Читать книгу Where It Began - Kathleen Pickering - Страница 10
ОглавлениеCHAPTER TWO
AGAINST HER DECISION not to heed Del Rio at all, Maria watched his angry stride, infuriated at his rudeness. He had her full attention as he headed into the tropical overhang leading around the villa. His unwillingness to help confounded her. After refusing his attempts at conversation with her all these months, she finally needed him and he was dodging her.
It made no sense.
She’d avoided him most of this past year because a wave of anxiety would hit whenever he came around, rattling her right down to the bone. Then, his soothing, deep voice with its touch of laughter would lull and excite her at the same time. His concerned glances, as if he expected her to ask him a question at any moment, had left her feeling inadequate and foolish.
Recently, however, she’d felt differently. It occurred to her that her subconscious was prodding her. Perhaps Del Rio knew the answers to her questions. Instinct said that he was her ticket to regaining her memory, and every ounce of her being knew this to be true. If only she could calm down enough around him to stop being such a shrew, he might be inclined to help her.
The clang of iron from the side gate heralded his exit. She dropped into the seat across from Elias, aware her father watched her. Perhaps he was reassessing the wisdom of letting her leave. It didn’t matter. She had to make this voyage. Nothing was going to stop her from retracing that trip to Little Harbour—unless Poppa was ill.
“You’re angry with me,” she said.
Elias shook his head, his rheumy brown gaze filled with intention. “No, mi querida. It hurts me to see what is left of our beautiful family quarreling.”
“Del Rio is not family. He acts as if you and I belong hidden away like a couple of loony tunes in an asylum.”
He gave her an indulgent smile. “You simply do not remember, Maria.”
Her breath caught in her throat. Yes. Poppa was right. While a niggling thought teased that she knew Del Rio, he remained an enigma. That his family had been tied to hers for so many years made her wonder why she could remember nothing of this South American.
Yet, something about him disquieted her. Poppa had said Del Rio’s mother was beautiful, his father a lifelong business partner. Elias had laughed, insisting that Del Rio had inherited his Irish father’s renegade looks, while his blue eyes reflected the deep current of his mother’s Chilean soul. Del Rio must have held a strong affection for his mother and her Chilean roots, because he used her last name more often than his surname. The man certainly showed a respect for family that Poppa more than once had openly admired.
Her father could keep his poetic musings to himself.
“I am so tired of not remembering, Poppa.” Her tremulous words surprised her.
Elias turned his wheelchair to face her. With a slow shake of his head he said, “My beautiful Maria. You have been lost in your hideaway upstairs for too long. I am glad you have found strength to seek the answers you want. If it was in my power to accompany you, I would.”
Her chest tightened with love for her father. She stood. “Thank you, Poppa. You know I hate to leave you. I will be back as soon as possible.”
Yes, Del Rio could go to the devil if he did not agree to take her to Little Harbour. It was as simple as that. She pressed her cheek to her father’s, relishing the warmth, inhaling the familiar, soapy smell of his shaving lotion. Familiar scents had been triggers for her memory, and Poppa’s was one of the first to bring her around. “I love you, Poppa. I trust you will ensure your captain cooperates.”
He patted her back. “Have Enrique bring your things to the Honora.”
Ascending her steps to the studio, Maria pushed thoughts of Del Rio away. A commissioned piece needed to be completed before morning. The easel holding a painting half her size stood by the open French doors to capture as much tropical light as possible.
She reclaimed her seat on the wooden stool splattered with various colors of dried paint. Her gaze rested on her current work, which a socialite from her mother’s International Women’s group had asked her to paint. The woman wanted the view from her Islamorada home to be painted like a dream.
Maria usually created only what arose in her imagination, but since this woman had been a friend of Momma’s and offered to pay an outrageous price, Maria had accepted. She had laughed out loud when she saw the photo from which she would work. Living in the Florida Keys was like living a dream. Lately, daydreams came easily to Maria. Anything that promised escape—the slow burst of sunrise, birds flying over the sea, this photo of the view of Florida Bay from her client’s window, all set her paintbrushes in motion. She’d created a technique of blending colors and images that left the viewer mesmerized and contemplative, just as the perfect dream might do. This commission had been simple to create.
Maria still couldn’t believe that complete strangers sought out and paid huge sums for these canvases splayed with the surreal joys, sorrows and regrets of her soul that words could not describe. Heaven knew, even her nightmares made excellent subjects and sold fastest.
She marveled at the encouragement she received from art critics for indulging this exquisite escape from reality. Yet now, only reality stared back from the canvas in the form of Del Rio’s face. He had mocked her when he asked her if she even liked to sail. He knew the answer. She didn’t. And her inability to remember shook her to the core.
