accompanied by wives and children.
Now, there was a nightmare.
CHAPTER FIVE
“SO, LITTLE ONES,” Lia said. The day was so nice she’d brought Julia and Arturo outside, where they sat on the lawn at the edge of dappled shade. After wondering stares, Julia had become fascinated by the grass and now had her plump fingers knotted in it. “Do you miss your mama? I think you’ll see her soon. Arturo, don’t pull your sister’s hair.”
“You’re speaking Spanish to them.” Conall sounded thoughtful.
Lia jumped and swiveled on her butt to glare at him. “Don’t sneak up on us.”
“I’m a special agent,” he said in apparent amusement. “That’s what we do. Didn’t you know that?”
“You’d better tell Jeff. I can always hear him coming.”
“Heavy feet.” He shook his head in disapproval. “I’d better report him.”
She puffed out a breath. Her heartbeat was settling into something approaching a normal rhythm. Not quite normal; it wouldn’t while he was standing there, she was afraid, looking unbelievably sexy and relaxed, that smile lingering around his mouth even as he watched her. His jeans were well-worn, cupping his— No, she would not notice that part of his body. A faded T-shirt clung to powerful muscles. His feet were bare. Was he unarmed? She’d caught glimpses a couple of times of a shoulder holster beneath a loose denim or twill shirt. But surely he didn’t always carry a gun.
“Aren’t you supposed to be spying?” she asked. “Or sleeping?”
“I just woke up. Made myself a sandwich and saw you out here.”
“Oh.” Brilliant. “Did you say hi to Walker and Brendan?”
“I suggested they come out, too.”
Fat chance of that. She nodded.
“You’re fluent,” he observed.
“You mean in Spanish?”
“Yes.”
Lia shrugged. “You can’t tell I’m Hispanic? My mother’s Mexican. She came up here illegally, worked as a maid until she met my father who married her.” She winced inwardly at her tone of defiance. She should have told the story casually. She’d meant to. Lia didn’t kid herself that Conall hadn’t had her investigated, if that Agent Phillips hadn’t already done it. She needed to appear open. Nothing wrong here, nope.
“I thought you might be,” he said slowly. “I I heard you singing a lullaby in Spanish last night.” He began to sing softly in a deep, lazy baritone. “Buenos dias, buenos dias, como estan? Como estan? Estamos muy contentos, estamos muy contentos, din don dan, din don dan.”
Julia and Arturo gazed at him, rapt. Goosebumps had risen on Lia’s arms.
“Very nice,” she said. “You speak Spanish?” Dumb thing to say; his accent was as authentic as hers.
“Sí.” He smiled and sat down, grinning at Arturo. He pointed toward the pasture. “El caballo.”
The little boy bounced.
Conall pointed the other direction, toward the grazing cows. “La vaca.”
“La vaca,” Arturo agreed intelligibly.
“I didn’t think to ask whether they spoke English or Spanish at home,” Lia said. “When Arturo was so quiet, it finally occurred to me he probably speaks Spanish.”
“Insofar as a kid this age speaks anything.”
Indignantly, she said, “He’s got a good vocabulary for his age.” She touched a finger to her nose and asked in Spanish, “What’s this, Arturo?”
“Nariz,” he shouted.
His sister giggled in delight.
Lia sang “Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes” in Spanish and soon had Arturo touching the parts of his body with her. Julia clapped her hands and vocalized.
“I know how to sing that,” Walker said. “’Cept not in Spanish. That’s Spanish, isn’t it?”
Startled again, Lia turned her head to see that both boys had approached unheard. They looked pinched and pale as if they hadn’t seen sunlight in months, but they’d come outside willingly.
She willed her smile not to tremble. “Yes, I finally figured out that Arturo understands Spanish and not English.” Actually, she’d gotten caught speaking it to him, which wasn’t quite the same thing.
Please, Mateo, come and get these children.
“How come?” Walker asked.
“There are quite a few people in this country who speak a different language,” she said. “America is made up of immigrants, you know. Everyone is descended from grandparents or great-grandparents or great-great-grandparents who came from somewhere else. Everyone except the native Americans who lived here first.”
The boy nodded. “Mom said that our father’s grandparents came from Poland. Only…” Uncertainty entered his voice. “I think they went back.”
She nodded matter-of-factly. “Adjusting to a place where everyone speaks a different language and eats unfamiliar food and thinks differently would be hard, wouldn’t it?” She knew; oh, she did.
Both boys nodded.
“Why don’t you sit down?” Conall suggested.
They looked at each other in silent communication, then dropped to the grass