what do you think of him?"
"That's too long a story to begin now, but I wanted you to know he'd been ill and died this afternoon."
"He died?"
"Yes. I'm sorry I didn't take any photos with him. I should have some to send to you. He was as handsome as when you'd known him and just as charming."
Her mother was silent a long moment. "Then I'm glad you met him."
"Yes, so am I. I'll talk to you again in a day or two. I love you, Mom."
"I love you more."
"Is Dad there?" She hunted for the right words while her mother called him.
"Maggie! How are you?"
"I'm fine, Dad. I wanted to tell you how sorry I am I didn't appreciate you more while I was growing up. You were such a good father to me, and I never thanked you."
"That's very sweet, but you needn't thank me for loving you. What did you tell your mother? She's sitting here crying."
"My father died."
"Oh, I understand, then. I better go."
"Good-bye, Dad."
Maggie ended the call and looked over at Rafael. "My mother's crying, which has to be awkward for my stepfather."
"So she's not as stoic as you thought. What if I'd died?"
"Stop it! I won't go there." She folded her arms across her chest and wished she'd gone to a hotel where she could crawl under the bed and scream until she grew hoarse.
"Because it would make you too sad?" He came back into the living room and again sat on the coffee table.
Unshed tears burned her eyes. "Yes. What is it you want me to say?"
He flashed a hint of a smile. "That you love me."
The teasing light in his eyes eased her suspicions as to his motives, but this wasn't the time for tender exchanges. "I've known you only a week."
"A week and one day," he corrected. "It's enough time for me. But here in Spain, we yell and cry and fall in love without counting the days."
She scooped the apple off the table, and he leaned in to take another bite. "It was so easy for Adam and Eve," she murmured. "There was no one else around."
"When we went dancing, do you remember the man I told you wanted to borrow money from me?"
"Yes."
"He didn't. He wanted to meet you, and I told him no."
She nodded. "Fortunately, we're a long way from my friends, who I wouldn't introduce to you either."
He gave her a light, teasing kiss. "Are you hungry?"
"No, this apple is enough. I feel sick clear through." She snuggled against him. It felt good to cuddle close, but the scene in her father's bedroom spun through her mind in a continuous loop. She'd seen right into his soul when she guessed what he'd intended for Rafael. Whether it had been only a wish or a carefully structured plot she might never know, but it was a story she'd carry with her to the grave.
An overwhelming sense of loss washed through her. It was more for the father she'd once dreamed Miguel to be rather than for the man she'd recently gotten to know. She closed her eyes to offer a silent prayer of thanks that Rafael and Santos had survived the day. She couldn't bear years of the awful strain the corrida had caused her today, nor could she pretend she didn't love them.
If they hadn't met last week on the stairs, Rafael might not have asked her to dance that night. They might have seen each other when he visited her father, perhaps exchanged a distracted nod without ever speaking a word. They'd have both been at the ranch, though, and perhaps would have gotten to know each other there. But if she hadn't known him as well as she did, she might have only watched a bit of Santos's first fight and left her father's room without asking what his plans truly were for Rafael. He'd probably still be alive, and she'd be making her plans to fly home.
"Rafael? You usually visited with my father in the morning, but the first time I saw you, you'd come to his house in the afternoon. Why?"
He stretched his legs. "I'd gone to pick up my black suit. The tailor is open only in the morning on Saturday. I tried it on to make certain it fit well, and when we finished, he began reminiscing about all the men who'd ordered suits from him. A matador will go through five or six trajes de luces in a season, and he