But where the hell was Al?
“I’m going to be in my office, working on the books this afternoon,” Rimae said at last. “Bethie'll look after Davey, if you want to stop on by for your check.”
He looked up to see her smiling at him, wondering if there was a double meaning in her words. And even if there was, there wasn’t anything he could do about it. For the time being, he was stuck here.
Al was engaged in coating the inside of a sopaipilla with honey, watching as Janna did the same thing. A trickle of golden fluid dribbled out of a hole in the pillow-shaped bread and dripped along her little finger, and she sucked at it. He smiled to himself.
“Do I have to ask what you’re thinking?” she scolded him, smiling back. “You’ve got that look on your face again.”
“I’m just wondering what this expedition’s going to cost,” he improvised. “And we haven’t even gone to any of the galleries on Water Street yet.” He looked at the stack of packages at her feet. “And a good thing, too.”
“It was your idea,” she pointed out.
They were having Sunday brunch in the La Fonda Hotel in Santa Fe, just off the Plaza. The ceiling arched three stories over their heads. The room was decorated in soft pinks and blues, the colors of adobe and turquoise, and the tables were rough-dressed wood covered with woven cotton mats. Trees grew up in the middle of the room, sheltering them from the gaze of the inquisitive. The voices of other diners, the sound of cutlery and ceramic dinnerware, were lost in the huge room.
“It’s been a long time since we’ve been able to do something like this,” Janna observed. “I can’t even remember the last time.”
“Neither can I,” Al said with absolute truth. They’d arrived Saturday afternoon, walked through the Plaza hand in hand, and decided to stay over after the concert, something with banjos that hadn’t interfered with his enjoyment of her company. This morning they’d gotten up early—she was a morning person—and roamed around the shops and museums. “It’s like a whole new life.”
Janna glanced up at him through long lashes, puzzled. He shook his head and dug into the chicken enchiladas.
“Don’t you feel the least bit guilty?” she asked. “I mean, I do. You don’t often leave Sam hanging this way. Two whole days.”
“I didn’t leave him hanging.” Al’s voice was sharper than he meant it to be. “He’s okay. Ziggy would tell me if there were any problems.”
Ziggy was supposed to tell him what Sam was supposed to do on this Leap, too, but the computer hadn’t said anything yet. The original scenario had shivered and disappeared almost as soon as Sam got there, and Ziggy couldn’t nail down what else was supposed to happen. Al was beginning to feel a little uneasy about that, and he resented the feeling. Why couldn’t he just enjoy himself for once?
The woman sitting across from him—his wife; it was beginning to sink in—raised one hand. “Hold on, Admiral. Pull back the fighter squadrons. You’re not under attack. At least,” she added thoughtfully, “I don’t think you are. Maybe you are. Or maybe I’m just feeling guilty because we spent so much money.”
“That would be a switch.”
Janna glared. She was beautiful when she glared.
“On the other hand,” he went on, “the dress looks good, the jewelry is terrific, the painting . .. well, the painting sucks pond water, but you like it, so it works for me.”
“You have no appreciation for great art.”
“I appreciate great art just fine. Cows wearing overalls don’t cut it.” He cut another mouthful of enchilada. “Naked ladies, on the other hand—”
“One naked lady at a time,” Janna said, nipping at a sopaipilla comer.
He grinned.
She grinned back, nipped at the golden bread again, her white teeth clicking as they met.
“I understand there’s an art exhibit going on upstairs this afternoon,” she added, dribbling honey quite deliberately down the palm of her hand and licking at it.
Al raised both eyebrows and pushed his plate away. “Upstairs?”
The only thing upstairs that he could think of at the moment was their hotel room. He hadn’t checked out; he’d assumed she was going to take care of that.
“It’s a private exhibit,” she added.
“With naked ladies?” he said, experiencing some difficulty with his voice. Maybe her idea of taking care was more in line with his own than he’d thought.
“Only one,” she whispered, taking several bills from her purse and placing them on the table.
“One is fine. If it’s the right one.” He looked at the dripping sopaipilla. “Hey, save some of that for me!”
She chuckled, got to her feet and held out her unsticky hand to him.
I’ll catch up with you later, Sam, was Al’s last rational thought. I will. Really.
He snagged the container of honey from the table as they left.
Bethica walked along the stream behind the line of cabins, kicking at a rock, keeping half an eye on Davey to make sure he didn’t fall into the little stream. Wickie was in the bar, talking to Rimae. Telling her about how his place got trashed, probably. Telling her about the baby?
No. He’d said he wouldn’t tell, and Wickie didn’t lie. That left everything up to her, and she didn’t want to believe it. Didn’t want to think about it. But it was true; he was right.
She’d been awake all last night, staring up at the ceiling, touching her belly. There was a baby in there. Her baby.
Kevin’s baby.
It was hard to connect that thought to the party six weeks ago up the mountain, celebrating Kevin’s admission
