CHAPTER 15Taxco was nestled into the foothills of the Sierra Madres like a precious child cradled in its mother’s arms. Caroline tried to capture the vista from Santa Prica Church with a panoramic disposable camera. It was a fairy-tale setting, the kind that appears only once in a hundred years. Red-tiled roofs and narrow, winding streets added the dimensions of stark ups, downs, and arounds to the standard four map directions. With the passages barely wide enough for two cars to pass without running pedestrians into the shops along the way, there was no point to traditional highway dividing lines. Instead, the road rambled like the flowering vines painted down its center.
With beauty, charm, and very steep inclines, the town literally took Caroline’s breath away. And she’d barely regained it from unloading the bus and settling in at the picturesque Posada de la Misión. The fresh slacks and cotton sweater she’d changed into were now damp with perspiration, but the spiral climb through the streets of the vertical city had been worth it.
“Thank God the authorities had the foresight to preserve this,” she said to Dana, handing over a dollar to a beautiful little girl for a postcard.
“They’re cheaper in the souvenir shop at the hotel,” Blaine reminded her.
“But this young lady is such a good salesperson.”
The child, of grade-school age judging by her size, beamed. All she’d said was “Cards for the church,” but Caroline had overheard one of the nuns nearby explaining to another tourist how the monies were used to help the children of the village.
“I can’t argue with the heart.”
Blaine’s expression of wonder and admiration nearly took what starch the climb had spared out of her knees.
Caroline tried to ignore the sharp elbow jab Dana gave her on the sly.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
Evidently she had failed. “When I signed on to go to Mexico, I didn’t know mountain climbing was on the agenda.”
Lord, I know the “Thou shalt not kill” rule, but Dana is pushing the envelope.
“At least the return walk will be downhill,” her friend consoled her.
The madonna innocence on her face switched to a grin of devilment. “And there are all those shops to check out along the way.”
“Don’t forget,” Blaine reminded them. “Dinner is at seven at the hotel. You have four hours. I’m going to head back and make some phone calls.”
“Business?” Caroline could have bitten off her tongue. As if it were her business what kind of calls he had to make.
“Always.” He turned to where the girls were examining the assortment of postcards. “You two stay with the adults. No running off on your own.”
Karen made a face. “Aw, man, we’ve got a map . . . and John’s with us.”
Blaine dug in deeper. “You heard me. It’s promise to stay with Caroline or come back to the hotel with me now.”
“Uncle Mark lets us go anywhere we want on the boardwalk at the beach.”
“I wouldn’t turn you loose in Mexico with Uncle Mark.” Blaine snorted. “I wouldn’t turn Uncle Mark loose in Mexico, for that matter.”
“It’s not like we have anyplace special to go,” Annie pointed out to her friend.
John walked over from where he’d been taking in the view above the town. “Don’t worry, Mr. B. I’ll take care of all the girls.”
The flirtatious wink he gave her and Dana tickled Caroline.
What a charmer.
“Besides, I can show them the art of bartering. The storekeepers love to haggle over prices.”
“My dad is so out of touch,” Karen complained to the world at large.
Blaine took it in stride, patient but persistent. “So, what’s it going to be? Staying with Caroline or going back with me?”
“Miz C.” From her tone, Karen might be choosing between hemlock and arsenic.
“We’ll have a grand time.” Caroline’s assurance was directed both ways. “You kids can keep Dana and me from getting lost.”
“You bet,” her friend threw in. “Heaven only knows where my son and husband are.”
Blaine gave a smile of relief. “Great.” Before Caroline realized what he was doing, he leaned over and gave her an impulsive kiss on the cheek. “Thanks, and good luck.”
As he walked away, Caroline, Dana, and the girls stared after him in stunned silence.
Annie thawed first. “Did you see that?”
“Yeah,” Karen answered, no less affected. “I haven’t seen him act like this since I was a kid.” She snorted in disbelief. “If he asks me if I want to ride horsey, I’ll die.”
“It’s gotta be a moon hangover,” John said. “Makes people romantic for days, no matter how old they are.”
“But this is my dad,” Karen reminded him. She turned to inspect a rack of beaded jewelry on display behind them. “Like, he’s too old to be acting like that.”
“He’s not that old,” Annie protested.
From somewhere in the flutter of reaction beating about in Caroline’s brain, she blessed her very wise child.
Karen turned with all the authority of a self-appointed Miss Manners. “But not in public.”
Still stuck next to Caroline at the same spot on the cobbled street where Blaine had left them, Dana snickered. “Seems like you bring out the boy in someone,” she whispered to Caroline behind the cover of her hand.
Caroline, stuck somewhere between the kiss and being relegated as too old for a public display of affection, remained silent.
“What in Cupid’s name are you going to do about that, girlfriend?” Dana challenged.
“Yeah, Mom, what are you going to do?” Annie chimed in, the selective hearing that chronically managed to miss parental instruction now on full alert.
