wrong thing. But he didn’t know how make it right.
He spoke against the icy wall of her silence. “You’ll also have a car and driver at your disposal. A pretty woman driving alone in this country is asking for trouble.”
Of course he would see to it that she had everything she required while she was here and taking care of the boy. It was only fair. No matter what she said, he knew she’d given up a great deal. Room and board, plus an income for whatever else she needed, were little enough for him to provide.
Her full lower lip quivered. “Is that all you think I am to Zac? Just his hired caretaker?”
So that was what he’d said wrong. Emilio exhaled, easing the frustration that had surged like heat in a volcano. “Of course not. I’m just trying to do the right thing—for you, for Zac and for my family’s future.”
She was silent for a moment, studying him with those arresting eyes. They still danced with anger, but she seemed to be holding it in. “Tell me about your family,” she said, surprising him.
“As you said about your own family, there’s not much to tell. I lost my parents fifteen years ago. My firstborn brother died when he was four. Then there was Arturo...and me. That’s all.”
“What about Arturo’s wife? He told me he was getting married.”
“The wedding never happened. Arturo kept finding excuses to put it off. He said he was busy with work. But I think the truth was he never got over Cassidy.”
Her gaze deepened in the shadows. “So you’re the last of the Santanas.”
Emilio glanced at the sleeping baby. “Not anymore.”
* * *
By the time the car reached the outskirts of Urubamba, Zac was awake and fussing. Grace found the formula stored in the portable cooler. Soon he was chugging it down, clasping the bottle like a pro. Before long he’d be old enough to wean to a sippy cup, and after that there’d be walking, talking, potty training—so many ways a little boy would need a mother’s help. How could she ever think of going back to Arizona and leaving him to the care of hired nursemaids?
Emilio sniffed and frowned. “I think somebody might need changing.”
Grace nodded, recognizing the familiar stink. “That’s no surprise. But I was hoping I wouldn’t have to change him in the car.”
“I was hoping the same thing. If it can wait a few more minutes, we’ll be home.”
Home to a place she’d never been before. The line from the old John Denver song flickered through Grace’s mind. But even without seeing much of it, she knew this strange country would never be home to her. It could be Zac’s home, though. And if this was what was best for Zac, then she’d find a way to deal with it. For now, she’d have to try to look on the bright side of things.
And that would include finding humor where she could...such as in the way Emilio was edging away from Zac, toward his side of the car. “Have you ever changed a baby?” she asked, amused at his discomfort.
“No, and I don’t plan to.”
“Why? I’ve known some very manly men who don’t mind changing a diaper.”
“In your country, maybe. Not in mine. I would not even know where to begin.”
“Well, in that case, maybe I should give you a demonstration.” Opening the diaper bag, she made a show of fumbling for the things she’d need.
His hand flashed out and caught her wrist. “Please not now, and not in this car!”
As she met his concerned gaze, Grace couldn’t help it. She had to giggle. A dimple deepened in her cheek.
Muttering a curse in Spanish, he released her and sank back against the seat. “So you’re teasing me! You’re a vixen, Grace Chandler!”
“I’ve been called worse.” Grace closed the diaper bag. “I’ll give you a break this time. But take warning, Emilio, if you’re going to raise a baby, you’ll have to get used to everything that comes with being a father!”
A startled expression flickered across his face. Was it because she’d had the effrontery to stand up to him, or had he just realized that he’d be responsible for acting as a father for his brother’s son? Taking on a child as heir was one thing, but becoming a parent was another matter entirely. Was he up to the challenge?
The question fled her mind as the car swung off the highway and onto a graveled road that crunched beneath the wheels. Leafy branches overhung the long, narrow drive, forming a filigreed canopy that let in shafts of silver moonlight.
The lights of a small gatehouse shone through the darkness. A uniformed guard stepped out to open the wrought-iron gate. Grace shivered as she glimpsed the holstered pistol at his hip.
“We’re home, Grace,” Emilio said.
Home—a place she’d never been before.
Three
Grace opened her eyes. Blinding sunlight streamed through the open shutters of a grilled window. Dazed, she rolled away from the glare. What time was it?
The hands on the bedside clock pointed to 9:15. She groaned, remembering that most of South America was east of the United States. Peru would be on New York time. But her jet-lagged brain was still waking up in Arizona.
Zac must be on Arizona time, too. She had yet to hear a peep from the old-fashioned crib in the corner of the spacious bedroom.
Sinking back into the pillow she closed her eyes and allowed herself the luxury of a slow wake-up. They’d arrived last night in darkness, the house a sprawling hacienda behind high stone walls. After Emilio vanished, a stocky woman in local dress had shown Grace to this bedroom, with its adjoining marble bath. After a few moments of fussing over Zac, the woman had left her alone to put the baby to bed and brush her teeth. Too tired to unpack her pajamas, she’d stripped down to her underwear and crawled between lavender-scented sheets. The next thing Grace remembered it was morning.
Opening her eyes again, she scanned her surroundings. The massive four-poster bed looked as if it had been hand-hewn centuries ago from one giant tree. The canopy was draped in white netting, as was Zac’s crib in the far corner of the room. The downy coverlet was finished in a wine-colored brocade that contrasted richly with the open-timbered ceiling and whitewashed walls.
Like the bed frame, the dresser was lavishly carved, with a full-length mirror and matching velvet-topped bench. There were no closets, but a row of elegant wooden wardrobes stood along one wall. Clearly, this was no ordinary guest room. It had been built and furnished for someone with clothes to fill the wardrobes and adornments to justify the tall, gilt-framed mirror above the dresser. Grace tried to imagine generations of Santana men and women. How many of them had lived, loved and died in this room—and in this bed?
Grace hadn’t even known her own grandparents. How would it feel to have a family history going back for generations?
Roused to wakefulness, she swung her feet to the tiles and pattered over to the crib to check on Zac, who had yet to make a sound.
Grace
