never liked it here. Fortunately, the Aragons have always owned other houses. Maybe she is content elsewhere."
His two young helpers came in the back door and greeted her politely, but their arrival ended Maggie's hopes to learn more. She went back to the den for the album and carried it out on the front porch. Soon lost in thought, she left it unopened on her lap. She was surprised when Fox was the first one to join her. "You're up awfully early. How did you sleep?" she asked.
"I didn't. Santos and Ana are in the room next to mine. She kept threatening to leave, and he should have let her go."
"Let's not gossip about them."
"It's not gossip if I say they made too much noise for me to sleep. That's a statement of fact." He sat down, leaned back and yawned loudly.
"When you get older, you'll find it becomes easier to be generous with your opinions. It may come as something of a shock."
"My mother used to remind me to be polite. Miguel doesn't hear anything I say, so it doesn't matter. Santos is cool, though."
She already knew Miguel wasn't the most attentive of fathers. "Don't they have rules at your school?"
"Too many to learn," he complained. He settled into his chair and closed his eyes.
She didn't pester him with any more questions. Perhaps an attempt to delve deeply into her relatives' lives was foolish. Craig would say she was impossible to know, so how could she take it upon herself to pry into anyone else's life? She thought of Augustin's admonition, to stand in the center of your life. Maybe that was what they were all doing, being their own selfish selves within a cautious circle to exclude everyone else.
She opened the album and turned the pages slowly. Some of the names were still legible, and there were frequent photos taken there at the ranch. Many featured women on horseback, while their men stood beside them holding the reins. Their faces were shaded by their broad-brimmed hats, but they were all smiling as though they lived an idyllic life.
Then a large photograph of a matador appeared. Miguel had said his father and grandfather had been matadors, so the man had to be her great-grandfather rather than Augustin. He was handsome, like all the men in her family, with a wicked grin. There were several pages of him with his wife and son, Augustin, and then a newspaper photograph she quickly discovered was part of an obituary. His name had been Juan Diego Aragon, and he'd been only thirty-six when he'd died in the bullring in Madrid.
Stunned, she slammed the album shut, and Fox opened one eye. "What?"
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you." She was relieved when he went back to sleep. It was no wonder Augustin had been such a cold, taciturn man when he'd probably witnessed his father's violent death. How could he have gone on to become a matador? Had it been expected of him, or had he done it to restore the splendor of the Aragon name? Apparently he'd retired earlier than most men, but she was surprised he'd entered a bullring at all.
Ana came outside carrying the video camera. "Just sit still and give me a minute to practice."
Fox sat up, suddenly fully alert. Maggie looked away. Ana was amazingly limber and coiled herself around a porch post to steady the camera. "If I brace myself on the top rail of the ring, I should be able to get footage that doesn't look as though it was taken at sea."
Fox left with her while Maggie had to swallow hard not to get sick. Would Rafael expect his son to follow him into a bullring? When he came out on the porch, she was still too shaken to look up at him.
"I know you don't want to watch, but this won't take long and we'll go."
She managed a distracted nod, and he walked around the house to the ring, carrying his folded cape. She went into the house to replace the album on its shelf in the den and feeling lost, went for a walk down the road toward the highway. There had to be moments, the first time she'd seen her father's photograph, that would remain with her forever. This was another one, when she'd realized exactly where her relationship with Rafael Mondragon might lead. To make matters worse, any son they had would have the Aragon tradition in the bullring as well