My Special Angel Page 10

  Maybelle gave a small huff. “I mentioned the fact that I had only had four husbands, and do you know what she said?” Ida glanced heavenward and went on to the next dish. “She said that as long as I was alive, there was always hope.”

  Owen started to choke. He hastily reached for a glass of water.

  “You’re eighty-one years old; who in their right mind would want you?” said Ida.

  “You’re just jealous.”

  “Of what?”

  “You’re jealous because you’ve only had two husbands, and Neville Walker was giving me the eye last Sunday in church.” Maybelle brushed by Ida and headed for a table where two other ladies already sat.

  Owen lost control of his laughter as Ida muttered, “You’re as blind as an old bat, Maybelle. Neville Walker has been giving me the eye every Sunday since Reverend Howland gave that sermon about the sins of the flesh.” She finished loading her plate and stomped after Maybelle.

  Owen shook his head in amazement and glanced around the yard. Everyone who’d said they would come had, and by the looks of things they all must have brought a friend. Aunt Verna’s party was a huge success. It was going to take a miracle for Violet to outdo this party next year. He had glimpsed Nadia only twice since the guests started to arrive, and both times she had been hurrying between the kitchen and the buffet table. He missed her. With a devilish gleam in his eye he started for the side entrance that led to the kitchen. Maybe it was time for him to check on the hired help.

  He entered the kitchen and halted. Nadia was standing by the stove waving a wooden spoon and shouting something in a foreign language to one of her aunts. Her mother and another aunt waved their spoons and shouted back. He had no idea what all the fighting was about, but he was thankful that Milly’s cutlery set was at the other end of the room. He stepped closer to Nadia. “Hi, need any help?”

  Nadia lowered her spoon and glared at the other women.

  “How about a referee?” joked Owen.

  Nadia’s mother started to say something in a foreign language to Owen.

  “English, Olenka. I don’t understand Russian.” Owen offered a hesitant smile.

  “I was speaking in Polish, forgive me.” She glared back at her daughter and folded her arms across her ample chest. “Owen will be our judge.”

  Owen swallowed hard. “Judge of what?” He didn’t like the sound of this.

  Nadia nodded her head and handed Owen the wooden spoon. She lifted the lid from the enormous pot simmering on the stove. “Tell us if you think it needs more salt.”

  “Salt?” He glanced at the pot in confusion. “All this is about salt?”

  “Just taste it,” snapped Nadia.

  Owen glanced at the pot and then back at Nadia.

  “Does it need more salt?” He had no idea where she stood on the issue, but he knew enough not to criticize the cooking of the woman he loved. And love her he did. He had been fooling himself with the notion that he was falling in love with Nadia. He had already fallen, and hard.

  “Nyet, nyet,” shouted Olenka. “Nadia, don’t you dare tell him what you think. We need him to judge with his taste, not with his sertze.”

  Nadia glared at her mother and then turned to Owen. “Just taste it, please.”

  Owen sampled the stew. He glanced at all three women and tasted it again. He didn’t pick up on any signals from Nadia, so he lowered the spoon and beamed. “It’s delicious.”

  “But does it need more salt?” asked Olenka.

  He handed Nadia the spoon. “No, I think it’s perfect the way it is.” He held his breath and waited.

  Nadia looked at her mother and said something that suspiciously sounded like “I told you so” and threw herself into Owen’s arms. She rained sweet little kisses down his jaw.

  He held her tight and grinned. This was the first time Nadia had shown any type of affection toward him in front of her family. He had been waiting for this sign for the past two weeks, ever since the day they nearly made love to each other in the barn. Nadia was finally starting to open up to him. Maybe now he could discover the secrets in her eyes. He chuckled softly and pressed a chaste kiss on her forehead. “What would you have done if I said it needed more salt?”

  She continued to smile as she stepped out of his arms and started to fill an empty tureen her sister Sonia had just brought in. “Added more salt.”

