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Duncan wandered in, still listening to Juanita rant on the phone, but his gaze remained sharp and focused on the scene.
“It’s okay.” She clutched the cup. “The coffee will warm me up.”
“Nonsense. You’ll have a shower, and I’ll make you both some of my special hot chocolate.” She motioned for Duncan to come closer.
“Juanita, get a hold of yourself and take a sedative or something. I gotta go.” He closed the phone, but Rebel could still hear the voice on the other end as he cut her off.
“Everything okay?” Though he spoke to Rebel, he watched Rafael.
“His color is better and his breathing is, too.”
“And she’s soaked to the bone, mijo!” Lupe said with great concern.
For the first time since they’d entered the house, Duncan grinned. “Well, so am I.”
“Bah!” Lupe waved away his statement. “Rebel needs a shower and dry clothes before she gets a cold.” The housekeeper stood, once again in charge of herself and the situation. She took Rebel’s hand and led her away. “You take care of things for a while.”
Rebel went with Lupe, but cast a look at Duncan, who could only stare as the most interesting woman he’d met in years was being held hostage by his grandfather’s girlfriend. They soon disappeared upstairs, and a door slammed.
“Duncan! Get over here. She’s right. I have to pee like a racehorse!”
A light-hearted sensation filled him. All was well in the world if his grandfather could yell again. He shivered, casting a longing glance upstairs. He was going to need a shower, too. Too bad it would have to be by himself.
After helping Rafael to the bathroom then returning him to the couch and the oxygen, Duncan took a shower of his own. He dressed in clothing he’d left on a previous trip, but he wondered what Rebel would be wearing as she hadn’t brought anything with her. It was too much to hope that it would be skimpy.
As he descended the stairs and scraped his hair back from his face, he expected to see Rebel sitting with Rafael, but she was nowhere in the vicinity. And neither was Rafael.
“I put him to bed, and she’s out on the portál,” Lupe called from the kitchen. “I’m making my hot chocolate for you. I’ll bring it out in a few minutes.”
He found Rebel ensconced on one of the settees, with her feet tucked beneath her and covered by a Pendleton blanket.
What a picture she made. After the shower, her hair seemed curlier and luxurious. He wanted to sink his hands into it and pull her closer to him, pull her fragrance into his mind so he would never forget it. The firelight cast a golden glow over her and he paused, absorbing the image of her quiet beauty. He knew he didn’t make a noise or hardly breathed, but she turned. A few beats of his heart went missing.
And then she smiled.
And he knew he could never be her friend. He wanted way more than that. Especially after that kiss that afternoon had set his blood on fire.
Without directing his feet, they moved him over to where Rebel sat, and he settled beside her. Placing a hand on the back of the settee, his hand tunneled beneath her hair so he could make contact with the skin on her neck. She was such a beauty. Vastly different from the women he’d known from society who’d only seen the prestige in his name and the dollars in his pocket, convinced their beauty alone would win him over.
Rebel had none of those issues. She had others, but he was willing to work on them. She needed a friend, and he wanted to be that for her, as well as something else he wasn’t quite willing to name. Lover? Best friend? Partner? He didn’t know and didn’t want to think about it right now and pushed aside thoughts of his fiancée. Although it had been a long time ago, guilt from his inability to save her resurfaced. Right now, all he wanted to do was put his arms around Rebel and never let go.
“This is lovely. Who knew there would be a need to have a fire on a summer night?”
“Summer nights are the perfect time for a fire.” There was a fire in him that he wanted to explore. Leaning closer, he stopped just short of placing his lips against hers. “There’s been a fire between us since we met, whether you want to admit it or not.”
A small gasp came from her mouth, but she didn’t pull away and she didn’t deny it. How could she when the proof was in front of her face? The proof was in that kiss and the way her body reacted to his.
Slowly, she moved her hand up and she placed a palm on his cheek. “I’m not the one you want, Duncan.” Sadness crept into her eyes again and it maddened him when things were going so well between them. He didn’t want to stop, and he didn’t want anything to get in his way.
