Finally Found Page 8

  Spring grinned at him. “I’m definitely in the mood for Mexican today.”

  Her grin made him forget his irritation, but—

  Paloma gave a hoot of agreement.

  Fighting the effect of Spring’s glowing face, Marco shook his head. “That isn’t the kind of place you’d like to eat lunch.”

  “Why not?” Paloma demanded. “Mamacita’s is great. They make their own tortillas and their sopaipillas are to die for!”

  “Then, Mamacita’s is definitely my kind of place.” Spring angled herself on the seat so she faced him—turning her loveliness on him full force.

  Marco shored up his resolve, but her effect on him couldn’t be blunted.

  At the start of the day, he’d been irritated even to have to spend the morning learning to hit a little ball around to please the garden committee ladies. The brief golf lesson had been all the time in Spring’s presence he’d been prepared to handle.

  Suffering the temptingly beautiful woman beside him as the day progressed had become a test he didn’t want to continue. And he certainly didn’t want to involve her in his family problems. Irritation simmered in his stomach. Nothing was going as he’d planned!

  He spotted his mother in the block ahead, right in front of the Hacienda Bakery. The wrecker was loading her red economy car onto a flatbed tow truck. Marco parked across the dingy street. “You two can stay—”

  Paloma hopped out of the back seat and waved her arm in a sweeping arc. “Hey, Mom, we’re here!” Spring smiled as she crossed the street with Paloma.

  What is this—a party? Marco brought up the rear. He approached the heavy, bearded man in khaki work clothes. “What was the problem?”

  The man shrugged. “Her car just decided to die here. You’ll have to ask the mechanic for a diagnosis.” The man was holding a clipboard and handed Marco’s mother the yellow copy. “I’m ready to take off. Good timing.”

  Marco’s mother thanked the man, who then slid into the cab of the Tomaso’s Towing truck and drove away with a grinding of gears and a loud rumbling of the heavy-duty engine.

  “Marco, I’m so sorry I had to call you.” His mother looked at Paloma, then her eyes slid to Spring. “And why aren’t you in school, Paloma?”

  Marco tried to recall if he had ever mentioned his knowing “Matilde’s Spring” to his mother. He didn’t want her to start matchmaking again. In the past two years, a series of pretty girls had “dropped in” while he was visiting his mother. He was sure they’d been invited.

  “It may take some time to sort out.” Spring offered her hand. “I’m Spring Kirkland.”

  Marco grimaced. He couldn’t focus his mind. He should have thought to introduce them.

  “You’re Matilde’s Spring? Ay! I feel like I know you. Matilde has talked about you since you were a little girl.” His mother glanced from him to her, as though trying to read their minds. “Did you two meet at Golden Sands? I didn’t know that you knew one another.”

  Spring smiled. “Marco and I went to the university at the same time. We had a few classes together. I met him again at the country club recently.”

  “You did?” His mother eyed him.

  Marco nodded, hoping his mother wouldn’t jump to conclusions. Spring was out of his league, and he knew it.

  “Yes, now I’m giving Marco a few golf lessons.” Spring chuckled.

  “You are?” His mother goggled at him.

  “Mom,” Paloma interrupted, “Marco’s taking us to Mamacita’s for lunch.”

  Marco was steaming inside. He wanted Spring home and himself safely at the hospital checking on Mr. Gardner. “I didn’t say that. I don’t think Mother wants you rewarded for having been—”

  “It’s just lunch,” Spring cut in with a bright smile. “We have to eat, Marco.”

  Why had Spring stopped him from telling his mother about Paloma’s suspension?

  Before Marco could make the three females realize that he would not take them to Mamacita’s for a late lunch, the four of them were sitting down at a booth in the back.

  “Oh, just smell all those lovely spices, cilantro, cumin, chili pepper. Mmm.” Spring beamed. “Did you know my sister is a professional food writer?”

  “Cool!” Paloma exclaimed. “What kind of food?”

  “Everything. This is just the kind of place she loves. When she takes a road trip, she always stops at cafés like this and get recipes from the local cooks.”

