Hannah looked at him coolly, stroking the dog’s head with her coral-tipped fingers. “You were preoccupied. With Gerta Klug. You left me at the house without a car. I know you were worried because you called.” She made a face to let him know she was miffed that he did not. “Moira drove me back. Thanks.”
He shot a cautious glance at her but didn’t reply. She leaned back against the headboard, Nacho in her lap, and watched Angel step out of his pants and kick them across the floor. She admired his beautiful body, as lean and taut as a jockey’s with the rock-hard core muscles required of a jumper.
“Thank God I was,” he said, lifting his palms to emphasize the point. “Do you know what I found when I got to the barn, eh? In that raging rain?” He stood before her, naked but for his slim black briefs. “She was out in the storm walking Butterhead. She had colic!”
Hanna paused her petting. “Gerta or the horse?”
Angel waved his hand dismissively. “You don’t care. I know you don’t care. You only care about your makeup.”
She would have been angry except that she knew he didn’t mean it. He was supportive of her makeup line, always bragging about her business to his friends and influential acquaintances.
“That’s not true,” she said without rancor. “You know I care.” She patted the mattress by her side. “Tell me.”
He sighed and came to sit on the mattress. “The doctor said it was the combination of stress and the long trip. She checked Butterhead very well and said she’s okay now.” He shrugged. “She pooped.”
“Praise the Lord,” Hannah said, lifting her hands.
Angel looked down at the dog with disdain. “Can you get rid of that rodent?”
“Don’t call him that,” she said, holding Nacho closer. “I think he’s adorable.” She kissed his head.
“How can you love that dog and not Max? He’s a perfect dog. Devoted, loving—as a dog should be.” He smirked. “As a woman should be.”
“Don’t,” Hannah warned, giving him a shove.
“I’m kidding,” he said with a laugh. “That’s just my Latin machismo coming out.” He made a whining groan. “Oh, but at least take him off the bed when I’m in it?”
Hannah looked at Angel’s face. He really did look exhausted. His skin was chalky; he had rough stubble on his cheeks and above his mouth. His dark hair was disheveled from scratching his head, as he did when he was upset. She gathered Nacho and lifted him to her cheek. He licked her face.
“Sorry, my little perro, but there’s only room for one dog in this bed.” She kissed the top of his head and, bending over, set the Chihuahua on the floor and gave him a gentle nudge toward his dog crate. Nacho looked over his shoulder at her, sulking.
“So, Gerta is okay?” she asked. “You were so worried about her.”
“Yeah,” he said dully, looking at his hands. “She’s good.”
Hannah paused, then cast him a sidelong glance. “Does Gerta know about you and Elise?”
Angel’s head jerked up, his eyes alert under furrowed brows. “What? What are you talking about?”
She heard a defensive tone that validated her suspicions, and felt her muscles stiffen. “I saw you go into the cottage this morning. Alone. Elise opened the door. I know Gerta was not there because I’d just left her at the main house.” She glared at him.
He seemed oddly relieved by the accusation. “Yes, I saw Elise. I went to check on her. She had a bad fall.”
“Please . . .”
“What do you think? That I slept with her?”
“Yes.”
“She’s a child,” he replied dismissively.
“She’s twenty-nine years old.”
Angel made a frustrated sound in his throat.
“You’ve slept with lots of women—young, old, married, single.”
“Not since I’ve been with you,” he fired back, pointing at her. “Not once.”
“You flirt with everyone.”
“I like women,” he admitted. “But I’m not interested in Elise, not in that way. Besides, she’s gay.”
“Wait. What?” Hannah gaped at him.
“Everybody knows that.”
“I didn’t!”
He shrugged. “So, I’m not sleeping with Elise. I’m not sleeping with anyone.”
The last word he said with import. Hannah understood his message—she couldn’t remember the last time they’d had sex. If it was true that he hadn’t cheated on her, and she believed him, then this proved his love. This reasoning worked to mollify her.
“I made a decision tonight,” he said.
Hannah heard the seriousness in his tone and waited.
“Tonight, when I saw Butterhead so sick, I went crazy thinking I could lose her. And the relief when the doctor said she will be okay . . .” He sighed. “I knew. I will never sell her.”
Hannah was surprised. And not. Angel was a man of passion and quick decisions. Genius in some ways, childlike in others. But smart—always smart.
“I’m glad to hear it,” she said, and meant it. “I’m very fond of Butterhead. I sometimes thought of her as a kindred spirit.” She paused. “I don’t know if she could’ve survived you dumping her.”
Angel frowned at the insinuation. He sat back on the mattress, leaning on his arms. “I was never dumping her.”
“What will you do now?” she asked. “You still need a horse.”
“I have to come up with a new plan,” he said with a fatalistic sigh.
“You will. You always do.”
He chortled. “I do. . . .”
Hannah pushed back her hair and studied him. She sensed something was off. His mind was on something else. “Javi, is there something you’re not telling me . . . ?”
He snorted and sat up again. “You know me too well. Sí,” he admitted, “there’s something I’m not telling you. Something I meant to talk to you about.”
Hannah went still, watching him expectantly. She wasn’t aware she held her breath.
He turned his head toward her. “Querida, you know I would never hurt you.”
She didn’t speak, but all her senses were on high alert.
Angel climbed from the bed and began pacing the room. He was scratching his head, and she braced herself for what she knew could only be bad news. He stopped in front of the bed and put his hands on his hips. He hung his head in thought. But when he lifted it, his eyes were clear.
“Tonight, I kissed someone.”
Hannah pounded the mattress with her fist. Nacho jumped up in alarm. “I knew it. Who?”
“Gerta.”
Hannah’s mouth slipped open. “That sour lemon? I can’t believe it.” She released a short, bitter laugh. “Well, I can believe you would kiss her. That I can believe. But that she would allow you to kiss her?” She shook her head in disbelief. “She’s frigid.”
“Don’t say that,” he said. “It isn’t nice.”
“Wait!” she said, narrowing her eyes. Her anger made her mean. “Now I know how you’re going to get your new horse. You’re going to get a Klug horse. That’s your plan. A stallion for a stallion. Well done.”