have loved to have found out what had happened to her. She hoped Simone had gotten over Augustin and been happily wed to a man her father had approved enthusiastically.
Too sad herself to dwell on Augustin and Carmen's marriage, she put the letters and poems into their own pocket in the file and got up to gather the yellow sheets. A quick review of them revealed plans for the ranch and thoughts on raising profits. There were party guest lists, menus with comments on the most popular foods. The notebooks devoted to bullfighting had documented each fight in minute detail, the letters to Simone had overflowed with emotion, and the faded yellow sheets described life on the ranch with a cool detachment. Maybe all of Augustin's thoughts of his family were in the photo albums rather than words. She hoped Carmen had been loved as a bride and new mother, but there was no evidence of her husband's devotion here. Maggie replaced everything in the folder and secured it with the elastic band. Cirilda had been right; there were things in it she didn't need to know.
She found the books dedicated to her father's career in the bookcase. Miguel was handsome in all the photographs, in the bullring or in casual poses in street clothes. One had been written at the same time as the documentary she'd seen. He was shown with Vida and their two young children. She scanned the book looking for her own name or Santos's, but they weren't mentioned.
She searched through the others, and while she found two that included the fact Miguel had attended the University of Arizona, that he'd been married while a student wasn't disclosed. She wondered if anyone outside his family had known he'd wed an American girl and fathered a daughter. Had he ever told anyone? Was it simply easier not to mention Santos and her than answer questions about their mothers?
Anita Lujan had known about her, but the ranch was home to the Aragon family, and perhaps secrecy wasn't necessary there. Except, of course, for the secrets Augustin kept from Carmen. None of the books Santos owned described Miguel's private life in any detail. They were only photo albums of a dashing matador with an occasional nod to his current family. Santos was now recognized as his son, but her brother might have been the one to brag about their connection.
While she'd just met her father, it bothered her so few people had known she existed. Now that she'd made the tabloids, a reporter might search for the details of her background and link Miguel to the brief marriage that had produced her. She'd never felt as though her father loved her, and Santos had a whole bookshelf to prove it. It didn't matter what anyone discovered about her now. Her father was gone, and it was too late.
It was already dark outside when Rafael and Santos returned. Santos hobbled in on crutches. "I hope you're satisfied," he told her. "That was one of the worst ordeals of my life."
Maggie slid the last of the books she'd read into the bookcase. "In what way?"
Santos fell onto the couch. He dropped his crutches to the floor. "Getting there with Rafael for a start."
Fox joined them and picked up the crutches to try them, but he wasn't tall enough to use a set intended for Santos. He leaned them against the wall. "Did they give you any good painkillers?"
"Yes, and no, you can't share them."
"I hope that was meant as a joke, but it wasn't funny," Maggie added.
Fox stepped back. "Sorry. The twins should be back. I'll call a cab if you don't want to drive me home."
"I don't think we should leave Santos all alone," Maggie stressed.
Santos regarded Rafael with a wicked grin. "She's worried about me. Isn't that sweet?"
Maggie watched the dark glances passing between the men and quickly made her choice. "If you don't want to call Ana, why don't you call one of the other women you know for company? Do you mind taking Fox home, Rafael? I'd like to see the twins too."
Rafael reached for her hand. "I'll be happy to take you anywhere you'd like to go."
She grabbed her purse, and Fox followed them out the door. "What happened at the hospital?" she asked.
"He didn't need me to hold his hand, so I don't know. They probably cleaned out the wound, stapled it closed and gave him antibiotics. You were right to insist that he go."