“You take my breath away, Sierra,” Ron said, leaning down to kiss her lightly on the cheek. She felt a touch of sadness that his compliment didn’t have a fraction of the effect Alex’s had. As Ron straightened, she saw his expression alter slightly and knew he had seen her ex-husband. She took his hand deliberately.
“Ron, this is Alex. Alex, I’d like you to meet Ron Peirozo, a dear friend of mine.”
Ron held out his hand. Alex hesitated for a fraction of a second before taking it. Neither said anything. They were too busy measuring one another. Sierra knew under other circumstances they would get along very well. They might even be friends. Right now, she was the only common ground—and not one that would bring them together.
Letting go of Ron’s hand, she picked up her purse and gloves. He took the red cape and laid it over her shoulders. His hands gripped her arms gently, drawing her a few inches closer to him. “Ready to go?”
Alex understood the gesture and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Have a nice evening.”
Sierra walked with Ron to the door. Ron gave Alex a nod as he opened it for her. “Nice meeting you, Alex.”
“Yeah, likewise.”
She didn’t look back. She didn’t dare.
Ron didn’t mention Alex, nor did she. He spent the drive to downtown Los Angeles filling her in on the programs at Los Angeles Outreach. “People are going to be asking you questions,” he said and made sure she knew what was going on.
As she stood beside Ron and greeted guests as they arrived, she recognized numerous faces and names. Several lingered over her hand, making fulsome compliments. Ron teased her about it over a dinner of prime rib. “I should’ve brought a whip and chair to keep some of these animals back.”
She was proud of Ron and impressed by him as he stood at the podium and gave a flawless and relaxed welcome and presentation. He was as at ease in front of this crowd of socially elite as he was with the children he found in the ghettos and beneath the freeways. She knew that those listening to him would be only too willing to support him and his work. He was sincere, zealous, and accomplishing a great deal. The young men and women serving were all “graduates” of the program. “Talk to them, and they’ll tell you the difference Outreach has made in their lives. The Lord has blessed us that we might bless others. . . .”
When the band started playing, Ron led her out onto the dance floor. “I’ve already had several pledges that’ll cover the next few months’ expenses,” he said, holding her close. She felt the warmth of his hand at the small of her back and the brush of his thighs. He was a good dancer, smooth and graceful, guiding her expertly. She felt safe and protected in his arms.
After the first dance, she had other partners, all interested in hearing about Los Angeles Outreach and Ron Peirozo. A few asked her about her relationship to him. A few just wanted to get close enough to ask her out. She was flattered but not interested.
Ron danced with her again several times and needled her unmercifully. “I thought you’d succumb to that actor’s charms for certain,” he said, inclining his head toward a movie star who’d danced with her several times.
“Are you kidding?”
“I saw you swooning when he took your hand.”
“That was before I spent five minutes with him. The guy’s no better than a neighborhood masher. He asked me to spend a weekend in Hawaii with him. Can you believe it?”
“I believe it. I’ve had a few licentious thoughts of my own about you this evening. Want to go sailing with me?”
“Knock it off, Peirozo.”
He laughed. “See the gentleman over there talking with Arlene? He was just asking me if you were taken.”
“Tell him yes.”
“I already did.” Leaning down, he kissed the curve of her neck. Alex used to kiss her in the same place. With him, it had always sent melting heat all through her body and made her knees weak. With Ron, she didn’t feel anything but the pleasing warmth of his lips.
She talked with so many people she lost count. She danced until her feet ached, and she relished every minute of it. On the drive back to Northridge, Ron talked about the pledges he’d received and what it would mean to ongoing programs. They’d made enough money in one evening to cover foundation expenses for the next year.
He pulled into the Haven’s parking lot and shut off the engine of his Mercedes. Turning to her, he smiled. “Did you have a good time?”