Amid a scramble of positives and negatives seeking order in her mind, one sentiment surfaced. “I think I’ll just take it one kiss . . . er . . .” What on earth was she saying? “I mean, one day at a time.”
Or one prayer at a time was more like it, she thought, ignoring Dana’s Told you so grin. Prayer that this is God’s will. Prayer that Blaine will continue his journey back to the only One who could make this work between them. And prayer that whatever transpired between them would not be in public.
Even Karen’s rebellion couldn’t dampen Blaine’s mood as he descended the pebbled incline to the cluster of stuccoed, tiled guest houses the group was sharing. Whistling, he took the steps to his suite two at a time and unlocked the heavy, arched oak door.
While the exteriors of the guest quarters, hotel office, and restaurant were reminiscent of an old Spanish mission, the interiors were modernized and luxurious. His rubber-soled shoes silent on the leather-colored tile floor, he crossed a small living area replete with stone fireplace and mission furniture arranged in a cozy circle.
Stopping in the long dressing corridor with tiled sinks separated from the shower and john area by a row of closets, he washed some of the travel grime from his face and hands before heading into the sleeping area at the far end of the suite.
It would be a good time to try Carlos Aquino—before the end of siesta. Tugging out his wallet, he sat on the edge of his bed and searched for the business card Aquino had given him at the Ballet Folklórica. The hacienda was likely to be a steal, given its run- down condition. As a home, Blaine could turn it around into a hefty profit. As an orphanage, it was going to take some creative design. The only asset of the latter was the large ballroom and the proximity to the orphanage itself.
Blaine’s business mind tugged at his resolve to turn a golden goose into a turkey as he read the instructions for using the old-time Ma Bell black phone. The fact was, the turkey was needed more, he decided, ending the mind game. But upon dialing the number, he got an answering machine.
“Yes, Carlos, this is Blaine Madison. I came across some property in Mexicalli that I heard you are handling, and want to find out more about it for my daughter’s . . . for my church group. They are talking about expanding the orphanage. The place is a ruin, but maybe we can work something out. My cell number is—”
A loud creak coming from the adjoining room drew Blaine’s attention. He hastily rattled off his cell phone number and hung up.
“Girls?” He walked over to the connecting door. Stopping, he knocked before turning the old iron knob. “Anybody home?”
No one should be. But someone—or something—was in there.
As he eased the door open, he heard a closing click of yet another door. Tossing caution aside, Blaine hurried into the room.
There was no sign that anyone but some women in a hurry to change clothes had been there. Racing to the outside exit, he pulled the door open and stepped through to the stone landing opposite the one to his room.
There were guests and staff in the compound, each moving about with the solitary purpose of work or play. No one seemed hurried or looked as if they’d been in a rush. If it had been room service, he’d heard no knock. Shaking his head at his tourist paranoia, he glanced around, telling himself that nothing was wrong, there was nothing to worry about.
To his left another set of steps wound their way to the roof through a small arched entrance. More out of curiosity than suspicion, Blaine climbed the steep rise to find a lovely courtyard on the roof that overlooked a green slope of mountain dotted with white houses like a pasture with sheep. One didn’t have to be a scholar in architecture to appreciate the beauty.
Just as he didn’t need a degree in psychology to know that Caroline was the best thing that had happened to him in a long time. Through her eyes, everything was suddenly new and exciting.
She gave him new energy, uncovered hope in the ashes of what had been. Blaine wanted to do something special for her. He wanted to be her hero . . . and he’d not felt like hero material in years. His mind churning with possibilities, he tripped down the steps like a kid and went back to his room.
A siesta later, Blaine was showered, shaved, and on the phone with Señor Aquino before a rustle of packages and laughter heralded the approach of the ladies next door. Aquino was handling the Ortiz property and promised to get the information to Blaine’s office within the week.
As Blaine made the notation on his electronic organizer, John came in with a bag.
“Something new?” Blaine asked.
“Miz C bought it for me.” The boy dumped a black silk shirt out on the bed. With Taxco embroidered neatly on the pocket, it was a souvenir special, but the material made it costlier than most.
“I saved the ladies a bundle, and—”
“They spent the savings on you.”
“Guess so. Never thought of it like that,” he said, heading for the shower.
Blaine grabbed a tie from his garment bag. He didn’t doubt that much was true. Mark never saw his exploitation for what it was either.
John was back in such a short time that, but for his dripping hair, Blaine would have questioned that he’d even gotten wet.
“So, was that the dude who owns the hacienda in Mexicalli?” the youth asked from under the towel as he dried his hair.
“Yes. It is for sale and it may go cheap, since the owner is in some financial straits.”
“Cool. It’s like . . . like the lady I saw was psychic or something.”
Blaine’s curiosity was piqued. “Caroline?”
“No man, this lady in front of the church . . . a tourist, I think.”
He rubbed some sort of styling gel that he’d borrowed from Karen through his short locks. “Out of the blue, she turns to me and says, ‘All things are possible. Remember, God loves you.’ Like, I didn’t know her from beans.” He made a little snorting noise and paused, as though replaying the words in his mind. “But after you and I talked about it last night and then this . . .” He shrugged his shoulders. “Weird, man.”