“You are the one I want.” He hardly had to move and his lips would be against hers. Every breath she took tingled against his skin.
A sudden interruption on the portál ended the conversation.
“Here it is. I told you my special hot chocolate would be just the trick to warm you up from the inside out.” Lupe hustled across the patio stones and placed a serving tray in front of them. She handed each of them a huge, steaming mug.
“Lupe, this smells incredible.”
“It is!” She clapped her hands together once. “This recipe has been handed down for generations in my family. You will love it.”
“Thank you, Lupe. How’s he doing?”
“He’s asleep and looks peaceful for the first time in months.” She leaned over and kissed Duncan on the forehead. “Thanks to you, mijo.” She moved to Rebel and gave her a kiss as well. She smiled and for the first time tonight he saw the fatigue and the fear in her eyes. “Thank you, mijo. It’s time for bed for me. You two enjoy the evening.”
“Goodnight,” Rebel said.
Duncan watched her as she stared into the fireplace, cupping her hands around the mug of hot chocolate he already knew was a gift from the gods. “Somewhere along the way, Lupe’s family must have made a Mayan sacrifice to get that recipe.” He’d been drinking it since he was a child and it never ceased to impress him.
“What?” She frowned. “What?”
“Kidding.” He clinked his mug gently against hers. “It’s magical. The Mayans were the first to use chocolate and chili in their cooking.”
“This whole place is magical, Duncan.” Hesitation in her eyes, the stiffness in her posture indicated a level of discomfort he wanted to put at ease.
And he really wanted to kiss her.
Clearly there were events in her past that continued to haunt her in the present. If they were going to be friends, or anything else, he needed to know some of them. Patience had never been his way, but right now he knew it was the only way. The way he tended to plow right through things worked in some ways, but not now. Not with Rebel.
She blew on the steaming hot chocolate, and he noticed a tremor in her hands he’d not noticed before. Maybe he made her nervous or just talking about her past made her tense up.
“Want to talk about what happened earlier?”
Shy, she looked down at her mug and avoided the question for a few moments. Then she nodded, as if having come to a firm decision. The mug rattled against the table as she set it down and then turned to face him. “You deserve the truth. To know the truth about me and my family.”
“What, are you descended from a line of circus performers, or bank robbers or something?”
She gave a sad smile. “No. Much worse.”
“You have the plague?” Seriously? What could it be?
Tears sprang into her eyes, and he had to confront the fact there might be something seriously wrong he’d not been aware of. He dropped the attempt at humor. Obviously, now was not the right time for it. “Tell me what it is. Some things are best told straight out. Why don’t you try?”
After a few breaths, she looked at him and held his gaze. “My family has Huntington’s disease.”
Duncan closed his eyes, immediately feeling sadness for her and understanding her grief—her behavior now made perfect sense. Genetically, it was a death sentence. There was no getting around that. At least for some people.
“I’m so sorry, Rebel. Truly.” He leaned closer to her, intending her to see how serious he was. “But you can’t give up your life because of an illness that may or may not strike. Have you been tested?”
“No. I don’t need to, I know I have it.” She looked down, shamed. “I’ve begun to have symptoms.”
“What? How long has this been going on?” That thought sickened him. She was in the prime of her life, and they’d just met.
“It started in the last couple of days. Things like this have never happened to me before, so I’m certain it’s the Huntington’s.” She brushed away a tear that was making its way down her cheek.
“Tell me what your symptoms are. I’m not a genetic expert, but I know a bit about the disease.”
“Over the years, I’ve become one. I’ve got tremors in my hands, shortness of breath, headaches, and I’ve been losing control of my extremities.”
“How so?” He hadn’t seen anything unusual.
“The last few days I’ve been dropping things more than usual. Paperwork mostly, but I dropped the vial in my lap three times when I was preparing it for Rafael.”
“Have you checked your blood sugar? Simple things like dehydration and moving to a higher elevation can make you behave in ways your body isn’t accustomed to.” The panic in him started to settle down. “You haven’t been here long enough to have acclimated. I’m sure it’s something like that.”
