Girls’ night out had been a success, despite their exhaustion from the days’ work. There was just something about being pampered for a few hours that minimized their fatigue. All the while Teresa worked on them, she’d raved about what a wonderful man Capitàn Gabe was. Seems Gabe had hired on Teresa’s fiancé and showed him the ropes of establishing a fishing and diving tour business. And because her fiancé was now a successful entrepreneur, Teresa was going to be able to quit her job at the salon and devote her time to being a wife and, she hoped, a mother. “He is a good and fair man,” Teresa had declared before adapting a sly smile. “And . . . he is muy guapo.”
But that was last night. This morning, a brisk knock yanked Jeanne from dreamless sleep.
Clad in jeans that adored his body and a white cotton shirt, Gabe took Jeanne’s breath away as she opened the door of her cottage Saturday morning. Refusing to even entertain how she must look, sleep-tousled in an oversized nightshirt, she stifled a yawn.
“What’s up?”
Gabe cocked his head to the side. “Can’t you hear? The church bells are ringing and musicians have started. It’s time to dance, señorita !” With that, he scooped Jeanne up in his arms and did a little two-step in a circle.
With not quite all of her faculties in sync—or her aching limbs, for that matter, sore from fighting the tide the last few days— Jeanne had little choice but to cling to him, at least until the ceiling, which had continued to spin after he stopped, became still again. In the distance, she thought she heard some bells and music— drums for sure, maybe pipes.
“Well, you certainly are in a better humor than yesterday.” She stepped back, leaning against the doorjamb.
Gabe struck a thoughtful pose with his finger against his jaw. “Hm. I seem to recall someone telling me that one can’t help certain situations, but one can control how he reacts to it.”
Her words came back to bite her in the heart. He was paying attention. Thank you, Lord. Still half-dizzy, Jeanne glanced at her wrist, but her watch was on the bedside table. “What time is it?”
“It’s after ten, Ms. Van Winkle. Half the morning is gone.”
A day and a half of fiesta would be ample, she thought. “We were up late. Mara’s hair is adorable. It—” Jeanne paused. “Gabe, why are you here?” Now that she was fully awake, a headache made itself known, and her patience was suddenly fleeting.
“I just wondered if you’d given Mara her dress yet.”
Jeanne’s fatigue-induced irritation deflated faster than a balloon at her six-year-old nephew’s birthday bash. “Last night. I told her it was from both of us . . . but she forgot it.” Turning, she dug at the foot of her cot next to the door, where she’d stored the purchases from Akumal. “We agreed last night that we’d sleep in today.”
“And I woke you early . . . sorry,” he said with an apologetic smile. “At least she won’t misinterpret my intentions now,” he added, back on the confounded dress. “Remember, you did.”
The temperature of Jeanne’s face went up a degree at the reminder. “Yes, I did. But then I didn’t know you as well as I do now.”
Gabe braced his hand against the door. “And what do you think of me now, sweet?”
His voice, low and velvet, swept away the ache in her temples like a straw in a tsunami. Time dragged, interminable, as she formed a cautious reply. “I think you show a lot of promise.”
One dark eyebrow quirked slightly above the other as he leaned forward. “How much?”
He was going to kiss her.
“I’ll tell you later.” Stepping away, she closed the door between them.
It was bad enough that Gabe had seen her in her nightshirt with her hair tangled and raccoon eyes—from their girly night of makeup experimentation—but Jeanne was not about to kiss a man before she brushed her teeth.
After showering, Jeanne made her way to the lodge, wishing she felt as bouncy as the skirt she wore—with its jungle golds, greens, and black, and accented with bright red hibiscus, it bespoke an enthusiam she simply couldn’t muster. At least the pill she’d taken had knocked out her headache. And her teeth were brushed, she thought as Gabe opened the door for her with a little growl.
“You look grand.”
“Enough to make a man want to swing from a tree,” Tex chimed in, pulling at the suspenders under his vest.
Nick and Stuart whistled, hardly looking away from an intense volley at the Ping-Pong table.