It was like being surrounded in complete gloom with no walls, no floor, no sound. No matter how much she reached out, how often she felt for footing, how hard she listened, nothing came. Only darkness. A darkness that spawned nightmares.
She had no memory of the accident; Poppa had told her about it. The only proof was the concussion, cuts and bruises she had sustained. Awakening in a hospital bed and not even knowing her own name had been terrifying. Elias was the one who’d rekindled her memory. By holding her hand and singing songs from her childhood, he had reached her.
Del Rio had been with Elias at the hospital. He had stood behind Poppa to support him. The two men had a bond. She remembered this fact. She also remembered her stunning twin, and their dark, elegant Latina mother, Rosalinda. When Maria and Carmen were young, their mother used to tease that no one could tell the twins apart. Maria remembered Elias saying he would always know the difference.
But what of Del Rio? He remained in her mind like Elias’s shadow. Her father would have to reeducate her about his family, his past. Elias had said Del Rio was like a son to him, but Maria couldn’t even bring herself to speak his first name.
Why?
The man was easy on the eyes. In fact, he was downright handsome. She didn’t like the pull her body felt toward him when he was around. Somehow she’d managed to ignore him. If she kept treating him as an employee, she didn’t have to consider the possibility that he might be more to her family. Because if he was simply the Honora’s alluring captain, then Elias indulged him far more than necessary. And why would this distress her?
Shame tugged at her heart. She knew why, and was loath to admit it. Jealousy. As children, Carmen had been Poppa’s favorite. Maria never quite minded because Carmen was irresistible, always quick to laugh and get into mischief. Maria had always been the “quiet” one of the two, so she was used to handing over the spotlight to her twin. Elias had indulged Carmen and Rosalinda equally because their personalities were so similar.
People used to joke that Carmen and Momma should have been the twins, not Maria and Carmen. The two were inseparable. Maria had felt like a spectator at their party, but she hadn’t minded. Someone had to provide an audience for their antics.
Now, with Carmen gone, Del Rio had taken over that coveted spot in Elias’s attention. If she were totally honest, Maria had been jealous of the love Elias poured on Carmen and their mother. He was always less enthusiastic—perhaps she’d call it softer—toward her. Did a vile part of her now hope that as the remaining child she would take first place in Poppa’s eyes? Did she resent that Del Rio had filled that void instead of her?
Hurt squeezed her heart. Was she that shallow? She released the breath she’d been holding. No. Not shallow. Needy. Her amnesia had driven her into isolation. She felt so very alone in her darkness and had become a recluse. Painting day in and day out. Sometimes sleeping in her clothes.
She’d turned away lunch dates, since most of her friends were Carmen’s and spoke only of her, deepening Maria’s loss. She stopped attending gallery showings. Refused interviews. Her world had narrowed down to Reefside. This art studio. The silly monkeys in the banyans outside her front window. And Poppa.
With diabetes weakening her father each day, she worried that she’d made a hasty decision to leave him. Yet Poppa’s longtime family physician said now was the perfect time to go.
She had to stop second-guessing her decision. It stressed her too much. Inhaling a deep, cleansing breath, she turned her focus on the canvas. By the time she lifted her brush, Poppa, the heart-stopping Daniel Murphy Del Rio and the world outside her balcony had vanished.
SHADOWS FELL ON THE PATIO as the sun climbed into the late-afternoon sky. Daniel took the last step up to Maria’s balcony, enchanted, as always, by the Bohemian feel of her studio.
A chaise lounge scattered with turquoise pillows faced the ocean. Terra-cotta pots overflowing with flowers lined the marble balustrade. Sheer curtains inside the open doors fluttered easily in the onshore breeze, beckoning him to enter.
His eyes rested on the lounge chair and his heart started knocking around his chest. Once upon a time, he and Maria had made good use of that chair on many a summer night. The last time, she had agreed to marry him. It had been a year since he’d been up here. He steeled himself as he stepped across the balcony. Once Maria realized he was present, she would ignore him and it was going to do damage to his already tormented heart.
That’s how it was between them now. That’s why he should be hightailing it to Brisbane.
She sat just inside the doors, her back to him. The clear acrylic palette splashed with colors lay nestled in the crook of her tanned arm as she leaned toward her work. She’d twisted her hair into a knot again, catching it with an extra paintbrush.
The brush in her left hand flitted across the canvas like a lively bird. Her sundress hugged the slender curves of her body—a body now off-limits to him. The soft cotton falling in waves against the chair gave way to a smooth length of shapely leg and bare feet entwined at the ankle. Damn. She even had white paint smeared across the top of her foot.
