She stood and remained close to him. "Yes, and please let's not argue."
He ran his fingertips down her cheek in a gentle caress. "Some things are worth arguing over."
"True, but this isn't one of them. Have you found anything useful?"
He regarded her with a sad smile, as though she were missing his whole point. "Yes, I thought I was observant, but Augustin could read the ring without missing a single detail while still keeping his focus on the bull. Death should take the bull by surprise. Augustin knew how to keep the bull from surprising him. Thank you for finding these. There's much more advice in them than what Miguel taught me."
She wondered if Santos would find the journals equally helpful or if he already knew everything their grandfather had to teach. "I want to look at another album. Do you need anything?"
"No, I'm fine, and I'm staying out here to keep your brother safe."
He might be doing as she'd asked, but a steely defiance ran through him head to toe, and she'd been the fool to think she could rein it in. She found Santos seated at the desk with his boot heels resting on the corner.
He grinned at her. "Did you notice I didn't ask Rafael if he could read?"
"Am I supposed to be grateful? You're too handsome a man to lose your front teeth."
"I'm not worried, but I didn't want to make you angry. You're awfully cute when you are, but I'm restraining myself."
"Thank you, whatever the reason."
She replaced the album and took out the next one. It was heavier than the first, and she hoped it held more clues to the family. "Tell me something, Santos, did you erase the video because Rafael looked too good?"
He pulled his feet off the desk, and his boots hit the floor with a loud thump. "Don't kid yourself, he's not that good. He's got balls, I'll give him that, but his technique is rough, not as polished as it should be. He can pass for a matador as he struts into an arena wearing a suit of lights, but he can't prove it once he's there. If they loved him in Mexico, it's because the people there couldn't see the difference."
"And you're a man with brilliant technique?"
"Our father had it, and Augustin too. I'm nearly there. Mondragon will never achieve it."
She didn't care how sloppy Rafael's technique might be. She just wanted him to stay alive. "Augustin was supposedly working on a memoir. Have you ever heard anything about it, or know where it might be?"
"I stayed out of his way. He could have been knitting Christmas stockings, and I wouldn't have known. What does Mrs. Lujan say?"
"She thought it was in the tin box. I'm afraid Carmen might have burned it."
He nodded. "We'll have to ask her about it just to see her squirm." He raised his voice to a rasping soprano: "A memoir? Why no, I know nothing about it."
Maggie laughed with him and went back outside to sit with Rafael. "I'm hoping to have better luck with this album."
"At least you know they're family. I don't have any pictures of anyone, not even my sister."
It was made as an offhand comment, but, touched, Maggie reached for his hand. He moved with such pride and confidence, but for an instant he'd let his fa?ade slip, and she'd glimpsed the pain underneath. He'd reject any word of sympathy, so she offered something far better. "I keep thinking about dessert."
"Let me carry that album upstairs for you."
"Would you please?"
They walked up the stairs with the quiet steps they'd use to sneak past a sentry and carefully closed the door to Maggie's room and locked it. Rafael set the album on the dresser and laid Augustin's journal on top. Before he could turn around, Maggie wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him tight.
"I swear you're as solid as a tree," she exclaimed.
"Is that comforting?"
"Yes, it is." She released him and stepped back. As he turned toward her, the sunlight streaming through the window turned his deep tan gold. She licked her lips as he unbuttoned his shirt and laid it over the chair. She pulled her knit top over her head, and he stepped close to unhook her bra. All his gestures had an easy grace, and she doubted Santos's assessment of his skill in a bullring could be accurate when there was nothing rough or clumsy about him. She kicked