Jeanne did a little curtsy, her voice betraying her discomfiture. “Thank you, gentlemen, thank you.” She’d had compliments before, but they hadn’t come with looks like the one Gabe raked over her, leaving a wake of unsettling tingles. “Um . . . I see Mara, Ann, and Remy are dragging behind. And Pablo,” she added, looking around.
“Actually Pablo and Ann have been in the village since the musicians opened the fiesta. Ann wanted to catch some footage,” Gabe explained, reaching for a thermal carafe. “Can I get you some coffee? Lupita made it up with some breakfast burritos before she left to meet her family.”
“No thanks.” Missing Remy, Jeanne peered through the kitchen door. “Has anyone seen Remy today?”
“He rambled in here first thing this morning,” Tex answered, “moaning about a stomach misery, got some juice, and said he’d seek a cheeseburger this afternoon, once his antacids, or whatever the dickens he was drinking, took effect.”
“Poor thing,” Jeanne commented sympathetically. Mexico truly did not agree with him. Today, it was trying to disagree with her, but this was fiesta and Jeanne was determined to enjoy it or bust.
“Buenos días, everyone,” Mara said, entering the room in the turquoise dress that Gabe had purchased.
Nick did a double take, missing Stuart’s volley. “Wow,” he said. “What did you do to your hair?”
Stuart turned and stared. “Mara, you look—”
“Awesome,” Nick finished. “I didn’t even recognize you at first. I mean, I was just surprised to see you look so . . . hot.” The young man grimaced. “That’s not what I meant either.”
“But you do look hot,” Stuart said, attempting to pry his friend’s foot out of his mouth.
“Thanks to Jeanne and Ann . . . and Gabe,” Mara replied, her fair complexion bordering on fuchsia as she turned her wide eyes on the captain. “Thank you for the dress,” she told him. “It’s perfect for the fiesta.”
Gabe lifted her hand to his lips. “Encanto, señorita. I am totally enchanted.”
If anyone knows how to throw a party, it’s the Mexicans, Gabe thought later that evening, as he and Jeanne shared a fried fish dinner with Lupita’s family. And the beauty of Punta Azul’s Fiesta de San Lucas Del Pez was that, for the most part, it was purely the work of the villagers—men, women, and children. No traveling carnival had yet discovered the small festival and invaded it with commercialism.
The handmade costumes and the parade had been a highlight. San Lucas, dressed in white robes girded with gold braid, had ridden a white donkey ahead of a float pulled by an antique tractor. The float was the boat on which the fishermen rode, casting their nets to no avail. When it reached the front of the cathedral, San Lucas had directed the men to cast their nets al otro lado—to the other side—and upon doing so, the village children tossed colorful papier-mâché fish into the nets, which were hauled up to the praises and cheers of the onlookers.
“Have you not ever seen such a fine festival?” Lupita exclaimed when the mariachis returned from a break. The guitars, bass, violins, and trumpets struck up a lively tune, drawing young and old alike from their picnic blankets and tables to the front of the makeshift stage.
“It’s wonderful,” Jeanne agreed. “And your family is wonderful.”
There were more stars in her eyes than in the sky, Gabe observed, strangely content, although he hadn’t been around this many kids and families in many a moon. In the past, a cantina would usually lure Gabe away from the festivities early on, but he’d cut Tex loose on his own tonight just for this—just for watching Jeanne.
“My brothers and sisters bring their families from all over the Yucatán for the fiesta and to visit my mother,” Lupita bragged.
Jeanne had even convinced Gabe to attend a short music service at the church down the street from the cathedral, where the congregation praised God for the abundance the sea provided the small village. Not that Gabe considered it abundance, but there was something about these people’s gratitude that touched him. They were joyful to have the bare necessities, when he was still put out that he’d not found gold enough for a king.
“Look, there! It’s the little señorita and my nephew.”
Gabe looked to where Lupita pointed.
Lupita’s nephew Antonio and Mara, as well as Nick, were doing their own version of Mexican dancing while Stuart watched, stuffing his face with a cheeseburger. It was only the half-meat-half-filler kind bought frozen by a local vendor and grilled up specifically for the fiesta, but it was still close enough to the real thing to produce a look of sheer ecstasy on his face.