“Wonderful,” she said, drowsy. She never stayed up past eleven thirty, and it was almost two in the morning. She felt the light brush of his fingers and looked into his eyes. Warmth and desire were there, unhidden. For one brief moment, she wondered what it would be like to be loved by Ron. “I’d better go in,” she said softly.
Sensitive to her feelings, Ron touched her cheek lightly and then got out of the car. He came around and opened her door, handing her out. They didn’t say anything as they walked along the pathway to her condo. The porch light was on. She wondered if Alex was asleep on the couch.
Turning to Ron, she thanked him for the lovely evening. “Anytime,” he said, leaning down to kiss her cheek. Thanking him again, she took her key from her beaded purse and opened the door. Glancing back, she smiled.
“Good night,” Ron said and headed back along the pathway to his car.
Not looking into the living room, Sierra closed the door quietly.
“How was it?” Alex said, snapping Mary Kathryn’s journal shut and tossing it heedlessly on the hatch-cover table.
The sound of his voice and thump of the book made her jump. “Wonderful,” she said, turning to him. “How was your evening?”
“Bueno.” He stood up. He didn’t even look vaguely tired. His eyes were clear and sharp. “We went out to eat and then rented a couple of movies.”
“Sounds like fun.” Her stomach knotted with tension at the look on his face. He was angry, though about what she didn’t know. And she had no intention of asking. “Well, thank you for watching the children for me. I appreciate it.”
“Sure.”
“I’m sorry it’s so late.”
“You said it would be.” He crossed the living room and stood in front of her. A small frown briefly puckered his brow as he studied her face. “I guess I’d better go.”
“Yes,” she said, having difficulty breathing, “I guess you should.” She looked around. “Did you bring a jacket with you?”
“No.” His mouth tipped in the sensual smile that had turned her heart over at sixteen. It still had that same effect. “Worried about me getting cold between here and my condo? I’m only three doors away.”
“I think you’re warm enough.” She opened the door. “Good night, Alex.”
He paused in the doorway and looked back at her. “Did he kiss you good night?”
She blushed. “Not that it’s any of your business, but no, he did not kiss me good night.”
Stepping back inside, he cupped the back of her head and abruptly pulled her forward. Before she could gather her wits, he leaned down and planted his mouth firmly over hers in a hard, hot kiss. He released her as suddenly as he’d held her, smiling sardonically. “You looked like you needed kissing,” he said roughly.
Sierra stepped back from him, her heart pounding in her ears.
His eyes went dark as they stared into hers. He took another step toward her. “You still do.”
“Don’t,” she whispered desperately.
He wasn’t listening. Kicking the door shut with his foot, Alex caught hold of her and pulled her against his hard chest. His head came down and he kissed her again, with the same devastating effect she’d experienced the first time on the Mathesen Street porch so many years ago. He kissed her as though he never intended to let her go. . . .
For a moment she struggled against him. He dug his hands into her hair until it was tumbling about her shoulders and down her back. He kept on kissing her until her insides began to melt and quake.
Her love and the long months of ce
libacy and loneliness worked against her. Physical hunger swept through her. Sweet memories pulsed.
Oh, God! Oh, God, this is what You meant it to be between a husband and wife!
Husband.
Wife.
Not anymore.
In the midst of the storm of wonderful sensation came the army of doubts marching through her fevered brain, armed with devastation weapons.
Had he held Elizabeth Longford like this? Had he whispered incoherent words of Spanish as he touched and caressed her the way he was touching and caressing her now? Was she just a substitute? Available. Easy. A quick fix now that Elizabeth was gone.
So convenient, too. Only three doors away.
“Don’t cry, Sierra,” Alex said raggedly. “Por favor, don’t cry.”
But she couldn’t help it. Her body pulsated with need for him while her mind tore her heart to shreds. She drew back as far as she could, her hands clenched. She felt him loosening his hold on her and wept harder. When he stepped back, she covered her face and turned away in complete humiliation.
If he hadn’t known how much she still loved him, he could have little doubt now. It must give him a lot of satisfaction to know how easy it was to break down her walls and storm the citadel.