“It’s not. It’s can’t be just that. I’m accustomed to traveling.” She picked up her mug again and avoided his gaze. “I appreciate you trying to help, but—”
“But nothing, Rebel!” Anger snapped inside him, and he had to rein it in. He normally didn’t have much of a temper, but when injustice occurred in front of him, his temper roared. “You can’t just sit here and say you’re giving up. Unless you’ve been tested, you can’t know you’re going to develop the full-blown illness.”
“Haven’t you ever just known something in your life? I mean, just known it down in your gut without anyone ever having to tell you?” She looked into her mug as if she were going back into her memories, seeing them now as if they were a movie in front of her eyes.
“Of course, everyone has. But I’ve also been wrong about some of those things too. That’s a sign you’re thinking with your emotions and not logic.” He’d been there and done that, in spades.
“Logic? Research shows a full fifty percent of people develop the disease. The pattern in my family is well over the fifty percent mark. So far, seventy-five percent. There were four children and three have died of it.”
“Rebel, you’re not interpreting the research properly. A full fifty percent of people then don’t develop any symptoms and go on to live beautiful lives.” He raked a hand through his hair, frustrated at her thinking process and her unfounded belief. “Have you thought that you’ve got those sort of statistics on your side? Those are quite positive in my book.”
“No.” She sighed and clutched her hands in her lap. “It’s just always easier to believe the bad stuff, you know? How can I even consider thinking I might not have it when the proof is in my symptoms?”
“You are a stubborn one, aren’t you?” He sighed, not wanting to run over her beliefs, but he wouldn’t be satisfied until she obtained the proper testing. Her symptoms could be anything from simple fatigue to stress from work.
“Why haven’t you gotten the testing done to know for sure?” That’s what he would have done, immediately.
“I’m…” Her breathing came in short huffs and tears sprang forth in earnest. Duncan patted her shoulder but remained silent. “I’m afraid! God, I’m so afraid to have what I know confirmed.” She covered her face with her hands. “I can’t take knowing that every tick of the clock is leading me closer to my death.”
Duncan pulled her against his side, offering her some comfort as the fire in the kiva fireplace snapped and crackled, offering its warmth to her as well. He pressed a kiss to her temple.
“Science may equally disprove what you think you know, too.”
“I don’t know if I want to know. It’s like I can feel it coming on, what more proof do I need?”
“What you may be feeling is the stress of unrelenting anxiety from years of worry.” Squeezing her shoulder, he leaned back into the settee, pulled her closer, tucked her head beneath his chin. “Tell me about it. Tell me the story that’s locking you up inside.”
A few minutes passed before she took a deep breath. “My dad died when I was eleven, and he was forty-five. We had no idea what had happened to him, but a few years later when my oldest brother got sick and showed the same symptoms we had a clue it was the same thing.” She cuddled against him and allowed her body to relax. One hand drifted over his abdomen, almost shyly, as if she hesitated to hold on to him. He placed his hand over hers and held it against him.
“Then what happened?”
“My grandparents finally told us that dad was adopted and they had no idea what his family history was. But when Ben became symptomatic, we started digging. Mom got all of the boys tested as they were the ones showing symptoms. I didn’t have any symptoms yet, so she decided to wait for me.” She paused as a tear ran down her cheek. Duncan caught it with the back of his fingers and wiped it away. “Seemed like every couple of years all we did was plan funerals. All of them were dead by the time they were twenty-five.” She huffed out an irritated breath. “I have three nephews and so far they are doing okay.” She took a deep breath and looked up at him. “They might be okay, then, right?”
“I’m so very sorry, Rebel. That’s a lot of pain to go through.” He could only give the odds science had already established. The guilt she felt for surviving such tragedy now explained everything. Why she ran from one assignment to the next and why she was so reluctant to make friends.
“I know.” She nodded. “It’s awful. But it was part of the reason I became a nurse. I couldn’t help my family, but I wanted to do something to help someone else’s.”
