind of hurricane. Altered by the storm of her emotions. Shock. Relief. Joy. Pain.
She’d known Paulo, the Paulo she’d known and made love with, didn’t truly exist. She’d accepted that . . . hadn’t she? But to be faced now with how badly, completely and thoroughly she’d been deceived–
“Kendra, let me explain.”
“I don’t think you can.”
“I couldn’t tell you before. I’m still not . . . They wanted absolute secrecy, but I never agreed.”
“Secrecy? Having secrets seems to be your strong suit.”
“Kendra–”
“I’m glad you survived–or Paulo did–or the man from the consulate or whoever the hell you really are. But I don’t . . .” She put a hand to her forehead, as if that would slow the spinning thoughts. Then she forced herself to straighten. “I don’t know that I have anything to say to Daniel Delligatti.”
“Then listen. Because I have things to say to you.” Now he took that single step forward. She stiffened, and felt Ellyn’s supporting hand tighten on her arm. “And things to ask.”
“I don’t–”
“The boy–Matthew, that’s what you named him, right?–he’s my son, isn’t he, Kendra?”
Matthew.
A new fear roared into her head. She’d worried and mourned for so long that his father wasn’t part of Matthew’s life that she’d never considered this other possibility. How stupid of her. How careless and unthinking.
He’d said he’d tracked them down, once he knew he had a son.
“Kendra.”
He said it the way he had during those hours of the hurricane, stretching and rolling it like a caress. Her eyes met his for the first time without darting away. Did she see something of Paulo Ayudor in them? More likely a reflection of her own pathetic hopes.
She shook her head, mostly at herself, but he responded to it.
“I want to know my son. I want to be in his life. I need . . .” Something flickered in the darkness of his eyes, something more complex than anything she’d seen there in those hours on Santa Estella. “I would never try to separate you. I would never do anything to keep my son from being with his mother. I swear to you.”
“Because I was fool enough to have trusted you before doesn’t mean I would trust you–”
“You weren’t a fool.”
“Right. To trust a total stranger?” she scoffed. “It was idiotic. I know better–I knew better. My God, someone I’d never met, didn’t kno
w.”
“You knew me, Kendra.” His voice was deep, sure.
“Knew you? Of course I didn’t know you.”
His certainty didn’t waver. “You knew me. And I knew you. The real people.”
“That’s absurd. A tall tale, like Paulo Ayudor. It’s a–”
She hadn’t heard the back door open, but the rap of boot heels on the kitchen floor caught her attention. Boot heels in a hurry.
Luke Chandler, foreman of Far Hills Ranch, rounded the corner.
“Everything okay, Kendra? Marti thought you might want some help.” He spoke to her, but pinned a warning glare from under the brim of his hat on Daniel Delligatti. Luke planted himself beside her, half a step in front, so his left shoulder provided a partial barrier between her and Daniel.
But she could see enough to know the two men were exchanging a long stare. And to sense something in Daniel.
Relief? Was that what he felt? A sense that if Luke did take a swing at him he’d know how to deal with it. And it would be an escape from the talking, from trying to explain . . .
“It’s okay, Luke,” Ellyn offered when Kendra didn’t answer.
Luke broke off the stare-down to shoot a look at Kendra.
She nodded, agreeing with Ellyn’s assessment.
Maybe getting rid of this man as fast as possible wasn’t the best response. She deserved an explanation. If that made him uncomfortable, too bad. She’d get the explanation. Then she’d send him on his way.
She hadn’t yet sorted out words to express this new determination when Marti came around the corner.
“He’s still here.” The older woman looked from Daniel to Kendra. “Luke can make him leave.”
“Marti, I don’t think Kendra wants . . .” Conflicting doubts crowded into Ellyn’s voice, “I mean, they have a lot to talk over.”
“Not unless Kendra wants to talk to him.” Marti’s flat statement rang with unqualified support.
Four pairs of eyes came to Kendra.
Luke broke the silence. “Kendra, you want this guy outta here?”
She didn’t doubt Luke would try–and try his damnedest–to remove Daniel Delligatti from her house, from Far Hills and from her life if that’s what she said she wanted. Would he succeed? She didn’t know. Did she want him to? That was even murkier.
She looked at the man who’d returned so unexpectedly to her life, and knew–with the same certainty she’d felt in the aftermath of a hurricane that Paulo Ayudor would return and lead her to safety–if she said she wanted him to leave now, he would go.
But he’d be back.
And he’d keep coming back.
She released a breath so deep she might have been holding it for three years.
“No. No, thank you, Luke. It’s okay. Ellyn’s right. We . . . we need to talk.” She glanced at each of her friends. “Alone. I’m sorry about our meeting on the special section. We can reschedule–”
“Don’t worry about that.” Ellyn gave her a quick hug. “Give me a call when you can.”
“Kendra, are you sure . . .” Marti’s frown shifted from her to Daniel and back. “As long as Emily’s asleep, I might as well stay.”
“No, Marti. If you don’t want to wake Emily, I’ll bring her up later.”
Still the older woman didn’t budge.
“I’ll get Emily,” Luke volunteered.
“Second door on the left,” Kendra told him.
“Are you sure–”
“I’m sure, Marti.”
“C’mon, Marti,” urged Ellyn. “Let’s get our stuff from the kitchen. About tonight, Kendra, if you don’t think you’ll make the meeting for the babysitting cooperative–”
“No, no I’m still going.”