The scent of linseed oil and paint mingled with the sea air. The subtle incense of her perfume wafted across his senses like needed oxygen. This…this was the Maria he loved. This was the woman who had stolen his heart; not the frightened, angry woman who now inhabited her skin.
He watched a moment longer, unable to resist. Her artwork, vibrant and warm like her voice when she spoke to anyone other than him, lit the canvas like seductive fingers reaching to touch his aching heart. He lounged casually against the doorjamb if only to counteract every straining nerve in his body. Without a doubt, her eyes would flash with annoyance when she finally acknowledged his presence.
He wouldn’t even flinch.
He resisted the urge to laugh out loud at the irony. Maria could not even remember why she avoided him. Nor did she remember she once loved him like a woman on fire.
Damn himself for agreeing. He’d decided to give Elias—and Maria—only three weeks. Would he be able to spend that much time alone with her without shooting off his mouth about what they had meant to each other and ruining everything?
He cleared his throat. “Maria.”
Her paintbrush stopped moving, but she didn’t turn her head. “I’m busy.”
He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans rather than reach for her and demand she look at him.
“We have to talk.”
She slapped the brush down, her concentration lost. “I think not, unless you have a question about tomorrow’s sail.”
Daniel waited until she turned to look at him, the defensiveness in her glance nerve-racking.
“My only question is whether you’re sure this trip is something you want to do.”
She opened her mouth to speak then hesitated. “Dr. Hernandez assures me Poppa is strong. Now is the best time to go.”
“There’s that, of course. I was thinking more along the lines of what you are looking for.”
She tilted her head as if gauging his question. “Like will I fall apart if I don’t remember anything?”
“Or more like, will you be able to hold it together if you do remember?”
With an impatient flick of her wrist, she dabbed the brush in a jar of linseed oil before wiping it with a square of white towel streaked with colors.
“Oh, please. I think you are sidestepping the real question.”
“Which is?”
She appraised him over her shoulder. “Are you reliable enough to take me across the Gulf Stream?”
Oh. Low blow, Maria. A comment like that makes me wonder why I’m even bothering. My Maria was more careful with her words.
Daniel inhaled a huge breath, his mind racing with retorts, but he held them back. He wouldn’t let her get under his skin so fast, especially with that satisfied smirk on her gorgeous lips. “What, exactly, do you mean, Maria?”
Maria shrugged one shoulder, the gesture sexy as hell. “Poppa said you’re a world-class sailor. Seems more to me like you’ve been hiding on his yacht.”
Low blow number two. He stepped across the threshold, planting his feet firmly on the wide-planked flooring. His throat tightened with the urge to shout, we never spoke like this to each other before Carmen came between us, but instead, he shot a volley back, aiming straight for her heart.
He gestured to the room. “I could say the same for you in your studio, my dear. When was the last time you left Reefside?”
She swung on him. “Well, at least I’m taking my future into my hands. I’m willing to change my situation.”
He leaned toward her. “I had made plans, my dear. I’m supposed to leave for Australia this weekend.”
She pointed a finger, color rising in her cheeks. “You owe me this trip.”
If she’d slapped him, she’d have elicited the same response. Suspicion furrowed his brow. He resisted pressing a hand to relieve the pressure. Had Elias betrayed his secret? He cleared his throat before he dared ask, “And just how is it that I owe you, Princess?”
She unhinged the painting from the easel, carrying it to the drying wall, then turned to face him.
“You’ve been lounging around Reefside on my father’s dime for way too long. You owe it to him to postpone your plans and earn the salary you’ve collected by taking me.”
Relief was so immediate, he almost laughed. He’d come up to tell her he’d agreed to take her, but seeing her at work had, once again, thrown him off balance. And here she thought his reluctance was about money. If she only knew.
Damn.
He tried to stare her down, but she wouldn’t look away. He held up a hand in surrender. “Okay. Elias asked for three weeks. That’s all you get. I’ll leave for Australia when we return.”
Did she flinch at the mention of his departure? Now, wouldn’t that be something?
He took another step into the room. “Do you understand me, Princess?”
She retraced her steps to stand before him, hands on hips. He almost grinned at that stubborn, familiar I’ll-argue-till-you-kiss-me-into-submission look. Oh, yeah, Princess, give me a reason to reach for you. He was nuts to think he’d make this trip unscathed.