“Speaking of weird,” Blaine said, “I could have sworn someone was in the room next door when I came back to the hotel.”
John stopped pulling his hair up in little peaks and stared at Blaine in the mirror. “Did you see anyone?”
“I was on the phone when I heard someone moving around, but by the time I went in there, whoever it was had left.” Blaine dismissed the topic. “Probably maid service or someone in the rooms adjoining the back of ours.”
“Yeah, probably.” John didn’t sound quite convinced.
Blaine watched him wipe his hands free of the lotion. “Weird, huh?”
The youth folded the towel and hung it on the rack. “This whole trip’s been weird for me.”
But then, John was a kid, even if he was in college, and kids tended to be melodramatic.
A while later, Blaine waited on the roof of the villa for the others to join him. The same team of anxiety and excitement that he’d known while waiting for Ellie during their dating years skipped around and tripped over male logic and maturity. At the sound of footfalls on the steps, Blaine turned to where Karen emerged on John’s arm.
Fancy fled, replaced by a mix of alarm and awe. His daughter was so . . . so beautiful. Instead of a ponytail, Karen wore her hair down, curled slightly toward her face, which was a blend of Ellie’s high cheekbones and Blaine’s dimpled chin. With makeup accentuating her dark eyes and the fullness of her lips, she looked like a woman, not his little girl. And the colorfully embroidered red dress that exposed her white shoulders underscored her feminine appeal just a little too much for his fatherly taste.
“You look beautiful,” he said, getting up and crossing to where Karen turned to show off her new purchase. The full skirt swirled around her legs, brushing just above her knees.
“Real fine,” John agreed.
“But this won’t do.” Blaine pulled the ruffled elastic top of the dress up onto her shoulders. “It makes you look like a . . .”
“Like a what?” Caroline asked from the stairwell.
Blaine took a mental spill. Clad in the same dress, but in black, she joined them. It was souvenir shop fashion, but on Caroline it could have been Dior. She was the most gorgeous señora he’d ever seen. And he’d painted himself into an uncomfortable corner with his quick comment.
“A what, Blaine?”
Caroline not only knew what he’d been about to say; she was having fun with him over it.
The heat of resentment cleared his mind for recovery. He gave his daughter a peck on the nose and tugged up her ruffled bodice again from where she’d rearranged it. “You are not a woman . . . yet.”
He nodded at Caroline. “She is.”
“But—” Karen started.
“Hey, you look hot, no matter how you wear it,” John told her.
Blaine drilled the boy with a “hands off ” glance. The last thing he needed was the wolf’s help with his little lamb.
“Baby,” he said to his daughter, “you look as good in the passenger seat as you do in the driver’s seat, but you aren’t ready to drive yet.” The hasty illustration earned him a collective expression of “What?” on the faces turning his way.
“I wouldn’t think of letting you drive a car if you were . . . ten,” he said, realizing that his little girl was just a month away from getting her driver’s permit. “Because even though you might know how to put it in gear and steer it, you wouldn’t be ready physically to reach the pedals or mature enough to handle it in a responsible fashion on the highway. Understand?”
Karen lifted her lip in a curl of doubt. “Wearing a dress is like driving a car?”
His failed analogy burned rubber up Blaine’s neck. If he’d only kept his mouth shut to start with. “Some dresses are.”
He readjusted the ruffle halfway between Karen’s idea of decency and his, balanced at the shoulder joint, favoring the neck.
“How about we compromise?”
Between the disgusted look in his daughter’s gaze and the mischievous one in Caroline’s, he was drowning anyway, so he might as well say what he meant. He braced himself with a deep breath.
“It’s just that when I first saw you come up here, you were so beautiful that the daddy in me didn’t like it. He’s afraid someone is going to pick his little rose and take her away . . . and I can’t bear the thought of losing you.”
Karen’s grudging look melted. She threw her arms about Blaine’s neck. “Oh, Daddy, you will never lose me.” She gave him a hard squeeze. “You may annoy me, but you will never, ever lose me.”
She turned with a bounce and linked arms with John. “Come on, let’s go see if Annie’s made up her mind which dress she’s going to wear.”
As they disappeared, Caroline slipped her arm through his. “I think you handled that wonderfully, Daddy. You almost made me cry in front of the kids.” The reflection of the setting sunlight swimming in her eyes confirmed her words. “Wanna come with me to check out my little girl?”
“Sure.” He would go anywhere with Caroline the way she looked at him right then. Letting reservation fly with the evening breeze, he leaned down to do what had been on his mind from the moment he’d seen her emerge from the stairwell in that dress, but checked himself just short of the kiss he’d intended to plant upon her shoulder. Her shock from this afternoon’s impetuous peck on the cheek told him slow was the better course, if not the most desirable. Instead, he inhaled the clean scent of her perfume, his voice taut from his restraint.