  Marco sat stiff and uncomfortable. As the day progressed, he’d felt as though control had slipped through his fingers. Like coming to Mamacita’s. He’d eaten at this little café so many times, but seeing Spring, so blond, so elegant, across from him made him feel… He couldn’t explain it. It just didn’t feel right.

  “Hey, Marco,” Lupe, Mamacita’s daughter, greeted him, “long time no see.”

  He nodded to her.

  “You finally bring a woman with you—but did you have to bring along your mother and sister as dueñas.” Lupe, a cute-enough brunette in tight jeans, chuckled at her own joke.

  Paloma spoke up. “This is Spring Kirkland. Isn’t that a great name?”

  “Sure is. Hello, Spring, I’m Lupe. What do you want for lunch?”

  “What should I order, Marco?” Spring looked to him.

  Ignoring the disconcerting effect of her clear blue eyes on him, he shrugged. “Everything’s good.”

  Lupe put one hand on her hip. “Don’t sound so enthusiastic, silly man, tonto. Why don’t you have the combo platter, Spring, since you haven’t been here before.”

  “Fine.” Spring handed Lupe her menu. “I’m unusually hungry today.”

  “The combo will take care of that!” Lupe quickly wrote down the other three orders and left to get their beverages.

  “Now I want to know why Paloma is not in school.” Mother looked across at her daughter sternly.

  Paloma’s face fell.

  Marco opened his mouth to explain, but halted.

  Shaking her head at him, Spring touched Paloma’s shoulder. When his sister looked up, Spring nodded, encouraging her.

  “Mom, I was suspended from school.”

  Mother gasped. “What will your father say?”

  Paloma looked down at the tabletop.

  “He’ll say,” a man’s voice boomed from the doorway behind them, “why are you celebrating at Mamacita’s!”

  Marco closed his eyes. His stepfather. The whole family, just what I needed. Fitting Spring into his life wouldn’t work. They were from two different worlds. Today proved that.

  Nothing had gone as planned. In his mind, the hospital across town beckoned him like a haven. There he was in charge and completely safe from being tempted by a woman like Spring.

  “How did you know we were here?” Mother asked.

  “When I didn’t find you where you said you were, I stopped at the halfway house. Someone saw you walking here.” Santos grabbed a chair from an adjacent table and swung it to the booth. Focused on Paloma, he sat down, looking grim. “Now, daughter, what did you get in trouble for?”

  Spring said, “Perhaps you’d like me to leave while you discuss this?”

  Santos did a double take, then stood up hastily. “Pardone. I didn’t see you there, miss.”

  “I’m—”

  Paloma interrupted her. “This is Spring Kirkland, Matilde’s Spring.”

  His face brightened. “Matilde is an old friend. It is an honor to meet you, señorita. Matilde has watched you grow up.” He shook the hand Spring offered him.

  “Spring came to school with Marco and picked me up, Dad,” Paloma admitted, holding her chin high. “I’m very sorry about being suspended. I just lost my cool.”

  Marco couldn’t believe his ears. Where had his defiant sister gone?

  “We will discuss this at home.” Santos gave Paloma a stern look. “Now! The job I did this morning made me wish I was two men, and I’m hungry enough to eat for both of them.”

  “Good.” Lupe laughed a
s she came up behind him, grinning. “I put in an order for the Grande platter you always order.” The waitress set down soft drinks for all of them and moved on to another table.

  “I thought this was going to be a dreadful day,” his mother said. “Santos had that emergency call. My car broke down. And Paloma had to be picked up from school. But somehow everything looks better at Mamacita’s.”

  “And I got to meet all of you, too,” Spring added with a smile.

  Marco kept a straight face. He didn’t share his mother’s sentiments.

  After a leisurely lunch, Santos went on to another job, and Marco dropped his mother and sister off at home. He’d wanted to drop Spring at her door first, but his sister needed to be home in time for an after-school baby-sitting job.

  He drove, keeping his eyes on the street. In a few moments, he’d have Spring at home and he’d be on his way to the hospital. He felt he was about to round third base and reach home plate at last.