“Okay, then come by at seven, so we can settle the kids. See you then.” Ellyn left after a quick, reassuring smile at Kendra.
Marti hesitated before she gripped Kendra’s arm. “I wish I hadn’t agreed to have dinner with Fran before the meeting . . . but I’ll see you there. In the meantime, call if you need anything.”
“I will. Thank you.”
With a final hard look toward Daniel, she followed Ellyn. Luke emerged from the hallway carrying the still sleeping Emily snuggled against his broad chest. With a nod toward Kendra, he headed out.
Daniel stared toward the hallway, and Kendra tensed, waiting for him to ask to see Matthew. What would she say? She’d cried silent tears so many nights that Matthew didn’t have a father, knowing the pain that would bring him as he grew older. And, yes, she’d cried worried tears for Paulo Ayudor.
But now Matthew’s father was here, now Paulo stood in front of her alive and well and as another man . . . She could never have anticipated so many emotions churning in her.
Staring blindly at the off-white wall that showed signs of close encounters with grubby toddler hands, Kendra stood stockstill and listened to Ellyn and Marti’s whispered conversation accompanied by the rustlings of them gathering their things. Only the sound of the back door closing released her from her stupor.
She met Daniel’s gaze.
“Would you . . .” She swallowed, licked her lips and started again. “We can sit in the kitchen.”
Before he followed, he paused, as if he might be looking toward the hallway again. She gestured to a chair at the table and continued on to the counter.
“Would you like coffee?”
“Yes, thank you.”
She’d set out sugar earlier, knowing Marti liked her coffee sweet and Ellyn took hers black. But how did he take it? She didn’t have a clue. The father of her son. A man she’d done the most intimate act with–not only making love but creating a life–and she didn’t even know how he took his coffee.
She jerked her shoulders straight, forcing calm into her words. “I don’t have cream. But there’s milk or–”
“Black, thanks.”
She poured two cups and brought them to the table, taking her usual seat, with one chair safely between them.
“I suppose it’s easier that way. Not needing sugar or cream in your coffee, I mean, when you’re on the run.”
His finger stroked slowly across the surface of the cup. His touch had been that light on her skin sometimes, yet she’d felt each contact of his roughened fingers–She dropped her head abruptly, wishing she could discipline her thoughts as well.
“I have never been a criminal, Kendra. Some have called me an outlaw, but I don’t speak well of them, either.” From the corner of her eye, she saw his hands still.
She looked up to find his dark eyes intently focused on her.
“You’re Taumaturgio, aren’t you.”
“Yes.”
She’d suspected. Maybe at some level she’d known from the start. Yet his answer raised a thousand more questions.
But before she could say anything, he added, “I was, anyway. Taumaturgio won’t be helping the Santa Estellanos any more.”
Behind those words lay a bleakness that surprised her almost as much as the surge of sympathy it provoked in her.
“What happened?”
He rubbed his hand across his eyes twice, before dropping it to the table. A flash of memory showed her Paulo Ayudor making the identical gesture.
She pressed the side of her knee against the table leg, hard enough to hurt. She needed that reality. She needed to hold onto it while she tried to absorb that sitting at her kitchen table was a man she’d known so briefly, but so intimately, then dreamt about so often. She knew his gestures and–an unstoppable heat seeped into her–she knew his body. Yet he remained a virtual stranger. No, a total stranger.
That was what she had to remember.
“The chain of command pulled the plug a couple months ago.”
Her reporter’s instincts hummed–the distraction she craved.
“Taumaturgio was an official mission?”
“Not precisely.”
“What precisely then?”
He shook his head, apparently more at himself tha
n her. “When I left Santa Estella, I took a leave of absence from my job in, uh, government. I started looking for you.”
He stared out the window. She’d nurtured grass in the front, but here the yard consisted of bare spots, rocks, sage and the occasional head of cattle that had found openings in the fence. But beyond a windbreak of evergreens, the view to the north and west showed rolling hills rising to ranks of mountains, topped by sky so blue that some days it seemed to vibrate.
He smiled slightly, his teeth white against the sun-deepened tint of his skin. She remembered thinking how good Paulo’s teeth were for an islander. What an idiot she’d been.
“I’d have found you faster if you hadn’t come to such a distant corner. Finally got the address through your college alumni roster.”
“They gave you my address?”
“Not pre–”
“Not precisely,” she finished with him.
“You’d talked about a ranch, about coming to a ranch as a kid, but you were so intent on your career . . . I didn’t expect to find you in Far Hills, Wyoming.”
“I was pregnant. I couldn’t find the father,” she said in stark, unemotional words. “I couldn’t see raising a child alone with my network job–not with the long hours and travel and unpredictable schedule. So I worked as long as I could, then I came here. It’s quiet, I have a share in the ranch and I knew Marti would help out.”
He seemed to absorb the accusation behind her words for a moment before saying, “If I’d known–”
“You did know.” Her sharp voice gave away more than she’d intended. “You knew it all, while I knew nothing. You knew who I was. You knew who you were–and who you weren’t. You even knew I was looking for Paulo Ayudor.”
“If I’d known,” he repeated steadily, “you were pregnant. You should have told me. If I’d known why you wanted to find Paulo when you called the consulate–”
“Told you? I should have told you? I talked to some anonymous bureaucrat named Tompkins whom I’d barely exchanged a half-dozen sentences with when I was on Santa Estella.”
A flicker of something crossed his dark eyes at her accusation, but he didn’t flinch. And he didn’t back down.
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