  Owen glanced at Sonia and frowned. The woman didn’t belong on her feet; in fact, if he had to guess, he would say she belonged in some delivery room with a doctor standing over yelling, “Push, push.” Sonia was pregnant, very pregnant. Owen had no idea that a woman could be that pregnant and not burst. When Sonia reached for the full tureen, Owen stepped in and took the heavy dish. “I’ll take that for you.” He smiled at Nadia and whispered a promise before heading back outside. “I’ll see you later.”

  Nadia stood in the doorway for a long time after he was gone and stared into space.

  * * *

  Sofia stared into the teacup for a long time before lifting her head to look at Owen. “Do you want me to say what you want to hear, or do you want the truth?”

  “I already know what I want to hear, so tell me the truth.”

  “You’re a builder.” She lowered the cup back onto the table before them.

  Owen tried to hide his disappointment. He had expected better from Sofia. Everybody knew he was an architect and owned a construction company. It had taken him half the afternoon to decide which method of fortune-telling he would prefer. He had shamelessly eavesdropped on every guest he could, trying to figure out which method seemed the best. The reactions were varied, and over half the guests had tried more than one method. In the end he had chosen Sofia by process of elimination. Yelena, Nadia’s nineteen-year-old sister, seemed too sweet and innocent to answer any questions he might propose. Volga Yonkovich, the very pregnant Soma’s mother-in-law, told fortunes with the tarot cards. He wanted nothing to do with any deck of cards that contained cards entitled “The Hanged Man” and “Death.” So that left Sofia, with her very predictable predictions.

  “You’re a builder of dreams.”

  Owen continued to frown. Of course he could be called a builder of dreams. Every house or building he built was somebody’s dream.

  “You not believe me?” questioned Sofia.

  Disillusioned, he said, “Yes, I believe you, Sofia.” Half a day’s worry was for nothing. Nadia wasn’t trying to protect him from the unknown future when she refused to talk about her family’s fortune-telling. She had been trying to hide the fact that her family couldn’t tell the future. He hadn’t really expected Sofia to look at the leaves and tell him all his dreams would come true, but a little more hedging on her part would have been nice.

  Sofia leaned back and studied the young man who had become so important to her niece. “I’m not talking about houses or office buildings.”

  “You’re not?” Owen glanced at the old bone-china cup sitting in front of him. “What are you talking about, then?”

  “You.” She pushed aside the deep-purple velvet material that was covering the table and reached beneath it. She pulled out a tall glass of iced tea and took a sip. “You didn’t come here to find out about your business, did you?”

  “I already know about my business.”

  “It is very prosperous,” said Sofia. She smiled knowingly and nodded her head. “It will continue to grow over the years because you will have many fine children who will help you.”

  Owen stared at the cup in astonishment. “You can tell all that by a few soggy tea leaves?”

  “No. I use my gift of wisdom to know your business will prosper, and my gift of sight to know how much you love children. You are very kind to all the little ones at the ranch.”

  He flushed slightly at being that obvious. “So what do the tea leaves tell you?”

  “They tell me you are building another dream. One that concerns your happiness.”

  “Will this dream come true?” />
  “I cannot see.” She looked at Owen and added, “I can tell you that it is a very strong dream. One that is built from the heart.”

  Owen slowly stood up. “Thank you, Sofia.”

  “I disappointed you, didn’t I?” She folded her hands and placed them in her lap. “You perhaps expected predictions of travel, great adventures, or chance encounters?” She sadly shook her head. “Forgive me, I had forgotten you are a gadjo and mistakenly gave you the truth instead of inventions.”

  He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. How was he ever going to explain to Sofia what he had been searching for? “It is I who should ask for your forgiveness. I came here seeking an answer”—he gave a self-indulgent little laugh—“or at least a hint that I was on the right track.”

  Sofia smiled. “Your heart will tell you if you are on the right track. As for your dream”—her many bracelets jiggled as she spread her hands outward—“I cannot say what end will come.” She softened her words with a smile. “Only you have the power to master your dreams.”

