Where It Began. Kathleen Pickering
nightmares.
She had no memory of the accident; Poppa had told her about it. The only proof was the concussion, cuts and bruises she had sustained. Awakening in a hospital bed and not even knowing her own name had been terrifying. Elias was the one who’d rekindled her memory. By holding her hand and singing songs from her childhood, he had reached her.
Del Rio had been with Elias at the hospital. He had stood behind Poppa to support him. The two men had a bond. She remembered this fact. She also remembered her stunning twin, and their dark, elegant Latina mother, Rosalinda. When Maria and Carmen were young, their mother used to tease that no one could tell the twins apart. Maria remembered Elias saying he would always know the difference.
But what of Del Rio? He remained in her mind like Elias’s shadow. Her father would have to reeducate her about his family, his past. Elias had said Del Rio was like a son to him, but Maria couldn’t even bring herself to speak his first name.
Why?
The man was easy on the eyes. In fact, he was downright handsome. She didn’t like the pull her body felt toward him when he was around. Somehow she’d managed to ignore him. If she kept treating him as an employee, she didn’t have to consider the possibility that he might be more to her family. Because if he was simply the Honora’s alluring captain, then Elias indulged him far more than necessary. And why would this distress her?
Shame tugged at her heart. She knew why, and was loath to admit it. Jealousy. As children, Carmen had been Poppa’s favorite. Maria never quite minded because Carmen was irresistible, always quick to laugh and get into mischief. Maria had always been the “quiet” one of the two, so she was used to handing over the spotlight to her twin. Elias had indulged Carmen and Rosalinda equally because their personalities were so similar.
People used to joke that Carmen and Momma should have been the twins, not Maria and Carmen. The two were inseparable. Maria had felt like a spectator at their party, but she hadn’t minded. Someone had to provide an audience for their antics.
Now, with Carmen gone, Del Rio had taken over that coveted spot in Elias’s attention. If she were totally honest, Maria had been jealous of the love Elias poured on Carmen and their mother. He was always less enthusiastic—perhaps she’d call it softer—toward her. Did a vile part of her now hope that as the remaining child she would take first place in Poppa’s eyes? Did she resent that Del Rio had filled that void instead of her?
Hurt squeezed her heart. Was she that shallow? She released the breath she’d been holding. No. Not shallow. Needy. Her amnesia had driven her into isolation. She felt so very alone in her darkness and had become a recluse. Painting day in and day out. Sometimes sleeping in her clothes.
She’d turned away lunch dates, since most of her friends were Carmen’s and spoke only of her, deepening Maria’s loss. She stopped attending gallery showings. Refused interviews. Her world had narrowed down to Reefside. This art studio. The silly monkeys in the banyans outside her front window. And Poppa.
With diabetes weakening her father each day, she worried that she’d made a hasty decision to leave him. Yet Poppa’s longtime family physician said now was the perfect time to go.
She had to stop second-guessing her decision. It stressed her too much. Inhaling a deep, cleansing breath, she turned her focus on the canvas. By the time she lifted her brush, Poppa, the heart-stopping Daniel Murphy Del Rio and the world outside her balcony had vanished.
SHADOWS FELL ON THE PATIO as the sun climbed into the late-afternoon sky. Daniel took the last step up to Maria’s balcony, enchanted, as always, by the Bohemian feel of her studio.
A chaise lounge scattered with turquoise pillows faced the ocean. Terra-cotta pots overflowing with flowers lined the marble balustrade. Sheer curtains inside the open doors fluttered easily in the onshore breeze, beckoning him to enter.
His eyes rested on the lounge chair and his heart started knocking around his chest. Once upon a time, he and Maria had made good use of that chair on many a summer night. The last time, she had agreed to marry him. It had been a year since he’d been up here. He steeled himself as he stepped across the balcony. Once Maria realized he was present, she would ignore him and it was going to do damage to his already tormented heart.
That’s how it was between them now. That’s why he should be hightailing it to Brisbane.
She sat just inside the doors, her back to him. The clear acrylic palette splashed with colors lay nestled in the crook of her tanned arm as she leaned toward her work. She’d twisted her hair into a knot again, catching it with an extra paintbrush.
The brush in her left hand flitted across the canvas like a lively bird. Her sundress hugged the slender curves of her body—a body now off-limits to him. The soft cotton falling in waves against the chair gave way to a smooth length of shapely leg and bare feet entwined at the ankle. Damn. She even had white paint smeared across the top of her foot.
The scent of linseed oil and paint mingled with the sea air. The subtle incense of her perfume wafted across his senses like needed oxygen. This…this was the Maria he loved. This was the woman who had stolen his heart; not the frightened, angry woman who now inhabited her skin.
He watched a moment longer, unable to resist. Her artwork, vibrant and warm like her voice when she spoke to anyone other than him, lit the canvas like seductive fingers reaching to touch his aching heart. He lounged casually against the doorjamb if only to counteract every straining nerve in his body. Without a doubt, her eyes would flash with annoyance when she finally acknowledged his presence.
He wouldn’t even flinch.
He resisted the urge to laugh out loud at the irony. Maria could not even remember why she avoided him. Nor did she remember she once loved him like a woman on fire.
Damn himself for agreeing. He’d decided to give Elias—and Maria—only three weeks. Would he be able to spend that much time alone with her without shooting off his mouth about what they had meant to each other and ruining everything?
He cleared his throat. “Maria.”
Her paintbrush stopped moving, but she didn’t turn her head. “I’m busy.”
He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans rather than reach for her and demand she look at him.
“We have to talk.”
She slapped the brush down, her concentration lost. “I think not, unless you have a question about tomorrow’s sail.”
Daniel waited until she turned to look at him, the defensiveness in her glance nerve-racking.
“My only question is whether you’re sure this trip is something you want to do.”
She opened her mouth to speak then hesitated. “Dr. Hernandez assures me Poppa is strong. Now is the best time to go.”
“There’s that, of course. I was thinking more along the lines of what you are looking for.”
She tilted her head as if gauging his question. “Like will I fall apart if I don’t remember anything?”
“Or more like, will you be able to hold it together if you do remember?”
With an impatient flick of her wrist, she dabbed the brush in a jar of linseed oil before wiping it with a square of white towel streaked with colors.
“Oh, please. I think you are sidestepping the real question.”
“Which is?”
She appraised him over her shoulder. “Are you reliable enough to take me across the Gulf Stream?”
Oh. Low blow, Maria. A comment like that makes me wonder why I’m even bothering. My Maria was more careful with her words.
Daniel inhaled a huge breath, his mind racing with retorts, but he held them back. He wouldn’t let her get under his skin so fast, especially with that satisfied smirk on her gorgeous lips. “What, exactly, do you mean, Maria?”