“No matter the reason you entered healthcare, you’re an excellent nurse.” He paused for a second. “But you are entitled to have a life of your own, no matter what your family history is.”
“How can I even think of having a relationship or a family with such history?” Anger blazed in her eyes at the suggestion, but it was part of the process of letting go.
“By living your life you honor your family, and you don’t let a disease, something you have no control over, live your life for you. That’s how.” Anger surfaced again, and he struggled to choke it down. Wasting a life was unconscionable. His fiancée had wasted her life, died after a stupid argument, and he wasn’t going to let Rebel just as surely destroy herself.
“That’s a very different way of looking at it.” She turned away and reached for her mug on the table in front of her, clearly not comfortable with that way of thinking.
“I’m challenging your thinking, Rebel, not your commitment, or loyalty, to your family.” He pushed her hair back from her shoulder.
“You haven’t mentioned your mother at all. Where is she in all of this?” Mothers were a driving force in the lives of children. His had gone from his life entirely too soon.
“I don’t know. We haven’t spoken in a while.” She shrugged and looked away. “It’s hard for me to be around her. I think, whenever I’m with her, I remind her too much of everything she’s lost.”
“She may be sad over her loss, but I think she would be overjoyed at being with you.”
“She’s married again. She’s moved on.” She made a face. “I don’t think she really needs me.”
“Look at me, please?” Her pain was almost tangible, and he wanted to ease it, but he didn’t think he could right at the moment.
It took a few seconds, but she turned her face toward him. The anger still blazed inside him, but it was tempered by compassion. “The question really is, do you want a relationship and a family? If you don’t, then it’s simple, you carry on the way you are. But if you do, then you have to make a change.”
“I did want a family. I grew up loved, and I wanted that for my own children. But when my brothers died, I knew I couldn’t face such pain ever again or bring it to anyone else.” She sighed. “I’ve already tried to have myself sterilized, but no doctor would do it because of my age.”
“You don’t want children?” That would be a crime.
“I would. I did. I do.” She shook her head and her hair caught the firelight. “I gave up thinking about it. It’s not like there have been many men lining up, wanting to father my children. All I could do was have the birth control implant placed in case of accidental pregnancy. It lasts for three years. It’s a pain, but it works.”
“We all have pain. It’s just different for everyone.” Thoughts of the night his fiancée had died surfaced again, but he pushed them away. It was the past and should remain there, though it hadn’t stayed there, ever. She hadn’t wanted children and it would have ended their relationship had she not died that night.
“You have an incredible family with a history like something out of a story book.” She gestured around the patio, encompassing everything.
“True. But it wasn’t perfect.” He had to concede that. “You don’t know about how many of them were killed or died on the trip to the United States, how many of them died from starvation and disease until the ranch got established, how many died in raids or in gunfights with early settlers, Indians and bandits from Old Mexico.”
She smiled. “I can just see Rafael hanging out with Pancho Villa if he’d been around then.”
Duncan snorted out a laugh, admiring her spirit once again. “Actually, we have a photo of my great-grandfather with Pancho Villa.”
“No way!” Astonishment showed in her eyes.
“Way.” He pressed a kiss to her temple. “My ancestors not only fought disease but Mexican revolutionaries, as well as Mother Nature. It’s not the same thing, but every family has their trials, their grief. My mother and a sister have both died from breast cancer.” He sighed, not letting the pain of their loss intrude on this conversation. “It’s what you do with the pain, how you learn from it, that counts.” He paused for a second. “And growth hurts. It’s uncomfortable, but it challenges you in places you’d never thought about, but in the end it’s worth it.” Like he’d been challenged so many times in his life.
“Wow. I’m so sorry about your losses. I’ll have to think about that.” She dropped her gaze to her mug again and remained lost in thought for a long time. “It’s been quite a day, hasn’t it?”
“Yes, it has. Tomorrow will be crazy, because the family is going to come to check on him.”
“They don’t just call?”