Her pointed finger came within inches of his chest. He wondered if she dared not touch him for fear of where it would lead. Her nostrils flared in that ever-so-enticing way. “Never call me Princess, Del Rio. Just get me to Little Harbour as fast as you can.”
DANIEL STOWED THE LAST of Maria’s gear and climbed into the cockpit, wanting badly to break something. Elias’s words, You don’t run out on family, prodded him like a pitchfork. Family. What remained of his family was here at Reefside. Yet living with Maria’s emotional absence and physical presence made this last task seem futile.
Even worse were the last words she’d fired at him before the accident. Despite the exquisite love that bonded them, she had chosen to mistrust him. The look in her eyes when her accusations flew had branded his soul forever. He had been so busy these past months, working with Elias to restore Maria’s memory, that he hadn’t taken the time to sift through his own emotions from that fateful day.
Now they whipped around his head like a hurricane. If he was successful in helping Maria restore her memory, and if all became resolved between them, could he be safe in her love, knowing she’d turned from him once before?
Grabbing a polishing cloth, he settled for wiping down the pristine instrument panel at the helm one more time. If they weren’t scheduled to set sail in minutes, he’d guzzle a beer. Hell, he might anyway. His mouth was drier than the Tortugas.
Yanking open the door of the cockpit refrigerator, he pulled out a bottle of water. He swigged a huge gulp, glaring down the waterway leading to the ocean but seeing nothing.
A haze of guilt clouded his vision.
How could Elias expect him—trust him for God’s sake—to take Maria back to where all the trouble began? He and the old man knew the story. They had a deal. Now Elias had imposed his will, knowing Daniel could not refuse Maria. Elias was breaking the promise he’d made like some deity tossing a mere mortal from the clouds. And Daniel had agreed. He would do it as a favor…but for whom? Did he still harbor the hope of winning her back?
He slapped his forehead. What the devil was wrong with him? He was about to spend one long, sweet sail alone with her. Like a maiden voyage for both of them. A lot of ground could be covered in twenty-one days. This could be the opportunity he’d been waiting for. Seducing Maria could be a goddamn dream come true, if he could allow himself to trust her love once more. Quite an irony, since he’d spent a year ignoring the possibility that he might not want her love anymore. Up to this point, all he wanted was to have her wake up and remember him. Now he wondered what good it would do if she did.
The Honora would be a hotbed of emotions for him no matter what happened. If Maria were to fall in love with him once more, even without regaining her memory, he could seize the opportunity to teach her what they’d once shared. Best-case scenario was that she would remember the accident and still find her way to understand the truth—what really happened before the collision—and forgive Daniel. Then, their love might grow roots so deep, no one would ever be able to shake them apart.
But before he could claim her love again two things were needed: honesty and redemption. There had been no sign of either, but that could also have been because the opportunity had not arisen. Well, here he was, ready and waiting. The only woman who could bring about either possibility was Maria, and she didn’t have a clue.
He had been shocked when his hands shook as he started the engine. Acknowledging the tension he felt leaving the dock was hard. No matter what the courts had said. No matter what he knew had happened on that boat, he had been responsible for the accident. He was a licensed captain. His lack of control had caused the death of two women.
Granted, he knew the mechanics of operating a vessel. He understood the wind, the tides, could read the skies, understood navigation laws, but witnessing those broken bodies and the destruction of lives after the fact had crippled Daniel’s faith in his abilities.
Who was he kidding? He needed healing as much as Maria. That one truth he would give to Elias. The older man, better than anyone, understood why Daniel had remained marooned at Reefside while Maria continued to dodge him. Sometimes he wondered if what was precious between them had been destroyed when she doubted his love at the worst possible moment before the collision.
No matter. What was done was done. Her world had been stripped bare. He had lost confidence, and her love. What a joke. Now he had to overcome his own fears in order to sail to the place where their lives had been ruined.
He hung his head, briefly closing his eyes. Sometimes, it was best leaving the dead buried. Maybe Maria was better off starting over without him; he should jump off the Honora and head to Australia before it was too late. After all, if one stepped beyond the point of no return, well, there simply was no return.
Did he care?
Hell yes.
Because Maria couldn’t remember. It wasn’t fair that he held all the cards, because he did remember.
A groan escaped his lips. Like it or not, he’d accepted a lose-lose situation. Screwed if she remembered. Screwed if she didn’t. When all this was over, he’d head to those Brisbane races either a man redeemed, or a man doomed.
Well, his world had been ripped from him once before when his parents were killed in Chile. He understood how to live with loss. Maybe sacrificing his future with Maria was the price he’d pay for absolution.
So be it.
