Sixteen

Gabriel punched in the code for home on the keypad of his cell phone and then tucked it under his ear while maneuvering his truck into the middle lane. Whitney answered on the third ring. “How are you?” he asked. “Are you okay or regretting you ever heard of the place? C’mon, be honest.”

He held his breath, expecting what he believed to be the inevitable, that Whitney would throw up her hands and tell him she’d bitten off far more than she could chew.

Unbelievably, she laughed that low, sultry laugh that should not have belonged to a cool, blond lawyer representing the Austrian government. “I have to admit that it’s a challenge, but I think I’m handling it,” she said. “Ramona helped. Your mother’s two paying guests left this afternoon and two more are due tomorrow. The kids just came home from school. Eric is on his way to the dressage center with Emma and Claire and I’m in the middle of trying to reproduce Ramona’s chicken marinade. How are you?”

“Right now, extremely grateful. I can’t tell you how helpful you’ve been. I have no way of making this up to you.”

“I’m fine, really,” she said quickly, brushing off his thanks. “Are you in the car?”

“Yes. I’m on my way to visit my mother. That’s why I called. I wonder if you could meet me in town tonight. I have a few legal questions to ask you and I’d like to do it away from the house.”

“What a sad and safe way to ask me for a date,” she teased.

Suddenly he felt as lighthearted as if he were sixteen again. “I’ll try anything that works.” One second passed, then another and a few more after that. “Is it working?”

“What about the kids and dinner?”

“Eric is old enough to handle the girls for a few hours. They’ve managed soup and sandwiches before. Put the chicken in the refrigerator and meet me.”

Sandwiches weren’t what she had in mind for Claire’s diet, but she could work around it. “All right. Is casual okay?”

“It’ll have to be. I’m in my work clothes.”

“Then I’ll stay in mine. Where shall we meet?”

“There’s an Italian place called Donatelli’s on Fifth and Main in Ventura. It’s not fancy, but the food’s good. Is six o’clock too soon?”

“I’ll be there.”

Gabriel replaced the phone. It had been a long time since he’d felt so optimistic. Nothing had changed for the better. In fact, a great deal was worse. His mother wasn’t well and he faced a child-custody lawsuit, neither of which he could do anything about at the moment. He knew his emotions were short-lived and had everything to do with Whitney and the dinner ahead of him. It was temporary, but so was life. So much of what he’d once believed would be forever really wasn’t. He would take what was offered, as it was offered, and not worry about how long it would last.

Mercedes looked unusually helpless lying in the hospital bed shrouded in blankets, an IV attached to her arm. The tray of food by her side was untouched.

Gabriel entered the room and sat down beside her. “You aren’t eating, Ma,” he said gently.

She fixed her black eyes on him. “This isn’t food, Gabriel. A dog shouldn’t have to eat this food.”

“You have to eat something. The broth looks okay and so does the Jell-O. Nobody can do much damage to those.”

“Jell-O is a child’s dessert,” she pouted. “Adults don’t eat Jell-O, and I don’t like broth. Why eat anything at all?”

“You won’t get anything else,” he warned her.

Her eyes turned hopeful. “Maybe you could bring me something, some nice lasagna or a pizza. Casa Consuelo’s is open until five. You could bring me some enchiladas or chili rellenos.”

“I can’t bring food like that into the hospital, Ma,” he said patiently. “Besides, it’s not good for you.”

She struggled to sit up. Her eyes flashed dangerously. “Who are you to tell me what’s good for me? I’m seventy-six years old. I’ve lived longer than anyone in my family. If I hadn’t tripped, I wouldn’t be in here and this nonsense wouldn’t be happening.”

He ignored her. “Has Pilar been to see you?”

“I sent her away.”

“Why?”

“She’s like you, too full of her own advice.”

He tried to change the subject. “Ramona came to the house today to help Whitney.”

“She called this morning. I told her not to bother to come here. I’ll be home before she figures out what to do with the boys.”

Gabe nodded. When his mother was in a mood, it was best to humor her. “Has the doctor been here?”

“He was in this afternoon, but he wants to talk to you.” She tightened her lips stubbornly. “I told him I wouldn’t take that cholesterol medication, mijito.”

Gabriel mentally counted to ten. “Why not?” he asked pleasantly.

“I don’t like taking pills. They make me gag.”

“You take vitamins.”

“Those aren’t pills, and I don’t swallow them whole. I pound them with my mortar and pestle, mix them up with orange juice and drink them. I never could take pills.”

“Did he say what might be contributing to your high cholesterol?”

“No.” She wouldn’t look at him. “But I told him I was too old to go on a diet.”

“You’re right.”

She glared at him suspiciously. “What does that mean?”

“It’s hard to change lifelong habits, which is probably the reason the doctor suggested cholesterol medication. It’s one or the other, Ma. You can’t keep going like this. One of the kids is going to come home and find you on the floor. Do you want that?”

“Of course not.”

He leaned forward and took her hands in his. “Will you think about this? For me? Please?”

