Her Christmas Wish. Cindi Myers

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      “And this is my grandmother Torres.” Eric led them to a bent, plump woman with a crown of silver braids. “Abuelita, this is Alina Allinova and Marissa Alvarez.”

      Mrs. Torres nodded regally, and said something to her grandson in Spanish.

      “She doesn’t speak English.” Marty leaned closer to Alina and whispered. “Though I suspect she understands it well enough.”

      With a stab of pain, Alina thought of Baka Fania, who had died two years before. She, too, had never learned English, saying that since she was good at reading people’s hearts, she had no need to understand their tongues, as well.

      Mrs. Torres stared at Alina as if trying to read her heart. Alina managed a weak smile. Mrs. Torres said something and Alina looked to Eric for a translation. “She said she’s pleased to meet you,” Eric said. Though something in his manner made Alina suspect those had not been the old woman’s exact words.

      Eric kissed his grandmother’s cheek, then led them and Marty to a shaded arbor crowded with benches and lawn chairs. “And this is my mother,” he said, introducing an older blonde who wore a long flowered skirt and white blouse. Though lines around her eyes and mouth testified to her age, Mrs. Sepulveda had clearly been a beauty in her younger years. “Mama, this is Alina Allinova and Marissa Alvarez.”

      Mrs. Sepulveda smiled warmly. “It’s so nice to meet you both,” she said. “How do you girls know Eric and Marty?”

      Alina was slow to answer, overwhelmed at meeting so many new people at once. Marissa jumped in to fill the silence. “Alina’s a respiratory therapist and I’m an RN at the hospital,” she said.

      Mrs. Sepulveda studied Marissa thoughtfully. “Are you related to Frank and Millie Alvarez?” she asked.

      “I don’t think so. My family is from Pueblo.”

      “I have a lot of friends in Pueblo. Why don’t you girls sit here beside me and we’ll find out if we know any of the same people. Eric, fetch us something to drink.”

      While Marissa and Mrs. Sepulvida conversed in a mixture of Spanish and English, Alina took a seat on a nearby bench. Marty joined her. Here was her chance to get to know him better. “How do you know Eric?” she asked.

      “We work together—I’m a paramedic, too.”

      “Then I’m amazed I haven’t run into you at the hospital. I’m sure I’d remember.” Because of her grandmother’s prophecy, every blond man she saw made an impression on her, but she had no memory of this one, though he’d claimed to have met her before.

      “You’d be amazed how many people don’t remember me. I guess because I’m kind of quiet.”

      “I’m a quiet person, too,” she said. When she’d first come to the United States, she’d avoided speaking because she’d been worried about betraying her ignorance of English, though she’d studied the language for years. But even at home she had always preferred listening to and watching others, never needing to be the center of attention. “And I like quiet men,” she added. “Better than ones who talk too much.”

      “Eric doesn’t talk too much,” Marty said. “He’s a great guy.”

      Eric again. The man who really made her heart race. But she felt she owed it to her grandmother to at least give Marty a chance. “Eric is very nice,” she murmured. “But—”

      “He’s a lot of fun and really down-to-earth, too,” Marty continued. “In spite of being such a daredevil.”

      “I don’t understand.” Alina wasn’t sure what the term meant.

      “It just means someone who likes to take risks. Eric likes skiing out of bounds or in extreme terrain, and in the summer he races motorcycles and climbs mountains—that kind of thing.”

      She hated the idea of Eric risking his life on a motorcycle. She’d recently cared for a young man who’d been seriously injured in a motorcycle accident. She pushed the thought away. She shouldn’t focus on Eric, the handsome risk-taker. She needed to get to know Marty, to determine if he was the man who would make her happy for the rest of her life. “What do you like to do when you’re not working?” she asked.

      “I’m going to school, studying to be a minister.”

      “A…a minister?” Not what she’d expected. The opposite of being a daredevil, she supposed.

      “You know, a preacher. A reverend.”

      “That’s nice.” Even to her ears, the words sounded weak.

      “Not exactly the world’s sexiest profession.” He laughed. “But an important one, I think.”

      “Yes. Of course.”

      She waited for him to pick up the conversation, but he merely smiled at her blandly. That was definitely one drawback to two quiet people trying to get to know each other.

      Eric returned, drinks in hand, and a little girl in tow. One of his nieces, she thought. “This is Emma,” he introduced the tyke as he handed the drinks around. “Say hello to Alina and Marissa.”

      “He-wo,” the child said, the word muffled by the thumb stuck in her mouth.

      “How old are you, Emma?” Alina asked.

      The little girl looked questioningly at her uncle. “She’s three,” Mrs. Sepulveda said. “And Eric is her favorite uncle.”

      “She has good taste,” Marissa said. She winked at Alina, who quickly looked away.

      “Uncle Eric, I want up.” Emma stretched her arms skyward and stood on tiptoe.

      “Emma, you’re too big for me to hold all the time,” he said, even as he bent to gather her in his arms.

      “I like it up here ’cause I’m tall.” She grinned at the circle of adults.

      Alina couldn’t help but grin back, not only at the adorable little girl, but at the picture of the child nestled against Eric, who held her with such tenderness. Before her eyes the ladies’ man who had flirted with her at Vinotok—the man who risked his life racing motorcycles and skiing off cliffs and no telling what else—had transformed into an easygoing family man, beloved by grandparents and toddlers alike. What woman wouldn’t be charmed?

      “There you are!” One of the women Alina had met earlier—Renee—hurried to them. “Stop bothering Uncle Eric and let him visit with his friends.”

      “I wasn’t bothering him!” Emma protested.

      “She really wasn’t,” Eric said, though he handed her over to her mother.

      “Let’s go fix you a plate,” Renee said. “Papa made some little sausages especially for you.”

      Effectively distracted, Emma went willingly with her mother. Eric squeezed in beside Alina on the bench so that she had to move over toward Marty to accommodate him. She was aware of how close she was, not to Marty, but to Eric, their thighs touching. He glanced toward his mother СКАЧАТЬ