Santa Olivia (Santa Olivia #1)

Santa Olivia (Santa Olivia #1) Page 48

“Good girl.” Unexpectedly, Floyd pressed his lips to the padded brow of her headgear. His watery eyes swam. “Godspeed, child.”

“Thanks, sir,” Loup whispered. “To you, too. For everything.”

He flapped a hand at her. “Go.”

She washed and changed, ventured out into the sunlight. It was late morning. The spring sky was hard and blue overhead. Loup breathed the arid air, filling her lungs. The streets of Outpost looked dusty and squalid. For some reason, the sight filled her with tenderness.

She slung her gym bag over her shoulder for the last time and walked to Rory Salamanca’s house.

Knocked on the door.

Pilar answered it.

“Hey,” Loup said softly.

“Hey.” Pilar gave her a tearful, dazzling smile that made Loup’s heart roll over in her chest. “Hey, yourself.”

“Is it okay that I’m here?”

“Are you serious?” Pilar wiped her eyes. “I’ve been trying to work up the nerve to go see you all morning.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She sniffled. “I was scared you wouldn’t want to see me. Scared it would screw with your head.”

“It won’t.”

“Okay.” Another dazzling smile. “Will you come in? Please?”

“Yeah.” Inside, Loup dropped her gym bag in the living room and looked around. Everything was clean and expensive, polished surfaces gleaming. Nothing was new, but it had all been maintained with exquisite care. “Nice.”

“I guess.” Pilar shrugged. “Rory’s mom chose everything. He pays someone to keep it up.”

Loup gazed at her. “You look good.”

Pilar flushed. “You do.”

“Thanks.”

“Sure.” Pilar’s blush deepened. “Do you, umm, want something? Soda or juice? A glass of water?”

“Water, yeah.”

Pilar led her into the big, fancy kitchen, poured a glass of water with ice. She handed it to Loup, their fingers brushing.

“Thanks,” Loup whispered.

“Uh-huh.” Pilar swallowed. “He’s not here, if that’s what you’re wondering. Rory.”

“No?”

“No.” She raked a hand through her hair. “He won’t be back until five or six.”

“Okay.” Loup drank. “I guess… I just wanna know, Pilar. Are you okay? Are you happy?”

She leaned against the gleaming kitchen sink, folding her arms under her breasts. “I’m okay. Happy’s a pretty big word, you know? I like…” She glanced around. “Being pampered, I guess. Being taken care of. Most of the time, anyway. Rory can be sweet. Sometimes he makes me laugh. His mother hates my guts. She doesn’t trust me.” She shrugged again. “She’s got pretty good instincts, Rosa Salamanca.”

“Why?”

“I spend way too much time thinking about you.” Pilar met her gaze without flinching.

“Me, too.”

“Yeah?” Pilar’s eyes brightened.

“Yeah.” Loup smiled. “I still have to do what I have to do. But I think about you every day, Pilar. I miss you.”

Her color rose again. “So… there hasn’t been anyone else?”

“No.” Loup shook her head. “Mig got drunk and hit on me, but no.”

“Miguel Garza?”

“Yeah.” She laughed. “He’s okay in his own jerky way, though. More than okay. He’s been a real good friend to me.” She drank more water. “So C.C. said you weren’t working as many hours at the bar.”

“Yeah,” Pilar said slowly. “Rory’s got a jealous streak. Typical guy, you know? He likes knowing other guys want what he’s got, but then he gets suspicious.”

“He doesn’t—”

“No.” Her voice was adamant. “No, he just sulks. I wouldn’t put up with any bad shit from him. I got that much out of living at the church. From knowing you and the Santitos. I wouldn’t.”

“Okay.” Loup finished her water, set down the glass, and looked around. “So what do you do all day? Play housewife?”

Pilar made a face. “Not even. I told you, Rory’s got someone who comes to clean. His mom doesn’t trust me to do a good enough job. I mean, not that I want to, but… shit! I’m not even allowed to cook because I can’t make his favorite meals just right.”

“You hate cooking.”

“I hate cleaning,” she said. “I don’t mind cooking.”

Loup smiled. “You used to.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Pilar smiled back at her. “Now I kind of miss it. Be careful what you wish for and all that, you know?”

“Is it? Everything you wished for?”

She blew out her breath and didn’t answer. “You wanna know what I do all day lately? It’s stupid. I made something for you. Probably a dumb idea.”

“What?”