  Owen bowed slightly. “Thank you, Sofia.” He turned toward the tent’s opening. It was time to give someone else a chance to have their fortune told.

  “Owen?” called Sofia softly.

  “Yes?”

  “Good luck with your dream.” She smiled knowingly as he ducked out of the tent.

  * * *

  “What do you mean Sonia’s having her baby?” shouted Owen. He glanced around the camp in astonishment. No one seemed to be in any great hurry to go anywhere. Where were the suitcase, the frantic husband, and the concerned grandparents? He looked at Nadia, who was helping to unload the leftover food from the garden-club luncheon. Everything at his house had been cleaned up and returned to order hours ago. He had made sure the rental company had come and picked up all the tables, chairs, and tents before driving out to Nadia’s. “Where is she?”

  “In bed where she belongs,” said Nadia. She picked up the paper bag filled with garlic-flavored breads and started to walk toward one of the mobile homes.

  “She belongs in a hospital!” shouted Owen. “Give me five minutes to run back to your house to get my car, and we’ll take her.”

  Nadia frowned at Owen and lovingly placed a hand on one of her little cousin’s shoulders. “Lower your voice, Owen. You’re scaring the children.”

  Owen glanced at the little dark-eyed girl and frowned. She did look scared to death, but by his shouting? He had seen members of Nadia’s family argue with one another, and to say they shouted would be an understatement. “Why am I scaring her?”

  “Don’t mention the word hospital again,” whispered Nadia. She smiled encouragingly at the girl and handed-her the paper bag to carry in. She waited until the child was out of earshot. “I know, in America everyone goes to the hospital for the simplest of reasons. But where we come from, we don’t go to hospitals just because we have a cut or a sprain.”

  Owen glanced at the other mobile home, the one he knew Sonia was in. He started to get a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. “You don’t go to hospitals to have babies, either, do you?”

  “No. To most of my family, a hospital is the last resort. It usually means there is no other hope.”

  “Who’s going to deliver the baby?”

  “The same women who delivered her first two, my mother and Sasha.”

  “Your mother delivered her own grandchildren?”

  “Can you think of a more caring person?”

  “Caring is all well and good, but what about experience, training, and a big fiat medical degree hanging on the wall?” His horror-stricken gaze remained on the mobile home. In the gathering dusk someone had turned on the inside lights in the back bedroom. Behind those walls Sonia was giving birth.

  “What does a piece of paper hanging on the wall have to do with delivering a baby? Between my mother and Sasha, they must have delivered over two hundred babies.”

  “They’re midwives?”

  “To our people, yes, they are midwives.” She glanced at him and smiled. “Relax, Owen. It shouldn’t be that much longer.”

  Owen paled further. “She’s been working all day carrying heavy serving dishes back and forth. All that work didn’t make her go into labor, did it?”

  “No, she was showing signs of labor earlier, Owen. We all knew, so we kept a close eye on her. We didn’t let her carry the really heavy stuff.”

  “Why in the hell did you let her work, for cripe’s sake?” He couldn’t help it. Nothing in his life’s experience sounded so cruel and heartless as watching a woman in labor wait on his aunt’s rich and haughty friends.

  “Because she wanted to,” snapped Nadia. “The idea of watching my sister man the buffet table while labor was starting didn’t appeal to me, either, Owen.” She closed her eyes and sighed. Taking a deep breath, she sat down on the tailgate of her uncle’s battered pickup truck. “She wanted to earn her share of the profits. Last month she saw a used crib for sale in one of the thrift shops in town. She has the cradle that her other two have outgrown, but she has her heart set on a crib for this one.” She swung her feet and stared at the trailer, where new life was struggling to make its way into the world. “I offered to buy the crib for her, but she refused. She thinks I do too much for them as it is. Sonia has her share of the Kandratavich stubbornness.”

  Owen sat down next to her and contemplated the trailer. “What do we do now?”

  “We wait.” She smiled at Owen and took his hand. “Don’t worry, bringing a baby into this world is a very natural thing for a woman.”