God, I’m such a fool!
“Sierra, I’m sorry . . . ,” he said bleakly. “I didn’t mean to . . .”
When he put his hands on her shoulders and tried to draw her back against him, she jerked away from his touch. “Just go, Alex,” she said, hiccuping. “Get out of my life.”
The door opened quietly and closed again.
She went to her room, crying, and removed the dress. She hung it up carefully, tears running down her cheeks. She removed the jewelry and put it back in the velvet box. She slipped out of the red satin shoes and stripped off her underwear, then turned on the shower and stepped in. She stood beneath the pounding stream of water and gave in to her grief.
She was still crying when she went to bed. Curling on her side, she covered her head with her pillow. She’d just dozed off when the telephone rang. The clock glowed three forty-five. She wanted to ignore the intrusive ringing but was afraid it would awaken the children.
It was Alex, and he sounded strange. Had he been drinking?
“I don’t want to talk to you,” she said, starting to cry again.
He wasn’t listening. He was talking in Spanish, making no sense at all. Usually she could understand Spanish well, but he was speaking so fast and she was so tired, the words were a blur. She did catch a couple of familiar words. One of which was esposa. Wife.
He had a lot of nerve.
“You divorced me, Alex. Remember? Leave me alone.”
She hung up. When the phone rang again, she yanked the plug. Covering her head, she wept herself to sleep.
Joshua has been to the village six times in the past month.
Koxoenis makes him welcome. During his last visit, Joshua saw Koxoenis’s preparations for another hunt. Koxoenis does not live with his wife or even look at her, but spends most of his time in a sweathouse where he rubbed deer marrow into his bow and arrows. Joshua said Koxoenis spoke to his weapons. He also drank a foul smelling concoction that made him very sick. Perhaps it is some kind of purification rite. After the sickness passed, he rubbed angelica and other herbs over his body and his spear.
Joshua followed Koxoenis to watch. He said Koxoenis mimics the movement of a deer so perfectly he was able to become a member of a herd grazing in a meadow at dusk. The animals were not even aware he was among them until he made his kill. Before dressing the animal, Koxoenis knelt beside it and stroked it tenderly, speaking to it. When the meat was prepared for the people, he did not partake of any of it.
Joshua has learned many valuable things from Koxoenis and his people. He has taught Hank how to make a fish trap and Matthew how to make snares for rabbits. He dammed our creek and threw a root into the water. It stunned the fish so that they floated to the surface. We smoked enough in one of our barrels to last us several weeks.
Joshua also taught Hank and Matthew how to make bolas using the side ribs of wild iris leaves and tying bones to each end. Joshua says the Indians use these simple weapons to catch quail, cottontails, and squirrels. The boys have been practicing diligently. Joshua said the Indians are not as fussy about what they eat as we are, but will dine on wood rats, snakes, lizards, and grubs. He has tried them all and said they taste good. I am not so adventurous.
Beth pulls up cattails and peels them. The stalks are good eating. Other edible greens are in abundance. Come spring, we will have berries. They grow in profusion near us.
Lord, You have made this earth as bountiful as Eden. We do not even have to put a plow to the soil to have food to sustain us. But we will come spring.
Chapter 23
“He’s sick, Mom,” Carolyn said.
Hungover, more likely, Sierra thought, but she didn’t say it aloud. Her own head was aching from lack of sleep.
“He didn’t answer the doorbell, so I let myself in,” Carolyn reported. “He’s still in bed, Mom. Daddy’s never in bed this late.”
Clanton collaborated. “Couldn’t you go check on him?”
“He was up late babysitting last night, remember? He just needs to sleep in.”
“You’re up,” Clanton said.
“Couldn’t you go see if he’s all right, Mom?” Carolyn pleaded, worried.
“And do what?”
“Call a doctor or something,” Clanton chimed in.