Her eyes filled. “There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you, mijito. You know that.”

“Take the pills, Ma. We don’t want to lose you anytime soon.”

She pulled one hand away and reached for the spoon on her tray. “Pull the lid off the broth, Gabriel. Maybe I will try it, and the Jell-O, too. Next time ask them to bring a little chicken and potatoes. I don’t like overcooked beef, unless it’s inside a tortilla.” She pushed the meat around on her plate. “Maybe you could bring me some homemade salsa. I should be able to eat salsa. You know how to make it, don’t you, mijito? I could give Whitney the recipe if you don’t have time.”

“Whitney’s done enough for us,” he said quickly. “It isn’t good to get so dependent on her.”

“Why not?”

“Because she’s going home.”

“Oh.”

He didn’t like the sound of his mother’s response. “You do understand that she has to go home, Ma. She’s got a job, a good job, one that takes years of schooling. We can’t expect her to work as an unpaid housekeeper forever.”

Mercedes picked at the lint on her blanket. “I wasn’t thinking of forever.”

“What were you thinking of?”

“A month. Maybe she could stay for a month and you two could get to know each other better. She’s a lovely woman, Gabriel. You couldn’t do better if you placed an order.”

He stared at his mother, wondering if she could really be so naive. “I want you to promise me something, Ma,” he said carefully.

“Anything, mijito.”

“Promise me you won’t ask Whitney to stay any longer than this week.”

His mother’s eyebrows rose.

Gabriel felt the edges of his temper curl and sizzle. He stood and walked to the window. It overlooked the parking lot. “You may not understand this, but I want you to listen. If you interfere in this, you won’t be helping. There are some things people have to figure out for themselves. This is one of them.”

“You do like her, don’t you, Gabriel?”

“Very much,” he acknowledged, turning in time to see the satisfied smile lurking on his mother’s lips. “That isn’t the point. If there is even the slightest possibility of something happening between us, it will be completely impossible if you suggest that she do anything else for us beyond this week.”

“But why, Gabriel?”

He tried to explain, knowing it wouldn’t make a difference. Mercedes Mendoza heard only what she wanted to hear. He’d spent a lifetime trying to reach her and here he was, still trying. “I don’t want to be under obligation to her. Our circumstances are far enough apart as it is. Leave me a little pride.”

“Your pride might be all you’re left with.”

“I’ll handle it.”

Mercedes leaned back against the pillow, her food forgotten for the first time in her life. “Why do you have so little confidence in yourself, my son?” she asked softly. “Who or what gave you the idea that you don’t deserve a woman like Whitney Benedict?”

“No one.” He was clearly exasperated. “It’s plain enough. Whitney is a lawyer. She comes from a well- known, well-established family and she has no children.”

“So, you’re not a lawyer. You have your own business. Everyone’s family is well known somewhere, and, as far as having children, you make it sound as if that’s a liability. I don’t see it that way. I don’t think she does, either.”

He sighed. “Just promise, Ma. That’s all I ask. Let me do this my way.”

She waited a full minute before answering. “All right, Gabriel,” she said at last. “I promise, but I won’t let you hang yourself. If it looks like you’ll lose it all, I’m going to act. You know I never interfere, but I won’t watch you drown. I’m your mother, after all.”

He knew it was nothing more than a reprieve, but maybe Whitney would be on her way home before his mother could do any real damage.

She was already seated at a small table in the corner when he entered the restaurant. He saw that she’d dressed up after all, not so that she stood out, but enough to know that she’d gone to some trouble. He approved of her narrow slacks and the long-sleeved, scoop-necked sweater, both in a seaweed-green that changed the color of her eyes. Her hair was pulled away from her face and allowed to fall across her shoulders in two pale, silvery curves.

She smiled when she saw him.

“Thanks for coming,” he said. “Have you been here long?”

“Just a few minutes. I’d like a glass of wine, but I waited to see if there was anything you preferred.”

“We have a great pinot noir in this corner of the world. If you like, we could give it a try.”

She nodded, a curious smile on her face.

“What?” he asked.

“Do you know a lot about wine, Gabriel?”

He nodded. “My dad was Austrian. He knew his wines and his food. I don’t mind taking after him in that way.”

“Your mother told me you were close.”

“Very.” He waved the waitress over and ordered a bottle of Cedar Creek pinot noir, the 1998 Reserve.

“Is it hard for you to talk about him?”

“Not really. It helps me remember him.” He smiled. “How about you? What are your parents like?”

“They’re young,” she said. “My mother’s fifty-eight and my dad just turned sixty.”

“Which one do you take after?”

“My mother,” she said without hesitating, “if you’re referring to appearance. We look exactly alike. If you’re curious as to what I’ll be like in twenty years, come home with me and I’ll introduce you to my mother.”

“You don’t sound very pleased about that.”

She shrugged. “It isn’t her appearance I object to.”

The waitress brought the bottle of wine, uncorked it and poured a small amount into Gabriel’s glass. He tasted it and motioned for her to fill both glasses.