  “Well.” Spring sighed with satisfaction. “I think we made a good start on golf, in spite of everything.” She touched his arm. “Are you really that upset about Paloma getting into a scrape at school?”

  His arm tingled at her touch as he tried to think of what to say. What did she want him to say?

  “What’s wrong? Tell me,” she prompted softly.

  He glanced into her eyes cautiously. “No. I don’t think my sister will do it again.”

  “Then, what has upset you?”

  “Upset?” He frowned.

  “You’ve been on edge all day. What’s wrong? Is there something, a patient, on your mind?”

  Something on his mind! Spring’s nearness for most of a day had worn down his defenses. He longed to lift her hair like spun gold and feel its softness on his fingertips. “Wrong?” he managed to mumble.

  “You’ve been preoccupied. I…I don’t know how to describe it exactly. You just haven’t been fully with your family, with me today.” She gazed at him as though trying to will him to speak.

  He struggled against his awareness of her. She smelled of gardenias like the ones his mother grew in her backyard. The scent had taunted him all day. “I just have so much to do and today was wasted—”

  “The day wasn’t wasted. Your sister needed you and you were there to help her. You ate a meal with your family. I don’t get to do that very often anymore, usually just on holidays. Your sister will soon be in college, then married and living in another city or state—before you know it. It was a good day, Marco.”

  He tried to process her words. “Spring, I—”

  His cell phone rang.

  Chapter Seven

  Marco nearly pitched the phone out the open car window. Groaning inside, he flipped it open by his ear. “Yes!”

  “Marco, it’s Lupe. I’m here with Aunty, Tía Rosita. She is weak and nauseated. She looks awful!”

  Tía should be fine. What’s changed since the last time I checked on her? “Has she been taking her medication?”

  “I asked her that, and she insists she has been taking it, but I know something is wrong. Will you come?”

  No, I want to take Spring home! “Yes, I’ll come right over.” He snapped the phone shut, then dragged his eyes once more toward the dangerously lovely lady beside him. He’d thought his “ordeal” had been about to end. “I’m sorry. It’s an emergency. I have to go straight—”

  “Of course. Don’t mind me. I don’t have to be home at any special time.”

  Trying to shore up his defenses against the alluring Spring, he turned left at the next green light and headed straight back to the old neighborhood where they’d eaten lunch. Lupe had a level head and wouldn’t call with a false alarm.

  Spring pulled her own cell phone out of her purse. Today had shaped up better than she ever could have planned. Marco had been forced to let her into his life as more than a mere acquaintance. God’s hand had been busy all day!

  “Hello, Matilde, it’s Spring. I won’t be home until late. Marco has been called to an emergency and he doesn’t have time to drop me home. If he has to stay long, I can always call a cab. Okay. Bye.”

  “I’ll get you home. Don’t worry.”

  Spring glanced at him. Between buildings, she glimpsed the mid-winter sun slipping toward the Gulf of Mexico. Gold and violet streaked the sky. She’d spent the day with Marco and it had been wonderful! If only she could guess what he was thinking…if he was thinking about her.

  “You still do house calls? I thought that was a thing of the past.”

  “This is a special case.” He concentrated on his driving through the tourist-clogged traffic, still trying to ignore the fragrance of gardenias that wafted from her.

  “How so?”

  “This is an old friend of the family.” Tía had given him, as a ten-year-old, the job of running errands and had paid him with cookies. “Tía emigrated from Cuba in the sixties and retired last year at age sixty-five. For some reason, her paperwork has gotten misplaced or hung up on someone’s desk in the Social Security system. She should be on medicare, but every time she applies, the computer—”

  “Spits her out.” Spring folded one lovely leg under her and angled herself toward him.

  His self-discipline was getting a workout today! Training his eyes forward again, he nodded, a grim set to his jaw. “Yes, I think that describes it. I’ve written letters, made calls, submitted forms—”

  “But every effort to get her benefits activated fails.” She laid her slender arm along the top of the seat, her hand only inches from his shoulder.

