"Ian, no," I began.

Cornelia looked concerned and I thought she would stop her brother. "This is a problem," she said, scrunching her nose. "Do you want us to wait for you or go ahead and order?"

"Go ahead and order." Ian stood and handed her his wallet before saying to the biker, "Come along. I hate to ignore the ladies for long."

The rest of the bar patrons shouted curses of encouragement to their friend, who I gathered was named Artie, as the two men left the bar. Sam was studiously examining an obscene joke cocktail napkin while Cornelia was waving for the waitress. "Aren't we going to do anything?" I asked frantically.

"Young Lady, you must learn to enjoy yourself," said Cornelia as if her brother wasn't going to be slaughtered in the alley.

The meth-thin waitress, who wore a rhinestone necklace that spelled out "Sally," approached. Cornelia said, "Sally, my brother is feeling magnanimous today. How about drinks for the house for the rest of the afternoon?"

Sally snapped her gum and looked vaguely interested. "Well drinks or brand drinks?"

"Brand drinks of course," Cornelia said. "Whatever they want. And bring us a bottle of your best tequila." She took a credit card from Ian's wallet and handed it to Sally. "Make sure you give yourself a good tip."

Sally shouted out, "Drinks on the house courtesy of this lady here!" and there was a general hoot and holler and a lot of commotion as the bikers rushed to the bar, shouting orders for aged brandy and single-malt Scotch.

"Sam," I said. "Why are we sitting here? We've got to help Ian."

"Um," Sam said. "Cornelia, I think Mil is right. We should find Ian and go..."

Sally successfully balanced her tray and put down our drinks, lime wedges, and salt just as Ian slipped back into the booth, not a hair out of place. "Ah, tequila, excellent choice," he said.

I stared at Ian. "What happened?"

"Nothing interesting," he said. "Nothing as interesting as you." He dipped his finger in his shot glass, stroked the tequila across my wrist, and poured salt on it. I imagined that I could feel the blood pulsing there. Then Ian licked my wrist, tossed back a drink, and bit his square white teeth into the lime while keeping his eyes locked on mine.

It was not an obscene act, but it felt obscene.

I could tell by the amused expression of a nearby biker that he thought so, too. He strutted over to our booth and sat down beside Cornelia. Holding up his glass, he said, "Thanks for the round. Whadya do with Artie?"

"Artie? Your large friend? We had a brief chat and he realized he was being unreasonable. Why, there he is now."

We followed Ian's gaze to see Artie slowly entering the bar. He shuffled to a table and collapsed in a chair. He was ashen and the torn sleeve of his shirt revealed a long gash. You'd expect a cut that size to have dripped blood, but there was none on his shirt.

The biker at our table gave Ian an admiring look. "Glad you were able to come to an understanding. My name's Ernest Culpepper, by the way. Seeing as we're friends, you can call me Pepper."

The name struck a bell and, sure enough, Pepper turned out to be Winnie's old neighbor and a pretty nice guy, as meth dealers go. He was happy to hear that the doc was about to be married and even sprung for a round of drinks for our table.

The bar provided a wide variety of entertainment. Sam proved to be a deadly accurate pool player, especially after he switched from drinking tequila to mineral water. When he won a few hundred dollars, he was smart enough to lose it at darts.

Then all the girls in the place, including Cornelia, Sally, and I, were inspired to dance on top of the bar to some country rock songs I'd never heard before. As much as I admired Winnie, I didn't think she would understand.

Pepper was inviting me for a ride on the back of his hog, suggesting that I remove my blouse and bra to better enjoy the fresh air, when Ian decided that it was time to leave. He hauled me over his shoulder as easily as he would fling a jacket and got a round of applause. When we left, Artie was still hunched over in the chair, his eyes glazed and unseeing.

Sam had come in his own car, so he left with Cornelia.

Ian took me back to the hotel as I knew he would. The Goth girl, Tiffany, was on the porch smoking a cigarette. She stared as we went to the carriage house.

I'd dated men in their thirties, but Ian's manner was far older than theirs, knowing and compelling. He took me in his arms and I was thinking that this was what I needed to stop fantasizing about unavailable men. I reached into his shirt, feeling his cool skin and smelling his spicy scent. He terrified me and a sick part of me liked that, liked the idea of facing someone powerful.

He unbuttoned my blouse and stroked my neck, his thumb resting on the pulse at the base of my throat. Our mouths met only briefly, mine open to his, enjoying the fullness of his lips, the slip and slide of his tongue. His hands were on my hips, pulling them close, and he moved his head down to my neck, giving me the most gentle mordizquitos, making me crazy for something more.