A motion on the green caught his eye. Maria stormed down the lawn toward the dock, her hair bouncing like a veil of midnight silk on her shoulders. Her dark, exotic eyes smoldered with a distress he could feel from where he stood, and she hadn’t even spotted him yet.
“Shit. Here we go.”
Her steps slowed to a cautious tread as she approached the wharf. She still hadn’t noticed Daniel. Panic tightened her features as she stared at the dock.
She stopped as if an invisible wall blocked her passage. Her chest heaved in quick breaths, tightening the thin, crimson fabric of her halter top.
Daniel’s gaze caressed her face then traveled slowly down her body, over the rise of her breasts, down to her waist, where an inch of tanned, flat stomach peeked out from the waistband of chino shorts. They stopped midthigh, exposing the long, tanned length of those unending legs that once knew the touch of his hand. Daniel stifled another groan as she jammed her paint-stained fists into her pockets and looked up, her eyes begging for help.
Her fear wrenched his heart. Damn his doubts. He bolted for the dock, and offered her a hand, a peace offering in more ways than one.
“Here, let me help you.”
Like a finger snap, her panic disappeared. Maria raked him with her gaze, glanced at his hand and ignored it.
“Did you stow my art supplies?”
Daniel rolled his eyes, flattening his palm against his board shorts. “You bet, Princess. Your twenty tons of paints, brushes and canvases. I’m glad you thought to pack at least one bikini.”
He headed back to the Honora. Over his shoulder he said, “Casting off in ten seconds, sweetheart.”
MARIA STARED AT DEL RIO as if he spoke a foreign language. This trip had been her idea. Why was she so terrified? She couldn’t move. Every muscle gripped her bones like a vise, refusing to yield. The sun burned hot on her head and shoulders. The monkeys laughing in the banyans around her studio called as if begging her to stay. The soft scent of grass blended with the brine of the Intracoastal as land feuded with water in her mind. Just watching the yacht sway at the dock made her stomach heave.
Her blood grew cold as the familiar rumble from the center of the sloop rose on the air. Oh, God. Del Rio already had the engine running. The acrid smell of exhaust churned her anxiety. She swallowed the lump in her throat as she watched him, one hundred percent pure, bona fide male, standing at the helm.
His colorful board shorts and a small rip in the shoulder of his sun-faded blue T-shirt made him look more like a surfer than the captain of the Honora as he checked the instruments. Poppa had reminded her that Daniel had sailed his entire life. Won awards for racing some of the most sophisticated sailboats. Oh, he could handle a helm all right. Those tanned hands looked more than capable. She just didn’t like what the sight of those strong, slender fingers did to her belly.
Damn. This was not about Del Rio. Boarding this ship was about Carmen and Momma. Enough.
With not even a glance in her direction, Del Rio jumped onto the dock and began untying the bowline. Next, he’d work his way to the spring line, the stern line, and then he’d cast off.
“Hold on, Captain. Give me a minute.”
Her palms itched. Perspiration drenched her, pissing her off royally. She didn’t expect this reaction and needed a moment to collect herself.
He faced her, arms open. “I have to be in Australia in three weeks. Let’s shove off.”
Inhaling a searing breath of earth and sea, Maria bolted forward. She didn’t stop to think until she was locked in her cabin, poised over the toilet, throwing up what little toast and tea she’d managed to eat at lunch.
The engine accelerated. They’d left the dock. The forward motion of the ship had her heaving again. She flushed the toilet and sat on the floor, her cheek pressed against the closed lid. Becoming panicked and ill had not been part of her plan.
She moaned as a thought occurred: maybe she hated sailing and Del Rio knew it. Maybe that was what he’d tried to tell her last night.
She slammed open the toilet lid and heaved once more.
DANIEL STRAINED TO HEAR any sound from below. He’d given Maria the bow cabin, which left him hard-pressed to hear anything, even through the open hatch topside. He hoped the snug but luxurious quarters would give her a sense of security since he felt her terror right down to his bones. Until she overcame that fear, they’d get nowhere. The familiar feel of the wheel beneath his hand sent a surge of pleasure through him. He’d be careful this time. He’d do everything by the book. Yet, no matter how sleek and fast the Honora, and how comfortable the wheel felt in his hands once more, the passage to the Bahamas would seem endless.
For both of them.
As the Honora glided down the waterway, Daniel glanced back at Reefside. Elias’s shock of silver hair revealed his presence on the rooftop terrace. Of course, the old man chose to witness the beginning of the end. Daniel should have known better. Loyalty to family ruled a Latin heart. Maria had to regain her memory before any of them could move forward.
Damn the bastard for knowing exactly what needed to be done.