  “But what if...” His voice trailed off as a distant wail of a baby came from the trailer. He felt Nadia’s hand tighten her grip, and everyone seemed to stop whatever they were doing and stare at the trailer.

  A moment later a proud-looking father, Gustavo, came to the door carrying a small bundle wrapped in a soft blanket. “It’s a girl!” He waited for the cheering to die down. “Mother and daughter are both fine and beautiful.” He held the baby up and announced, “In honor of our daughter being the first Kandratavich born in America, we name her Liberty.” He disappeared back into the trailer as more merriment erupted.

  Owen turned to Nadia and wiped at the two tears rolling down her cheeks. He was afraid he was showing the same relief and happiness. His voice shook slightly, and he had to clear the lump out of his throat before he could ask, “Well, Aunt Nadia, what do we do now?”

  She glanced around the camp and grinned. Her father and uncles were already pulling out the wine, and Celka and Sofia were piling the tables with food. Someone had picked up a violin and started to play a lively tune. “Now, Owen, we must share a great Gypsy tradition.” She grabbed his hand and yanked him off the tailgate and toward the tables.

  “What’s that?”

  “We celebrate!”

  Chapter Eight

  Owen stood in the darkness and burned. Each seductive sway of Nadia’s hips pulled at his groin. The enticing flash of a bare calf or the provocative arch of her arms as she beckoned an imaginary lover sent another wave of heat pounding through his veins. Her dark hair flew behind her like a proud banner as she whirled and danced her way around the campfire. The faster the music played, the faster Nadia’s bare feet flew over the grass.

  Twice she brushed by him, bewitching him further with her dreamy smile and the flash of desire burning in her eyes. He prayed that her body was going to live up to the promises blazing in her eyes all night. Sometime today their relationship had changed. She was more open with him, allowing him nearer. The sweet little kisses from the kitchen had only been the beginning. All night long she had been next to him, holding his hand, touching his shoulder, or just smiling.

  At first he thought she was caught up in the excitement of the celebration, but then he had begun to notice the differences between Nadia and her family. The wine was flowing freely between the adults, but he had only seen her take one glass, the same amount as he. The storytelling had gone from quest
ionable to farfetched. She had enjoyed the stories, but she hadn’t contributed any of her own. The stories reminded him of a bunch of fishermen trying to outdo one another with accounts of the size of the fish that had gotten away. Even though she laughed in all the right places, it didn’t take a psychic to know her mind wasn’t on the tales. And by the smoldering glances she had been casting his way all evening, he had a feeling he knew what she was thinking. The same thing he’d been thinking all night: hot endless kisses that lasted all night and into the morning. He did not want to go home to spend another sleepless night in a bed that suddenly seemed too big for just one man.

  Nadia whirled faster as the music built toward a climax. Her eyes were closed, and her arms reached upward into the darkness. The glow of the fire gleamed off the brilliant colors woven into her skirt, and her hair radiated the dancing flames. Her rounded breasts heaved against the low-cut blouse straining to be free, and the gentle clinking of her jewelry beckoned his senses. Nothing in his life had prepared him for the vision of watching Nadia dance. She was primitive and wild. She had become one with the music. The passion, the need, the desire, vibrated around her, calling to her imaginary lover. Calling to him.

  In a final frenzy the music and Nadia came to a sudden stop. Gustavo slowly lowered his violin as Nadia bowed her head and breathed deeply. Owen held his breath and waited as her family applauded.

  Nadia slowly raised her head and glanced across the fire to encounter Owen’s hungry gaze. Her eyes darkened to black pools of need, and her harsh breathing turned more ragged. She ignored her family and the shouts for more wine. On soundless feet she crossed the packed dirt and grass and stood before Owen. “I danced for you.”

  He felt himself drowning in the honesty swimming in her eyes. “I never had a woman dance for me before.” He reached out and tenderly drew a line down her flushed cheek. Her skin was hot and damp under his finger. She felt like a woman who had just spent the last hour making love. “Thank you. I will treasure the memory always.”