The North Face of the Heart - Dolores Redondo Page 0,179

relaxed posture she liked so much. Alert, completely erect, his pointed ears and his eyes focused in front of them. Ipar wasn’t afraid of anything.

The girl wiped away the raindrops caught in her lashes. She walked toward the house.

There were many more cars than she’d thought when she first caught sight of it from the slope above. They must have had many guests. Large, shiny SUVs were beaded with rain. Amaia stopped in front of one, trying to recall what had made her feel so apprehensive. A sudden wave of dizziness washed over her. The world tilted. She leaned against the car to keep from falling.

Another powerful whistle split the air and made her jump. Again, it had come from behind her. She spun about so suddenly that she almost blacked out. She had to grab both Ipar and the handle of the car door to keep from tipping over.

No one was there.

Trembling all over, she secured her grip on her dog and lumbered painfully toward the front of the house.

The stout wooden door was smooth and unadorned. There was no knocker. An overhead light illuminated the entryway. The door was flanked by large earthenware pots holding elegant little trees with reddish leaves. Closely spaced stone slabs provided a path across the neatly cut lawn. Amaia got to the door, found a doorbell, and released Ipar so she could ring it. Suddenly uncertain, she realized she didn’t know how to present herself. What do you say when you appear at someone’s door after you’ve been lost in the woods?

She didn’t have time to think. The door flew open. She took three or four steps back. A shaft of warm yellow light threw a perfect triangle on the ground.

A young man looked out at her. He wore dark trousers and a white shirt with rolled-up sleeves. The golden light from the hall reflected in his long chestnut-colored hair. He pushed it out of his eyes with his left hand. He didn’t seem at all surprised to see her. He smiled warmly, sensually, waiting for her to speak.

“I got lost,” she stammered hoarsely, increasingly intimidated. Her fever was rising, and her nausea was intensifying, but she had to explain. “I need to telephone my aunt.”

The smile became even warmer. “What’s your name?”

Many years later, Amaia would learn this was a pick-up line, a question that was much more than a mere inquiry. It was the opening gambit of a subtle power game.

“Amaia Salazar Iturzueta,” she recited. She heard herself sounding like a talking parrot and felt ridiculous. Her cheeks quivered. She sighed, closed her eyes, and tried to calm down.

“Amaia,” he repeated, savoring the sounds.

Amaia was only twelve. She liked boys. She’d been attracted to two or three in her short lifetime, but she’d never experienced the sensuality, the tingling, or the accelerating heartbeat this man provoked in her merely by echoing her name. She involuntarily raised a hand to smooth her hair. It was wet, cold, rough, and tangled. She found herself wondering what her clothing looked like, which was a really odd thought at such a moment, but she didn’t dare take her eyes off that smile. His lips were thick but masculine. He had perfect white teeth; his eyes might have been brown or green or—no—blue! And something in his serene, worldly attitude held her spellbound.

Suddenly she knew what was odd: he hadn’t been surprised. He was acting as if it were perfectly normal for a little girl to appear at his front door late at night, soaking wet, feverish, hurting, and bruised. What he said next convinced her that he’d been expecting her somehow, that he’d been waiting forever for her.

“I didn’t think you’d look like this!” he exclaimed in delight.

Amaia shrugged, disconcerted, as a deep fatigue settled over her. She didn’t understand any of this. Was he supposed to know her? Had he imagined her somehow? Her fever kept her from thinking straight.

Ipar snarled and barked loud and hoarse in full-throated warning. His sudden change confused her even more.

A faraway lightning bolt backlit the mountain crags’ stark profile against the sky.

“Would you like to come inside?” the man asked, still with that inviting smile.

Ipar was furious. Amaia broke eye contact with the man to look at her dog. Ipar crouched in attack position at her side. His soaked fur was plastered down like a sheepskin, and the hair of his ruff stood up where she’d been clutching him. His head tilted and his distrusting eyes were fixed