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Maggie knew he did and hated that Rafael had heard it. Her appetite gone, she put her sandwich on her plate. Rafael looked as distressed as he had when he’d first learned of her father’s death, and she laid her hand on his thigh. “This is such a difficult time for us all. Please remember what my father said to you, not some off-hand remark he made to someone else.”
Rafael got up and pushed his chair back into the table. “I need some air. I’ll come back for you later.”
The pain in his gaze was too deep for her to offer another apology he wouldn’t accept. He closed the front door quietly, and it wouldn’t have surprised her if he never returned. “Fox has no sense at all,” she complained.
“He’s a kid,” Santos argued. “But you’re right, he was cruel, wheth
er it was deliberate or not, and I doubt Rafael will forget it.”
“No, he won’t. What man would?”
Santos looked toward the kitchen. Fox had turned on the small television he watched while he cooked. “Now that we’re alone, tell me what really happened yesterday.”
Maggie would never tell the whole story. She repeated what she’d said earlier with the addition of her father’s criticism for the first two matadors. “He was proud of you and surprised Rafael was better than he’d expected. He was enjoying the afternoon, excited, and then…”
Santos stared at her, then gave up hope she’d say more. “Dr. Moreno said he was still alive when he reached the hospital but died soon afterward. Didn’t it strike you as odd there was an ambulance there?”
“He said it was Dr. Moreno’s idea.”
“So he anticipated a heart attack? If watching a bullfight was more excitement than he could stand, why didn’t Moreno forbid it?”
Maggie supplied the excuse her father had given her. “Hasn’t an ambulance been there whenever you’ve fought in Barcelona?”
“I don’t know. I’ve come here on the way home and gone by the beach house later to celebrate with him. He’d drink champagne, although he wasn’t supposed to. He loved bullfighting. Maybe he would have wanted to die the way he did. Wherever we bury him will become a shine. Grandmother might suggest the ranch, but we can’t have people wandering through our home on a pilgrimage.”
“Where’s Augustín buried?”
“In the Basilica cemetery. He has an impressive monument. I’ll show it to you when we’re there.”
Maggie rolled what was left of her sandwich in its wrapping. “I’ll save this for later.” She carried it into the refrigerator and dealt with Fox. “You’re young, but that’s no excuse to broadcast every comment you’ve ever heard without considering the consequences. Rafael idolized Miguel, and you hurt him badly. Was that your intention?”
His eyes widened in astonishment. “You think I’m jealous of him? I never wanted to be Miguel’s son, and Rafael did. He can have him. May I have the rest of your sandwich?”
She knew teenage boys were often blind to everything past their noses, but the damage was too severe to repair. “Help yourself.” She washed her hands in the sink and waited while Santos washed his.
He led her into the living room and picked up an accordion file. “It looks as though Cirilda threw everything into this when our grandmother told her to get rid of it. Help me organize it by date first, and then we’ll see if we can make something out of it.”
They sat on the pale woolen rug to tackle the project. He handed her the first section of the file, and he began with the second. “These pages are dated from different years.” She arranged them in order and wished her grandfather had used a yellow legal pad throughout, but there were also sheets of fine linen stationery with the Aragon crest, and even some thoughts written on the back of receipts. She picked up the earliest sheet and began to read.
“Can you read Spanish?” Santos asked.
“Yes, I teach Spanish in high school. It’s a useful language in Arizona and all the southwest.”
“So we could have been speaking Spanish the whole time you’ve been here?”
“Your English is perfect, but I didn’t mean to deceive you.”
“All women deceive men. It’s part of the species,” he replied with a careless shrug.
Guilty of a monstrous deception when it came to Miguel’s death, she couldn’t argue. She was relieved to hear a knock at the door and got up to answer. “I didn’t expect Rafael to be back so soon.”
Her wide smile faded. Clearly disappointed Santos hadn’t opened the door, Ana Santillan stared past Maggie to him. “Have you moved in, Magdalena? He’s tossed me out.”
“I assume you’ve come by to offer your sympathies,” Santos said as he struggled to his feet. “Thank you, we appreciate them.”
“I was worried about you too. Rafael didn’t have to carry you out of the ring yesterday, but you leaned on him and were limping.”
His jeans hid his bandage, and he admitted nothing. “It was just a scratch. I won’t keep you.”