I yanked at his belt and he grabbed my hand. "No, not unless you let me taste you."

His dark eyes smoldered and I must have gone temporarily insane because I said, "Fine, whatever."

Ian picked up a wineglass and shattered it against a table. Taking a slender shard, he came to me. "I won't hurt you," he said softly, but I still shivered. He turned my hand palm side up and kissed it. Then I watched as he slid the glass fragment skillfully over my palm, slicing only the surface. A thin crimson line appeared and Ian put his mouth to it, sucking slowly and shuddering with pleasure.

When he pulled his mouth away, his eyes were shining and the cut had already healed. "Milagro," he groaned, and now he kissed me deeply and it felt so wicked, so wrong, and I let him take off my clothes and make love to me.His clothes had hidden a robust body. His chest was deep and had a thatch of dark hair; his arms and thighs were thick with muscle. He used his strength skillfully, carefully, observing my reactions to his movements, turning me this way and that and asking, "Do you like this? Is this what you want?" While I was moaning with pleasure, I would be vaguely conscious that he had brought out the shard again to make another light incision on my breast, my hip, my neck, to taste my blood again.

When he was done, I felt satiated and guilty. My skin bore no marks.

Ian kissed my forehead. "I knew you would be extraordinary."

Every girl wants lavish compliments, but I tended to be skeptical of compliments that were too lavish. "Ian, you just like the way I taste."

"Yes, I do, because I can taste who you are."

"If you say I taste spicy, I'm walking out of here now."

"No, my dear," he said with a knowing smile. "You taste like life and death and life again."

What arrant nonsense. I suddenly thought about Edna.

"I'd like to go back now. Edna's probably wondering why I'm late to dinner."

Ian laughed. "Dinner was hours ago. But I will take you back if you wish."

Ian drove me to the ranch. He didn't come in, but turned to me and said, "I hope you realize how I feel about you."

Laughing nervously, I said, "We don't even know each other."

He looked as grave as death. "You don't know me, yet, but I know you. I've been waiting all my life for you."

Casual sex I understood, and I remembered too well what sex had been like with the beautiful boy I had loved, and I knew that Oswald had an irrational, intoxicating effect on me. But whatever this was confused me more than I cared to admit to myself.

Chapter Twenty-five

one hundred years of sorditude

The next day was Saturday, so the whole family was around. I hid in my room, convinced that they would be able to tell that I was a shameless puta.

Edna caught me as I was trying to sneak into the small parlor. "Young Lady, I'm going shopping with Cornelia this afternoon, and it's about time you made a meal on your own. Write a grocery list of what you need."

Regardless of my internal agitation, Edna deserved an evening off. I dutifully gave her a list of ingredients for dinner and she went off to the store.

For cocktails, we could have mojitos. Mercedes and I had spent an afternoon experimenting with different recipes and mixing Previous techniques when the rum drink became popular, and I had learned to mix a damn fine drink.

After Edna left, I realized that I had forgotten to put mint on the shopping list. I wondered if Oswald had any. I dashed across the field, went through the gate, and found a patch of mint and other herbs behind a thick screen of green bean vines. I was crouching there, picking out the healthiest leaves, when I heard the beat of hooves. Peeking through the vines, I saw Oswald and Cornelia on horseback. Once again, she was all in black, with shiny boots and a broad-brimmed hat.

I stayed hidden behind the greenery, assuming that they would ride off, but they dismounted and tied the horses to the fence.

As they came through the gate, Cornelia said, "Really, Oswald, Winifred! Not quite your style."

"She is a good woman, Cornelia. We're well matched."

She stopped and faced him. "I don't see it. You know that I adore Winnie, but I cannot see you satisfied with a conventional priss when you could have so much more with your money and your looks."

Oswald's laugh was bitter. "She is not a priss, Corny. She's seen more in her career than most people see in a lifetime. I think I am doing very well for myself."

She made a face. "Oh, don't expect me to believe that! Not when I've known your previous conquests." She narrowed her eyes and said cheerfully. "Now, Milagro is a tasty little morsel. Ian is quite taken with her."

Oswald's smile was tight. "I wish you would tell him to leave her alone. She's a special girl and she needs... someone else."

"Really, Oswald, you are being very selfish. You never used to mind sharing your lovers. I was rather admiring how you ensconced her here under Winnie's nose. Or does Winnie enjoy her favors as well?"

"Milagro is not my lover," he said quickly, as if he was embarrassed to even be associated with me. "And she has no idea who Ian really is."

Cornelia smiled frostily. "My brother is a man of importance. It is an honor for him to show interest in her." She took Oswald's arm. "But, darling, let's not argue. After all, who knows, we could be seeing much more of each other soon."

