ruthless type.”
Ruthless, Reuben thought, is a relative term. Though he wanted nothing more than to live a quiet life with his orange groves and to shuttle guests to and from the island, it might be necessary to fight.
I’m not afraid of a fight, little brother.
Not afraid at all.
* * *
Antonia hurried through the rain to the main house, hoping there might be some instant coffee she could help herself to before anyone else awoke. Truth was, she was hungry, too, but she would not take food from Reuben. It seemed wrong to take anything from him now.
Letting herself in quietly, she saw Reuben standing, hands on hips, face a mask of irritation or concern, she could not tell. She stopped in the doorway, uncertain. She’d just made up her mind to turn around and go see if she could find Silvio and convince him to ferry her without involving Reuben when, to her horror, Hector stepped out of the shadows, seeming not the least bit surprised to see her.
“Like the cat that keeps coming back,” Hector said, giving her the once-over.
Antonia straightened, wishing she didn’t look quite so much like a half-drowned tabby. “I didn’t come back. I had an accident. Reuben is giving me a lift back to the mainland.”
“He isn’t hard enough to hold a grudge,” Hector said, eyes narrowing. “But I am.”
Reuben moved between them. “Not now.”
Hector shrugged. “We are finished with our talk. Don’t stay here, Reuben. It’s dangerous.”
Antonia noted the look between the two Sandovals.
“I’m going up to the cupola. I want to see this monster storm approaching. Maybe I will stay here and ride it out.” Hector walked close to her to pass by. She felt her nerves go taut, and she cemented her feet to the floor.
“You know that I will find my daughter,” he murmured.
“No,” she shot back. “You won’t touch her.”
He smiled. “Oh, yes. I will spend every penny and every remaining minute of my life until I find Mia, and then she will return to jail for stealing my daughter from me.”
Antonia felt her fingers balling into fists. “You won’t get a chance to hurt them again.”
“When Mia tried to kill me, she ended her right to be Gracie’s mother.”
“She figured out you were dealing drugs. You attacked her and she defended herself. She paid for that decision by going to jail, but now she’s free and you have no hold on her anymore.”
“You and your sister, you are trash, from a family of peasants.” Spittle gleamed on his lips.
It felt as if she had been slapped. Her father had been a fisherman, her mother a seamstress. Hardworking people who toiled every day of their lives to provide for their girls. And Hector, the man who never had an honest job, would dare to speak of them with such disdain?
Through the anger that nearly blinded her, she realized Reuben had stepped between them. He was inches from Hector. “Don’t talk to her like that.”
Hector’s eyes flashed. “She’s...”
“I don’t care,” Reuben said in a quiet voice that had the current of danger running through it. “You will not speak to her that way,” he repeated.
Antonia felt the tension ribboning through Reuben’s back, through the set of his muscles, the squaring of his jaw. She felt a flash of gratefulness.
Hector offered a half smile. “I was right. In spite of everything, you still have feelings for her.”
Reuben flushed. “I will not tolerate you disrespecting her, or any other woman, in my presence. We weren’t raised that way.”
Hector looked once more at Antonia and then stepped back. “I’m going up now.” He left.
Reuben sighed. “I’m sorry about that.”
She was breathing hard, trying not to cry. Gracie, sweet two-year-old Gracie. How could Mia keep her safe with Hector determined to find them?
Reuben’s brown eyes were soft, and he put a hand on her forearm. She pulled away.
“Don’t. We both know you think he’s right.”
“No.” Reuben shook his head. “He’s not right, and even if he was, he doesn’t get to speak to you like that.”
She gulped as he stroked a hand over her hair with the lightest touch. “No one will disrespect you around me.” His fingers trailed down her hair, onto her shoulder and dropped away, leaving a trickle of sparks behind. “Ever.”
She breathed hard, trying to gain some control over her stampeding emotions. Quickly she gripped his hand and then released it.
He turned away. “We’ll get you out of here as soon as it’s full light.”
Skin still tingling, she grabbed hold of the threads of common sense. Hector was bad, and supporting him made Reuben bad, too. She found that she had twirled a strand of her black hair tightly around her index finger. Quickly she let it go. “I’ll wait in the bungalow.”
“You don’t have to. Stay here.”
She wanted to stay, to sit in the worn cushioned chairs in this place that had once been a charming respite, to put away the horrible memories and remember the precious ones, like the chipped junonia shell that now caught the feeble light of dawn. Instead she turned a bit unsteadily and headed into the storm-charged morning.
* * *
Reuben went through the motions mechanically; downing a glass of orange juice, trying unsuccessfully again to persuade Silvio and Paula to leave the island, compiling a mental list of things to purchase on the mainland when he dropped off Antonia. Nails, more water, extra batteries, and then back to the island to secure the boats as best he could. None of the preparations dispelled the discomfort he felt at his brother’s visit. Trouble was coming from all fronts. He could not protect his brother; Hector would find a way to take care of himself. But he could, at least, deliver Antonia out of the battle zone. She would never understand why he supported Hector. It cut him. She, like everyone else, would forever believe the Sandoval boys guilty of their father’s sins.
He knew Hector, knew his faults and weaknesses, but he also knew how his brother defended him when they were teens, stood up for him against a crowd of people who believed him guilty of taking advantage of a local girl. The hatred of the community who was all too willing to accept that he’d done it. The sideways looks and sneered remarks of peers who believed the girl’s story. Cops with an eagerness to convict him glittering in their eyes right up to the moment when they decided they had no evidence to hold him. All because his last name was Sandoval. And when the half dozen boys cornered him at his uncle’s orchard and began to beat him, it was his brother who stood there beside him, taking the punishment, knee-deep in the melee until the cops arrived and broke things up.
That was the real Hector. Wasn’t it?