She’d like to something all right, but after last night, she was afraid to get within twenty feet of him.
“Please,” Carolyn said.
She looked between her two children and realized if she didn’t do something, they’d think she was a coldhearted, uncaring hypocrite of a Christian. Weren’t you supposed to love your enemy? “I’ll take him some chicken soup,” she said and took a Tupperware container out of the refrigerator. Frances had given her a batch, swearing it could cure just about anything.
Maybe she should drink some and pray to be cured of Alejandro Luís Madrid.
Clanton gave her the key to Alex’s condo. Her heart was in her throat as she unlocked the door and went inside. It was exactly the same layout as hers, but the decor was vastly different. The living room had a big black leather couch and glass coffee table. Modern lamps stood on each side of the room. The wall was solid with electronic equipment: a big-screen television, video player, radio, CD player, game systems, and a quartet of small, but undoubtedly powerful, mounted speakers. The kitchen was spartan, except for the coffeemaker near the sink and the rats in their cage on the end of the breakfast bar. There wasn’t much in Alex’s cabinets, and only a few pots and pans in the cupboards below. The stove and microwave were both so clean, Sierra knew Alex had never used them. Opening the Tupperware container of soup, she poured a portion of the contents into a big mug, added a little water, and put it in the microwave. Curious, she looked under the sink. The garbage bucket below was full of empty Mexican take-out food containers.
I am not going to feel sorry for him!
She went down the hall to the master bedroom and found Alex sprawled on his back, only partially covered by the vibrant Aztec-design comforter. All she saw was muscle, bronze skin, and dark hair. Heart flip-flopping, she looked away and spotted the pullover shirt he’d worn the night before. It was inside out on the floor. Nearby were his Levi’s, also inside out, the belt still in the loops. His shoes were on the far side of the room, two dents in the wall above them.
Setting the mug of hot soup down on his side table, she picked up an empty pint of whiskey. In all the years she’d known Alex, she’d never seen him have more than one drink of anything intoxicating. He liked to be in control. She went into the bathroom and tossed the bottle into the trash basket.
When she came back out, she picked up his shirt and pulled it right side out, folded it, and put it on his chair. She did the same with his pants, removing the belt
and curling it on the top of his dresser.
Steeling herself, she turned and looked at him. Her stomach tightened as she came over to the bed and looked down at him. He was so beautiful, so perfectly made. He was wearing the gold crucifix his mother had given him. Her heart squeezed tight with pity and tenderness. Frowning slightly, she noticed he’d added something to the gold chain, something she’d returned to him with the divorce papers he’d wanted her to sign.
Why was he wearing her wedding ring around his neck?
“Alex?”
He groaned. Shifting his body, he muttered something in Spanish and opened his bloodshot eyes. He stared up at her as though he couldn’t believe she was really there.
“The children think you’re dying,” she said dryly, crushing the urge to brush the dark hair back from his forehead.
Wincing, he pushed himself up onto his elbows. “I feel like it,” he said in a raspy voice. He looked at her again.
She avoided the intensity she saw in his eyes. “I brought you some chicken soup,” she said, nodding toward his side table as she moved away from his bed.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you last night, Sierra. I swear—”
“I know. Let’s just forget about it.” He didn’t need to do anything to hurt her. She hurt every time she looked at him. It came with loving someone, even after they’d betrayed you.
As she headed for the door, Alex shoved the comforter back. “Don’t go.” He groaned in pain as he sat up. Holding his head in his hands, he muttered softly in Spanish. “I’ve got to talk to you. Just give me a few minutes to take a shower.”
“We can talk another time.” She smiled faintly. “When you’re feeling better.”
Dropping his hands, he looked at her bleakly. “I’m not going to feel better, not until I talk things out with you.”
She had thought she was finished with crying, but tears sprang to her eyes. “Maybe I don’t want to hear what you have to say.”
“Maybe you don’t,” he said, “but I’m asking you to listen anyway. Por favor.”