There was a bit of low murmuring that Aspen understood, despite not speaking Spanish, and she felt a guilty flush highlight her cheekbones. It was her fault that Cruz had stalked off.
‘I’ll go and get him.’
Ricardo looked as if he was about to argue with her but then changed his mind. ‘Thank you.’
Following the path Cruz had taken, she found him out by the small vineyard, his head bent towards a leafy vine laden with bunches of purple grapes. The bright sun darkened his olive skin as he stood there, which was extremely unfair, Aspen thought, when her skin was more likely to turn pink and blister.
A bee buzzed lazily past her face and she stepped out of its way.
Cruz must have heard the sound of her steps on the dirt but he gave no indication of it, putting his hands in his pockets and staring out across the ocean like a god from the days of old. Strong. Formidable. Impenetrable.
‘I was hoping for a moment’s peace,’ he said without turning around, his deep voice a master of creation.
‘They’re about to serve the birthday cake,’ Aspen informed him softly.
‘So they sent you to find me?’
‘No.’ She stood beside him and watched tiny waves break further out to sea. ‘I volunteered.’
He made a noise that seemed to say she was an idiot. And she was—because she had an overpowering urge to reach out to him.
‘They don’t know how to treat you, you know.’ She glanced up at him, no longer able to ignore what had been going on since they arrived. ‘Your mother seems to be suffering. From guilt? Remorse? It’s not clear, but it is clear that she loves you. They all do.’
Cruz tensed and dug his hands further into his pockets. Aspen had inadvertently picked a scab off an old wound. He knew his mother felt guilty. He’d told her she shouldn’t but it hadn’t worked. He had no idea what to do about that and it made being around his family almost impossible, because he knew that without him around they would be up singing and dancing and having a great time.
‘Don’t start talking about what you can’t possibly understand,’ he grated harshly.
‘I understand that you’re upset...maybe a little angry about what happened to you,’ she offered gently.
He swung around to face her. ‘I’m not angry about that. When my father died it was my job as the eldest boy to take care of my family while the girls ran the house. It’s what we did. Rallied around each other and banded together.’
‘Oh, dear, that must have made it even harder for you to leave them.’
Cruz scowled down at her. ‘It’s not like I had a say in it. Old Man Carmichael offered my mother money and she preferred to send me away than to let me provide for the family my way.’
‘Which was...?’
Mostly he’d worked at a nearby hacienda and tended rich people’s gardens. Sometimes he’d done odd jobs for the men his father had become involved with, but he hadn’t been stupid enough to do anything illegal. Anything criminal.
‘Boring stuff.’
‘And your mother didn’t work herself?’
‘She cleaned houses when she could, but I have one brother and four sisters. All were under ten at the time. My father’s family were what you would politely term dysfunctional, and my mother had been an only child to elderly parents. If I hadn’t stepped up, nobody else would have.’
‘I’m sorry, Cruz. That’s a lot for a child to have heaped on his shoulders. You must have really struggled.’ She grimaced. ‘I guess that’s why they treat you like you’re a king now.’
He looked at her sharply. ‘They don’t treat me like a king. They act like it didn’t happen. They tiptoe around me as if I’m about to go off at them.’
She paused and Cruz caught the concern in her gaze. Something tightened in his chest. What was he doing, spilling his childhood stories to this woman? A person he didn’t even like.
As if sensing his volatile thoughts she murmured half to herself and he had to strain to capture the words. ‘...not real.’
‘Excuse me?’ He glanced at her sharply. ‘Are you saying my feelings for my family are not real?’
‘Of course not. Though it might help them relax a bit if you scowled a little less.’ She shot him a half-smile. ‘I can see that you love your family. Which is strangely reassuring though I don’t know why. But there’s no hugging. No touching.’ Her pause was laden with unwanted empathy. ‘Truthfully, you remind me of my grandfather. He found it tough to let anyone get close to him as well.’