“It’s dumb. I shouldn’t even show you.”

“Pilar!” The sense of exasperation was so familiar, it made her laugh. “C’mon.”

“Okay, okay.” Pilar led her through the house to a sunny room overlooking the backyard. It held a daybed and a sewing table. “I spend a lot of time here. It’s the one room that’s kind of mine.”

“Sewing?”

“Sometimes, yeah. Sometimes just daydreaming.” She picked up a gleaming mass of satin, smoothed it. “Here.”

It was a boxing robe. The robe was blue, as blue as a summer sky. The hood, trim, and sash were white.

“Santa Olivia’s colors,” Loup murmured.

“Yeah.” Pilar nodded. “I got the idea from Mig’s robe. Stupid, huh?”

“No.” Her eyes burned. “Jesus, Pilar! It’s wonderful.”

“Try it on.”

It fit perfectly and felt incredibly luxurious. “Where’d you get the fabric?”

“Oh, I made Rory get it.” Pilar adjusted the hood. “Salamancas can get their hands on anything. It took three tries to get the right color.” She smiled wryly. “He thinks I’m making myself a fancy dress. Won’t he be surprised. But then, I guess a lot of people are gonna be pretty goddamn surprised tomorrow, huh?”

“Yeah, they are.”

“Loup.” Her name, breathed softly. There was an ache in it. Pilar pushed back her hood, cupped her face. She feathered kisses all over her face—her cheeks, eyelids. The corners of her mouth, the tip of her nose. Over and over, unable to stop. Kissed her lips, tenderly at first, then with rising passion. She shuddered, lifted her head. “I shouldn’t do this.”

“Rory?” Loup asked.

“No. God, no. You. The fight.”

“It’s okay.”

“It’s just…” Pilar took a sharp breath, tears in her eyes. “I love you so fucking much. And I promise, I promise I won’t get hysterical or ask you not to go through with it—”

“Pilar.”

“I won’t! I can do it. I can be brave; I can be a war bride. I won’t even cry. I promise. I just want this, I want this to remember—”

“Pilar.” Loup wound her arms around her neck. “Shut up.”

She smiled through tears. “Seriously?”

Loup smiled back. “Very seriously.”

It should have been bittersweet, but it wasn’t. It was sweet, achingly sweet. A year’s worth of hurt melted away. They fell onto the daybed. Loup kissed away the tears Pilar had promised not to cry, held her down and kissed her hard and deep until Pilar made an inarticulate sound of pleasure and yanked on the sash of her robe.

Sweet.

So sweet.

Sunlight spilled through the window, spilled warmth over their bare skin. It was even better than her memories—better, deeper, more. Soft and slick and tender, hard and urgent. They made love for hours, pouring a lifetime’s worth of love and desire into a single afternoon.

It was only afterward that it was bittersweet.

They were quiet in the aftermath, lying entwined in a tangle of shed clothing, the gleaming satin robe spread beneath them. Pilar lay with her head pillowed on one arm, gazing at Loup, tracing the curve of her cheek over and over.

“Memorizing me?” Loup asked softly.

“Yeah.” Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “I am.”

“I wish—”

“I know.” Pilar kissed her. “Hush, baby.”

Her stomach growled. “Pilar?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m starving.”

Pilar laughed; sat up and ran her hands over her face. “Yeah. Yeah, of course you are. C’mon, baby. I’ll cook for you.”

She rummaged through the refrigerator and scrambled eggs and chorizo in the shiny kitchen, looking impossibly sexy in nothing but a half-buttoned shirt. Loup perched on a stool, watching.

“Here.” Pilar slid a heaping plate across the counter.

“You don’t want any?”

She shook her head. “No.”

Loup ate quickly and methodically. “Did you know that’s how my parents met?”

“In a kitchen?”

“Over eggs and chorizo.” She forked another mouthful, swallowed. “In the diner. Oh, shit, I forgot.”

“What?” Pilar looked alarmed.

“Will you come to dinner tonight?” Loup glanced up at her. “At the church? Everyone’s going to be there. All the old Santitos.”

She shivered. “They must hate me.”

“No one hates you.” Loup finished and pushed her plate away. “Will you come? Please?”

“Do you want me there?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

Pilar took a deep breath. “Okay.”

FORTY-SIX

It was late in the afternoon when they left Rory Salamanca’s house. Pilar locked the door, then turned and kissed Loup ardently. Next door, drapes twitched in the nearest window.