“The linguini with clam sauce and the walnut gorgonzola tortellini are both excellent tonight,” the woman said.

Gabriel looked at Whitney. “Shall we go for it?”

She nodded. “Yes, please. They sound delicious. If we get one of each, we can share.”

“What bothers you about your mother?” he asked when they were alone again.

“She’s relentless,” Whitney said immediately. “She chips away until there’s nothing a person can do except crumble.”

“And your dad?”

“Daddy doesn’t have a chance.” She sipped her wine. “This is delicious.”

“Are they happy together?”

Whitney looked surprised. “I have no idea,” she said after a minute. “No one’s ever asked me that question before. I’ve always thought of them as my parents rather than people who need to be happily married.”

He refilled her glass. “Do you mind if I ask the million-dollar question?”

“Is it going to be, ‘Why aren’t you married?’ ”

“No.”

“All right. Ask away.”

“How has a beautiful, intelligent and generous woman like you managed to avoid marriage for as long as you have?”

“That isn’t fair.”

“Is that one of the rules?”

She laughed, but he could see that it was forced. She didn’t answer right away. Finally she spoke. “If I tell you, you’ll owe me. It means that you have to answer one of my questions, even if it’s one you’d rather not. Agreed?”

“Agreed.”

“I was married, briefly, a long time ago. Because of him I became a lawyer.”

“What happened?”

She looked directly at him. “His name was Wiley Cane. It still is, actually, but I prefer to think of him in the past tense. He was dirt poor, two years older than me and very southern, a real good old boy. I met him my last year in high school. He’d come back after a stint in the Youth Authority. He showed up at school that first day steeped in an aura of forbidden danger. He smoked cigarettes, drank beer and was good with his hands. He lifted machine parts and laid pipe. He had an awful reputation. It was irresistible. I succumbed to the secret desire of every girl who sees a gorgeous, well-muscled, unattainable young animal. I believed I could tame him and that all he needed was a good woman to bring him around.” Her smile was brittle. “I was wrong. I nearly killed my parents before I realized just how wrong I was, but it wasn’t before Wiley almost killed me.” She left out the other part, the part that really counted, the part she had no intention of revealing to anyone this side of heaven. Pity wasn’t the emotion she wanted to evoke in anyone, least of all Gabriel Mendoza. “I was so grateful to the lawyer who arranged my annulment that for a while I ranked him right up there with God. He inspired me to follow in his footsteps.” She drained her glass. “That’s my story. I’m sure you never imagined it would be so sordid.”

“I admit, you don’t look the part of someone who could be taken in by anyone.”

“Give me a little credit. I was seventeen years old.”

“Yet you’re still alone.”

“I believe it’s my turn to ask a question.”

“Shoot.”

She set down her glass, folded her arms and leaned forward. Deliberately, Gabriel kept his eyes on her face. “This may seem ridiculous, but humor me.”

“All right.”

“Are you attracted to me?”

For the first time since he’d sat down, Gabriel doubted himself. Which was the answer that would settle everything down again and allow them to eat their meal without embarrassment? He settled on the truth. “Yes.”

“Was it there from the beginning, or did I grow on you?”

His lips twitched. She’d only had two glasses of wine. Maybe she was one of those people who couldn’t hold alcohol. “I’d have to say from the beginning.”

Her forehead furrowed. “What was it that attracted you?”

He paused. “Her voice was ever soft, gentle and low, an excellent thing in woman.”

“A man who quotes Shakespeare. Are you trying to impress me?”

“Is it working?”

“Yes, but you don’t have to.”

“Why not?”

“I’m already sold.”

His eyes narrowed. “Don’t play games with me, Whitney. What’s going on here?”

She wet her lips. “I’m leaving soon. Under the circumstances, we don’t have much time to get to know each other.”

He wouldn’t help her. She’d have to spell it out clearly so he knew there was no going back.

“I thought we might skip a few steps in the usual courting ritual.”

“Which steps might those be?”

She sat back in her chair. Her cheeks were very pink. “Damn it, Gabriel, leave me a little pride.”

He leaned forward. “You’ll have to say it, Whitney, loud and clear, because I’m having a hard time believing this is really happening.”

“I can’t say it.”

“Why not?”

“Because of who I represent. It isn’t ethical.”

“Then why are we having this conversation?”

“I won’t always be in this position. I have to know if there is any possibility of us going beyond where we are now.”

“You live in Kentucky.”

She nodded. “Do you have anything against long distance relationships?”

His slow grin deepened the grooves in his cheeks and squared his chin. “Do you always call the shots?”

“Yes.”

“Thanks for the warning. I’ve never been to Kentucky.”

“That’s going to change very quickly.”

He laughed. “I’ve never even kissed you.”

“That’s going to change, too, even more quickly, I hope.”

“You can count on it.”

“Tonight?”

“No.”

She stared at him. “Why not?”

“Because you’re still a lawyer representing the Austrian government, and because I’d like to be the one calling some of the shots.”