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He shook his head. “Who knows what she was thinking if killing me struck her as the best option. This is all I need, another baby brother to raise. I didn’t think things could get any worse, but they keep piling on to make this the worst summer of my life.”
Crushed he hadn’t excluded her, she closed the door on her way out.
Chapter Fourteen
Libby left the house in tears and carried her sandals down to the shore where Santos couldn’t follow. He hadn’t enumerated the summer’s problems, and she knew she wasn’t among
them, but he should have said so. She didn’t want to be remembered as the girl from his worst summer ever, if he remembered her.
She didn’t go far before sinking down into the sand. She hugged her knees and dried her tears rather than blubber pathetically. After all, she didn’t want to add to Santos’s problems, so she had to get hold of herself right now. She loved being with him, but therapy would take care of his knee, and they’d both known all along he wanted her company rather than a personal trainer. She ought to go home as soon as Maggie and Rafael came back so he wouldn’t be left alone.
She didn’t want to go home though, not yet. She gazed at the moonlight caressing the sea until she grew too cold to stay. She pushed herself to her feet and walked up to the house, as disheartened as when she’d left. As she crossed the patio, she didn’t see Santos sitting in the shadows until he spoke.
“You promised to tell me when I behaved like a squirrel-headed twit,” he murmured as she came near. “Come sit with me.”
She brushed the last of the sand from her new aqua-and-black tie-dye skirt and took the chair he’d pulled close to his. “You weren’t being a twit. I just didn’t want to be part of your awful summer.”
He reached for her hand and brought it to his lips. “You could come after me with an ax, and it wouldn’t even register this year.”
The night hid her smile. “Is that supposed to be comforting?”
“No, but I’d thought you’d know I didn’t mean you.”
“I do know,” she admitted. “But so much has gone wrong. Nuñez has never been sympathetic, and his latest opinions are beyond absurd.”
“I’ve been sitting here thinking maybe not,” he admitted reluctantly.
“You mean your father could have known Victoria?”
“He could have met her on the beach. She seemed to be staying somewhere close, and she could have taken him to her home rather than come into our house. It might have been a single afternoon. He loved the ranch and could have gone there and forgotten her. Things happened around him, but that doesn’t mean he noticed.”
He had a detached way of discussing his father as though Miguel were a subject of a documentary. “You need the facts, the date of the baby’s birth, and your father’s whereabouts nine months prior. The baby, for that matter, so there can be a DNA test. But if Victoria had a son with your father and he ignored her, wouldn’t she have gone straight to the tabloids?”
“Yes, on a rocket, unless…”
“Unless what?”
“My father guarded his privacy as I do mine, and she might have believed splashing the news he’d had a child with her would ruin her chances with him. But for Nuñez to twist the attacks against me as retaliation for what my father may have done to her is as absurd as you believe. I wonder if she has the rifle.”
Now really cold, she rubbed her arms. “Let’s go inside.”
Santos went into the kitchen. “Want some ice cream?”
“I’d rather have tea and cookies. Where does Tomas keep the cookies?”
“They’re in the pantry in a round tin on the shelf with the tea. Tomas always had them on the bottom shelf where I could reach them when I was small.”
She found it and brought it out to the counter to open. “I’ll bet you were a cute little guy. These lemon cookies are so good. Do you want some?”
He had the freezer open. “Ice cream is enough, and I wasn’t all that cute.”
He’d obviously heard too many compliments to appreciate hers. She handed him a bowl and heated water in the microwave for tea. Windows lined the west side of the room, and they’d be easy target for someone standing outside. That the likely culprit was in the hospital in a coma made her believe they were safe. “Have you done anything about having exterior lights installed?”
“I’ll do it tomorrow. Come into the dining room with me.”
She carried his bowl and spoon and went back to the kitchen for her tea and cookies. “I don’t think I’m going to be able to sleep.”
“I doubt I will either. I can’t hope for anything better tomorrow. If Avila dies, Nuñez will probably find a way to blame me for the accident.”
