a severe fall, and the doctor had told him there was little hope of saving it. It wasn’t possible that they’d both lied. Of course not.
“I’ll try to find the child’s whereabouts,” the doctor told Diego. “Meanwhile, you can’t do much good here. By tomorrow she should be more lucid. You can see her then.”
Diego wanted to tell him that if she was lucid Melissa wouldn’t want to see him at all. But he only shrugged and nodded his dark head.
He left a telephone number at the nurse’s station and went back to his hotel, glad to be out of Tucson’s sweltering midsummer heat and in the comfort of his elegant air-conditioned room. A local joke had it that when a desperado from nearby Yuma had died and gone to hell, he’d sent back home for blankets. Diego was inclined to believe it, although the tropical heat of his native Guatemala was equally trying for Americans who settled there.
He much preferred the rain forest to the desert. Even if it was a humid heat, there was always the promise of rain. He wondered if it ever rained here. Presumably it did, eventually.
His mind wandered back to Melissa in that hospital bed and the look on her face when she’d seen him. She’d hidden well. He’d tried every particle of influence and money he’d possessed to find her, but without any success. She’d covered her tracks well, and how could he blame her? His treatment of her had been cruel, and she hadn’t been much more than a child hero-worshiping him.
But Diego thought about the baby with bridled fury. They were still married, despite her unfaithfulness, and there was no question of divorce. Melissa, who was also Catholic, would have been no more amenable to that solution than he. But it was going to be unbearable, seeing that child and knowing that he was the very proof of Melissa’s revenge for Diego’s treatment of her.
The sudden buzz of the telephone diverted him. It was the doctor, who’d obtained the name and address of the neighbor who was caring for Melissa’s son. Diego scribbled the information on a pad beside the phone, grateful for the diversion.
An hour later he was ushered into the cozy living room of Henrietta Grady’s house, just down the street from the address the hospital had for Melissa’s home.
Diego sat sipping coffee, listening to Mrs. Grady talk about Melissa and Matthew and their long acquaintance. She wasn’t shy about enumerating Melissa’s virtues. “Such a sweet girl,” she said. “And Matthew’s never any trouble. I don’t have children of my own, you see, and Melissa and Matthew have rather adopted me.”
“I’m certain your friendship has been important to Melissa,” he replied, not wanting to go into any detail about their marriage. “The boy…”
“Here he is now. Hello, my baby.”
Diego stopped short at the sight of the clean little boy who walked sleepily into the room in his pajamas. “All clean, Granny Grady,” he said, running to her. He perched on her lap, his bare toes wiggling, eyeing the tall, dark man curiously. “Who are you?” he asked.
Diego stared at him with icy anger. Whoever Melissa’s lover had been, he obviously had a little Latin blood. The boy’s hair was light brown, but his skin was olive and his eyes were dark brown velvet. He was captivating, his arms around Mrs. Grady’s neck, his lean, dark face full of laughter. And he looked to be just about four years old. Which meant that Melissa’s fidelity had lasted scant weeks or months before she’d turned to another man.
Mrs. Grady lifted the child and cuddled him while Matthew waited for the man to answer his question.
“I’m Matthew,” he told Diego, his voice uninhibited and unaccented. “My mommy went away. Are you my papa?”
Diego wasn’t sure he could speak. He stared at the little boy with faint hostility. “I am your mama’s husband,” he said curtly, aware of Matthew’s uncertainty and Mrs. Grady’s surprise.
Diego ignored the looks. “Your mama
“I’ll try to find the child’s whereabouts,” the doctor told Diego. “Meanwhile, you can’t do much good here. By tomorrow she should be more lucid. You can see her then.”
Diego wanted to tell him that if she was lucid Melissa wouldn’t want to see him at all. But he only shrugged and nodded his dark head.
He left a telephone number at the nurse’s station and went back to his hotel, glad to be out of Tucson’s sweltering midsummer heat and in the comfort of his elegant air-conditioned room. A local joke had it that when a desperado from nearby Yuma had died and gone to hell, he’d sent back home for blankets. Diego was inclined to believe it, although the tropical heat of his native Guatemala was equally trying for Americans who settled there.
He much preferred the rain forest to the desert. Even if it was a humid heat, there was always the promise of rain. He wondered if it ever rained here. Presumably it did, eventually.
His mind wandered back to Melissa in that hospital bed and the look on her face when she’d seen him. She’d hidden well. He’d tried every particle of influence and money he’d possessed to find her, but without any success. She’d covered her tracks well, and how could he blame her? His treatment of her had been cruel, and she hadn’t been much more than a child hero-worshiping him.
But Diego thought about the baby with bridled fury. They were still married, despite her unfaithfulness, and there was no question of divorce. Melissa, who was also Catholic, would have been no more amenable to that solution than he. But it was going to be unbearable, seeing that child and knowing that he was the very proof of Melissa’s revenge for Diego’s treatment of her.
The sudden buzz of the telephone diverted him. It was the doctor, who’d obtained the name and address of the neighbor who was caring for Melissa’s son. Diego scribbled the information on a pad beside the phone, grateful for the diversion.
An hour later he was ushered into the cozy living room of Henrietta Grady’s house, just down the street from the address the hospital had for Melissa’s home.
Diego sat sipping coffee, listening to Mrs. Grady talk about Melissa and Matthew and their long acquaintance. She wasn’t shy about enumerating Melissa’s virtues. “Such a sweet girl,” she said. “And Matthew’s never any trouble. I don’t have children of my own, you see, and Melissa and Matthew have rather adopted me.”
“I’m certain your friendship has been important to Melissa,” he replied, not wanting to go into any detail about their marriage. “The boy…”
“Here he is now. Hello, my baby.”
Diego stopped short at the sight of the clean little boy who walked sleepily into the room in his pajamas. “All clean, Granny Grady,” he said, running to her. He perched on her lap, his bare toes wiggling, eyeing the tall, dark man curiously. “Who are you?” he asked.
Diego stared at him with icy anger. Whoever Melissa’s lover had been, he obviously had a little Latin blood. The boy’s hair was light brown, but his skin was olive and his eyes were dark brown velvet. He was captivating, his arms around Mrs. Grady’s neck, his lean, dark face full of laughter. And he looked to be just about four years old. Which meant that Melissa’s fidelity had lasted scant weeks or months before she’d turned to another man.
Mrs. Grady lifted the child and cuddled him while Matthew waited for the man to answer his question.
“I’m Matthew,” he told Diego, his voice uninhibited and unaccented. “My mommy went away. Are you my papa?”
Diego wasn’t sure he could speak. He stared at the little boy with faint hostility. “I am your mama’s husband,” he said curtly, aware of Matthew’s uncertainty and Mrs. Grady’s surprise.
Diego ignored the looks. “Your mama
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