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“If you move your hand any higher, we’ll have to leave,” Santos whispered in her ear.
Libby patted his knee and dropped her hand in her lap. With the crowd shouting at the first matador’s every move, she could study the fans seated in the rows behind them without drawing notice. She supposed she could scream if she saw someone with a high-powered rifle, but other than the staged violence in the bullring, it was a peaceful afternoon. None of the matadors was harmed in anyway, and Santos urged her from her seat while the last bull was still twitching.
Manuel had also watched the bullfights and met them at the car. “A mediocre display,” he replied in Catalan to Santos’s greeting.
“I agree, although in time, two of the men might show promise.”
“What did he say?” Libby asked.
“He offered his opinion of the matadors, and I agreed they weren’t very good.”
“I wonder what their fan mail is like.” She slid into the backseat, and Santos took care getting in the front.
“Thank you for reminding me. I need to read the new letters, if there are any.”
“Won’t your fans send their best wishes for your recovery?”
“Those aren’t the letters that interest me.” The protesters were gone from their corner, and several of their signs lay mangled in the gutter. “Maybe Javier Cazares will have discovered something interesting about the protesters. I’ll call him tomorrow. I’d take you out to dinner, but Tomas will have left something for us, and I’d rather not change clothes and go out again.”
His inviting smile made dinner at home far more appealing than the bother of dining out. “Do you suppose there’s anything left from last night?”
“No, Tomas fed the musicians and Julian and Adolfo too. We might find a stray green bean, but he’ll have left something new for us.”
“And cake,” she added. “That was an incredibly good cake.”
“You’re supposed to be helping me stay slim, not feeding me cake.”
“We’ll start tomorrow. Do you have a gym where you work out?”
“Yes, but first thing tomorrow, we’re going to see Orlando Ortiz.”
“And play dumb?”
“Yes, will you give it a try?”
She licked her lips and produced the same wide-eyed innocent gaze Patricia used so effectively. “Like this? Why, Mr. Ortiz, what a thrill it is to meet you.”
He stared at her. “Perfect. Meryl Streep couldn’t do any better.”
“That’s an awfully high standard.”
“We don’t disappoint.”
Libby didn’t remind him that was the Aragon family, not the Gundersons, although her family had high standards too.
Tomas had left them an artfully designed tray of cold cuts, cheeses and a green salad waiting for dressing. The rosemary rolls were so good she had to remind herself to eat slowly. “Does Tomas go to all this trouble just for you?”
“He’s paid to do so, don’t forget.”
“Of course, but…”
“I understand. He serves lunch to everyone who works here, so he keeps busy trying out new recipes, and I entertain often enough to provide a challenge for him.”
They were sitting in the dining room with her on his right as she had last night. “You have such a wonderful home.”
“Thank you, but I grew up on the ranch. I’ll take you out there if there’s time before you go home.”
“Let’s concentrate on getting you well first.”