"You can't mean Sam?"

Cornelia laughed merrily. "Isn't it a lark? I think he is such a dear man, so steady and kind. I am simply wild about his moral uprightness and integrity. Tell me you think it's a brilliant idea, Oswald."

He smiled but didn't answer her question. "Let's get that water you wanted and take the horses back."

When they went into the cottage, I crept out of the garden and loped to the house, my hands full of mint. My romantic life was none of Oswald's damn business.

I had plenty of time until dinner, so I wandered into the family room. Winnie, looking oddly ungainly and colorless, was staring blindly at a catalog on her lap. "Winnie, are you feeling okay?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine," she murmured. She was a girl who murmured naturally. "I'm fine. It's the wedding and everything. It's just a lot."

"If there's anything I can do, just ask."

She was a very different girl from the happy camper I'd seen dancing and singing a few days ago. The hollows under her eyes had a blue cast. "I have to pick patterns. I don't know what I want-except my mother. I wish my mother was here."

I plopped down beside her and took the catalog. The prices listed next to the pictures of china made my head spin. I picked up a pen and struck out an overdone floral pattern. "Too Home Shopping Network," I said. "Your turn."

She stared listlessly at the page. "Too modern," she said, crossing out a set with a geometric border.

"Too New Wave," I responded as I eliminated a swirly pink and gray pattern.

Winnie's next exclusion was a peach pattern. "Bland," she said.

"Winnie, you can do better than that. Tell me why you completely hate it."

She shrugged and said tentatively, "Too vomitous," and I laughed. After an hour, we'd selected an everyday pattern and a special occasion set, as well as silverware and crystal.

"Young Lady," she asked, "are you having fun with Cornelia and Ian?"

"They're very lively."

"Do you think Sam likes them, too?" she asked, and I realized that she had been left out of our fun.

"Sam?" I said, surprised. "I'm sure he does. Cornelia is quite fond of him, and it's about time poor Sam got some attention. You and Oswald are lucky to have each other-you can understand why he would want to be happy, too."

She nodded her head and her cornsilk hair swung forward. "You're right, of course." She held up another catalog. "Tomorrow can we work on linens and silver?"

"Of course." I decided to ask her something that had been on my mind. "Winsome, if things aren't resolved with CACA by your wedding, do you think Oswald will let me stay here on my own?" I asked.

Winnie pressed her lips together tightly, then said, "You can stay here with Sam. He's not going to the wedding."

I could see how upset she was and said, "Winnie, Sam doesn't have to babysit me! It's an important occasion-"

"It's not about you, Milagro. Sam thinks that someone needs to be here, to be the 'responsible' one." It was the first time I'd heard harshness in Winnie's voice.

The only thing I could do was hope that CACA would be vanquished in time for Sam to attend Winnie and Oswald's wedding.

Cooking kept me in the kitchen that evening and I was glad for it. Ian sauntered in while I was working, and his eyes lit up at the sight of the sharp knife in my hand. He stood behind me and I felt a wave of desire as his hands caressed my hips. In an uneven voice, I told him to kindly get the hell out.

I thought dinner was especially nice that night. We started with ceviche and mojitos, followed by Drunken Chicken in a chorizo-flavored sauce with capers, tequila, and orange juice. There was Spanish rice on the side, cooked in caldo (chicken broth), and even though it was a little soggy, it was tasty. Salad was romaine lettuce and avocado dressed in lime and oil.

Ian saw my nervousness and kept his distance, but I thought that Edna could tell that something had happened between us. I felt as guilty as the time my abuelita had caught me feeding her goldfish to the cat. Oswald avoided looking at me or talking to me, but I sensed his disapproval. Not that he had any right.

I'd baked a dense, double-layered chocolate cake. "Now for one of Mexico's greatest gifts to the world: chocolate," I announced in a too-bright voice, but I was envisioning an Aztec warrior carrying a maiden for a blood sacrifice.

"Well, Young Lady," said Edna. "I must say this is one of the best birthday dinners I've ever had."Everyone turned to her in surprise. "Grandmama," said Sam, "I'm so sorry! I don't know how it slipped-"

"Oh, Edna!" cried Winnie. "I had no idea-"

"I forgot," said Oswald woefully. "How could I forget?"

"What good news, Edna," said Cornelia, and Ian said, "Congratulations!"

Edna hushed everyone. "At my age, sometimes it's best to forget a birthday. Having you all here is enough."

I dashed into my room and came back with the little turquoise bag that I'd gotten from the shop in town. "Happy birthday, Edna," I said, handing it to her.