She lay in bed and stared at the beams across the ceiling, replaying their last conversation. He’d asked her to marry him. Well, he’d offered, anyway. It had sounded like something he’d blurted out on impulse and might regret later. She believed that he had feelings for her, and she knew he wanted her physically. He couldn’t hide his desire. But he hadn’t proposed marriage because he found her attractive. He’d done it to be nice. To save her from hardship.
Groaning, she rolled over in bed. If she’d been in the market for a husband to give her an easy life, she could have married a rich Mexican. There were eligible bachelors right here in Mezcala. Though none had ever set her blood on fire or made her pulse race like Ian.
The way he’d touched her…
Delfina burst into the room, interrupting Maria’s fantasy. “My sister is here,” she said several times in a singsong voice.
Maria threw off the light blanket and rose from the bed. It was Hugo’s room now, free of the feminine decorations she remembered. There was a picture of him with a group of other teenage boys taped to the mirror. On the opposite wall, a poster of a curvy bikini model.
She couldn’t believe her little brother was a teenager, old enough to like girls in bikinis. While she’d been away he’d become a young man, determined to ride La Bestia to the United States. “He’ll come back,” she said to Delfina, hopeful. “He’ll get scared of the pistoleros in the crowd and come back.”
“Hugo does not get scared,” Delfina said.
Maria frowned at her matter-of-fact answer. “He’s only fourteen. Of course he gets scared.”
“He is fifteen. Mamá made a cake.”
Fifteen? Oh no. She’d missed his birthday. Maria pulled on a pair of her brother’s cargo pants and a gray T-shirt, reconsidering Hugo’s nature. Delfina was right about him. He hadn’t scared easily, even as a little boy. He’d been stubborn back then too. “He’s small for his age.”
“No,” Delfina said. “He grew tall like you.”
Maria zipped up the pants, which hung loose on her hips but fit her long legs. Then she took down the photo of Hugo to study it. Sure enough, her brother stood half a head taller than the other boys. He was the spitting image of their father, with wavy dark hair and thick eyebrows. They both had his wolfish smile.
She tucked the photo into her pocket and went to the kitchen for breakfast. Their mother was already at work. After eating some leftover eggs and tortillas, she headed out the door with Delfina. They stopped to take a dip in the Balsas River. There was a bathing area on the other side of a copse of thick willow trees, behind a large group of boulders.
Delfina waded in the shallows while Maria scrubbed the grit from her hair and body. When she was finished, she floated on the surface, staring up at the clear blue sky. She’d spent every spare moment in this river as a child. Although she missed living in Mezcala, she hadn’t missed going without indoor plumbing. There were no hot showers. They hauled pumped water from the well for cooking and washing.
After a few minutes, she emerged refreshed. Delfina braided her wet hair, and they walked to town in damp clothes.
When they arrived at the pottery shop, there was a dusty rental car outside. Maria’s pulse skyrocketed at the sight. Mezcala had its fair share of tourists, but they usually parked at their hotels and strolled around the cobblestone streets.
Was someone looking for her?
She hurried through the front door and stopped short as soon as she saw the man inside, talking to her mother. Even before he glanced over his shoulder, she knew him. She knew him with short hair and unfamiliar clothes. She knew him by the breadth of his shoulders and the narrowness of his hips, his strong stance and electric presence.
“Ian,” she breathed.
Never shy, Delfina breezed by Maria and joined Ian at the front counter. She presented her hand to him in a coy gesture she must have seen in movies. Maria wasn’t sure how Ian would respond. Delfina was adorable, with her tiny frame and birdlike face, but she looked strange to outsiders. Hadita was the kindest term the townspeople used to refer to her. She’d also been called a dwarf and a troll.
Ian didn’t recoil from Delfina or leave her hanging. He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it without skipping a beat. “Enchanté, mademoiselle.”
Delfina giggled in delight. She didn’t speak English, let alone French, but she seemed to understand his meaning. So did their mother, who laughed.
Ian returned his gaze to Maria, mouth quirking. He had a mustache, or just the hint of one. Dark stubble framed his upper lip. She stared at it, struck by a vivid memory of that mouth on hers as he stroked her to completion.
He’d said he wanted to…to taste her.
She shifted her feet, self-conscious. Her cheeks flushed hot, despite her damp hair.
“Maria,” he said simply. But his eyes said more. They said he remembered everything too. Every kiss, every touch. Every word.
“Is this your boyfriend?” her mother asked in Spanish.
“No,” she said, embarrassed.
Her mother didn’t appear to believe her. She repeated the question to Ian in the same language. He just smiled and replied, “I need to speak with her in private, if you don’t mind.”
Maria smothered a groan. She’d never live this visit down. An American had come all the way to Mezcala for her. He had a handsome face and a charming manner. He was like a real-life storybook prince, searching for the girl with the glass slipper.
She couldn’t tell her mother the truth—that he was a cop, and she was a fugitive.
“Let’s go outside,” she said.
Delfina followed them, so Maria reached into her pocket for some money and sent her sister across the street to buy candy.
Maria thought Ian would ask what was wrong with Delfina, but he didn’t. He didn’t ask why Maria had left his bed without saying goodbye, either. He studied her for a long moment, standing close. He seemed relieved to find her, rather than angry she’d gone.
“You smell like earth,” he said in English.
“Like dirt?”
He leaned in and breathed her hair. “Like earth and fresh water.”