“What’s that?” Maria asked.
“Antibiotic,” the woman answered with a chuckle. Apparently she believed in modern medicine, in addition to natural remedies. She gave him the shot in the right buttock. He flinched at the sting. “Your man is young and strong. His fever-sickness should pass soon. If he’s not better tomorrow, send José for me.”
Maria paid Xochilt for her services, pleased with the diagnosis. They left the room together. Do?a Cristina said she was happy to host them while Ian recovered.
“Why was he hiking with this injury?” Xochilt asked on her way out.
Maria didn’t have an answer for that.
“Keep him in bed, m’ija. He needs rest.”
She nodded and looked down at her feet, embarrassed about their activities the previous night. She shouldn’t have been so amorous. He’d reinjured himself pleasuring her.
“What a problem to have, with a man like that,” Xochilt said to Do?a Cristina. The two older women laughed together.
After Xochilt left, Do?a Cristina warmed up a plate of food for Maria. She ate quickly, eager to get back to Ian. She was grateful for the woman’s kindness and generosity, but concerned about overstaying their welcome. What if the police knocked on the door? Maria couldn’t risk telling Do?a Cristina the truth about Ian, so she prayed for a safe, quiet visit.
Do?a Cristina chatted nonstop during the meal. She was a widow with four grown children who didn’t come home often enough. Her only son was in the Mexican army’s special forces. Her three daughters had moved away with their husbands.
“Where did you meet your husband?” she asked.
“In Mexico City. I was a tour guide at Teotihuacan.”
“Smart girl,” she said approvingly. It was hard to get a job at the famous archeological site, and women in the tourist industry were more likely to meet wealthy foreigners. “Let me guess. He saw your beautiful face and fell in love at first sight.”
Maria finished her last bite, hiding a smile. When Ian found her on the dunes, she’d been unconscious, her face swollen and misshapen. He hadn’t saved her because she was pretty. He hadn’t come to the hospital every day to admire her bruises. Kindness and concern had driven his actions. Perhaps he’d have lost interest if she’d been ugly, but the same could be said of her. He’d been young, handsome, and caring. Of course that combination had appealed to her.
Maria wiped her mouth with a napkin. “Forgive me. I must check in on him.”
Do?a Cristina waved her away.
She spent the rest of the evening at Ian’s side. Do?a Cristina brought her a nightgown to wear and a chaise cushion to sleep on. She took a shower in the adjoining bathroom before she went to bed. Around midnight, she awoke to the sound of a disturbance. Ian was yelling and thrashing around again. She stood watch as he struggled against the villain of his dreams.
“Get the fuck off me,” he said from between clenched teeth. “Get out of my room!”
She crossed her arms over her chest, her stomach tight. She suspected that his nightmares were based on an awful memory from his childhood. After a few minutes, he went quiet. She replaced his blanket, which had fallen to the floor, and touched his forehead. He was soaked in sweat, but cooler now. Maybe his fever had broken. She curled up on the cushion, concerned for the man he was, heart aching for the boy he’d been.
—
Ian woke up in a strange place, wracked by thirst.
He found a glass of water at his bedside and drank it in big gulps. Dim light filtered in through the window, suggesting it was near dawn. Maria was asleep on the ground beside him. He was buck naked in a bed that barely fit him. He threw back the blanket and found a piece of cloth on his thigh. The sticky green mess underneath looked like barfed-up grass, but damned if it didn’t feel good. He vaguely remembered the searing heat of its application.
Rising from the bed, he strode into the bathroom to take a piss. The green goo peeled off easily, revealing the pink of healing flesh. He had a dull, throbbing headache and his entire body was sore. He glanced into the mirror over the sink and saw every flaw, exaggerated. Shadows under his eyes, sharp cheekbones, and beard stubble that crept down his too-long neck. He needed to gain some weight. His torso was all ropey veins and lean muscle.
God. He looked like hell.
At least his mustache had filled in a little. Once he shaved his beard, it would appear even more distinct. He touched his upper lip, struck by a memory of using his mouth on Maria. She’d been melting underneath his tongue, slippery-hot. He smirked at his reflection, pleased with himself. Then he bent over the sink and splashed cold water on his face.
She was awake when he emerged from the bathroom. Her gaze slipped down to his cock, which had thickened enough to bob around as he walked.
He wasn’t too skinny there. She’d told him so.
“How are you feeling?” she asked. Her cheeks were rosy and her dark hair was mussed. She was wearing a sleeveless white nightgown, demure and angelic. Except that he could see her dusky nipples through the fabric.
“Better.” He found his clothes folded on top of a chair, freshly washed. He pulled on his pants. “Where’s my gun?”
She reached under the bed for a tote bag. His holster and credentials were inside.
“Whose house is this?”
“It belongs to a lady named Do?a Cristina.”
“How many people know we’re here?”
“Three, at least.”
“We have to go.”
“They don’t know who we are.”
“They know I’m American.”
“No. I said you were from Argentina, and we got lost hiking.”
He felt dizzy, so he sat down on the bed.
“You need to rest. The curandera said so.”
“I can’t stay here all day.”
She stood, placing a cool hand on his forehead. “You can stay for breakfast, yes?”