“Nothing like a little competition to open a man’s eyes.” Jeanne turned a sparkling smile on Gabe. “It was a wonderful suggestion to have a girls’ night for Mara. All she needed was a little encouragement.”
Gabe stood and offered Jeanne his arm. “What do you say we join the youngsters and dance some of this meal off?”
Lupita gave him a knowing look. “There is something about our Mexican moon that brings out the novio in everyone.”
Jeanne’s flush as she accepted Gabe’s offered arm made him feel as if, tonight, he was her sweetheart. He was certainly acting the part.
“It is a magnificent moon,” he pointed out as they walked toward the dancers. Not quite full, the luminous orb seemed to rise slowly from a nest in the junglelike landscape beyond the western edge of the village. “Bright enough to dive by.”
Jeanne tilted her head up at him. “Still longing for Isla Codo, eh?”
“No, actually.” And that surprised him. He hadn’t dwelt on the gold that surely lay just beyond where the digging had stopped since they’d left the church. Even then, it wasn’t with longing, but with introspection. “I was thinking more of a moonlight swim on an isolated beach with a beautiful woman.”
He felt Jeanne tense on his arm. “Just so you know, my brothers warned me about the effects of the Mexican moon. Knocked the single socks off both of them.”
“Having lived here for quite a number of years now, I have to say that it’s never tugged at my, um, single socks.” Until now. What he felt with Jeanne at his side—now, in the church, around the children, trying her textbook Spanish on the locals—was far more than simple and easily forgotten interest. He was intrigued, enchanted, and eager to feel more.
Far more than he should feel comfortable with . . . yet he did. It seemed natural. Gabe definitely wanted whatever he was feeling to last longer than the fiesta. Was this what Tex meant when he parted company earlier that afternoon? “Bit for sure,” he’d said, smiling.
Gabe let the thought go, blending into the large circle of dancers with Jeanne for the folk dance. Although he’d watched a number of these dances from the sidelines, the sequence of steps required his full attention. It reminded him of those awful dances from the etiquette classes his parents had enrolled him in as a boy—except Gabe had developed considerably more regard for his feminine partner.
And the couples in this dance did not touch: while the ladies kept time with their feet, the men danced double time around them, dashing past and dipping toward them, shoulder to shoulder, before pivoting and moving in the opposite direction. Then the women formed a pinwheel in the center, circling one way, while the men on the outside circled the other, hands clasped behind their backs until they were once again opposite their partners. Mistakes might happen, but going the wrong way was no problem—the amiable dancers were happy to spin the errant soul about and steer him or her in the right direction.
Just as Gabe thought the dance had ended, the mariachis continued smoothly into another tune . . . and then another. Not exactly the kind of dancing he’d have preferred with the sassy señorita. He’d rather have her in his arms, swaying to the beat of soft jazz on the bridge of the Fallen Angel. Looking ahead as the men circled the ladies once more, he picked her out, dipping and looking over her shoulder on each fourth step in sync with the other women.
But when her gaze finally found him, he knew instantly that something was wrong. She smiled, but her eyes didn’t. They were over-wide and filled with . . . what? Fear? As she met him, he slipped his arm about her and pulled her from the dance, escorting her away through the crowd of onlookers. Beneath her tan, her complexion appeared waxen, at least in the light of the lanterns strung overhead from poles. “What’s wrong?” he asked, making his way to a giant laurel tree, around which had been built a bench. “Are you ill?”
“I—I think I’m just winded. It felt like m-my legs were turning to mush.”
Crossing her arms as if she were chilled, she sat down on the painted white plank.
“Maybe you’re a little dehydrated. We’ve been pushing ourselves to the limit, and it’s been very hot today.”
Jeanne nodded. “Just let me catch my breath. I’ll be fine.” The quaver in her voice wasn’t very convincing.
He leaned down, looking into her eyes. They were bright, almost as if glazed with tears. “You stay here and I’ll be right back with one
of those fruit sorbets. All right?” She forced a smile, more of a wince in Gabe’s opinion. “Sounds good. Thanks.”
“Good, then. I’ll be back in a flash.” He was no physician, but something was definitely wrong.