  “That sums it up.” His words were curt.

  Why? Was it the heavy traffic? Or was he irritated because he hadn’t been able to drop her off and go back to the hospital? She had a feeling his whole life revolved around the hours he spent there. He’d even used a hospital benefit—a golf tournament—to justify taking time to learn golf.

  Aunty, Eleanor and Verna Rae were right. Whether Marco and she “connected” romantically or not, he needed to get a life.

  He clung doggedly to their conversation. “You sound like you have some experience with this type of government tangle. How?”

  “I told you my father is a pastor. When he pastored a large church in Milwaukee, something like this would pop up occasionally. One time, I remember he spent one solid day in the local Social Security Office trying to get a widow with two small children her survivor benefits.” She raked her fingers through her glorious hair.

  He clenched his jaw, resolved to get this emergency call over and end this exquisite torture. He turned his thoughts back to what she’d said about her father’s efforts. “Did he succeed?”

  “Not until he’d spent weeks following up on it—phone call after phone call. Fortunately, our church had some generous members who supported the woman until the benefits finally started.”

  With relief, he pulled into the alley behind the Hacienda Bakery. Tía needed him and he needed to get a time-out from being alone with Spring. “I think you should come in with me.”

  “I planned to.” Spring got out of the car and followed him toward the back staircase.

  The unappetizing smells in the alley from the Dumpster made him hurry up the outside wooden staircase behind Spring.

  “I’ve eaten up your day with my family—and now this.”

  She grinned at him. “You forgot to complain about the time I wasted on your golf lesson.”

  He shook his head at her. It wasn’t only him. Spring hadn’t acted like herself all day.

  On the top step, Lupe waited. “I apologize if I spoiled your plans. I didn’t want to call you. In fact, Tía is really upset with me about it. But I came over to check on her before going home for the day, and she just looked so bad.”

  Spring smiled at Lupe. “No problem. We didn’t have any definite plans.” That’s for sure.

  Focusing on his purpose, Marco ushered them ahead of him into the flat above the bakery where Tía had worked for more than thirty-five years. Th
e uncomfortably warm apartment was small and crowded with furniture. Tía never parted with anything. How would Spring handle this?

  Marco heard Tía comforting her cat, Alejandro, and called out, “Tía, how do you feel?”

  “Terrible.”

  He grinned to himself. At least Tía hadn’t lost her spicy tongue. A good sign. Walking into the tiny kitchen, he dropped his small medical bag on the kitchen table. Tía sat on a straight chair in a faded pink housedress. Round and full-cheeked, she looked like a woman who’d worked in a bakery most of her life.

  He touched Tía’s forehead. Warm, flushed and dry—not good. He pinched the skin on her forehead.

  “Don’t do that,” she scolded.

  His pinch of her skin remained “tented” for several seconds before it sank back to normal. Loss of skin elasticity. He felt as if he were reading the textbook symptoms of uncontrolled diabetes. But Lupe had said Tía insisted she’d been taking her oral medications.

  He dug into his bag, then put the blood-pressure cuff around her arm.

  “You fuss so much, Marco. I’m just a little run down…”

  He frowned as her voice trailed off. Her eyes wandered as if she couldn’t focus. Changes in the level of consciousness, his mind went on, reciting the list of symptoms. He eyed the blood-pressure gauge: 105/70. Bad. He frowned. “Tía, have you been taking your pills regularly and testing yourself?”

  “Of course, Marco. Who came with you?” The old woman looked past him to where Lupe and Spring stood side by side.

  Had Tía just noticed Spring? That was a danger signal in itself. Tía never missed anything.

  Marco unwrapped a sterile lancet and pricked Tía’s middle finger to do a blood-glucose test. Glucose running way too high. What had brought this on? “Lupe, please get me her bottle of pills from the refrigerator.”

  Lupe handed him the amber plastic bottle of pills.

  He studied the date and number of pills listed on the pharmacy label. Today was in the last week of February. The bottle should be almost empty. It was half full. He fumed. Didn’t she understand how serious her diabetes was? He held the bottle in front of her face.