Blaze a Trail (The Flanagan Sisters, #3) Page 6

  “Where are you?”

  “The dogs and I are at the back of Mama’s property.” Both dogs had tired of fetching the ball and were sleeping under a tree.

  “Have you got any plans later? We could go to the movies tonight, if you want.”

  “I can’t.” She was surprised at her level of disappointment. This was the real David and he was fun to talk with. “We’re having a girls’ night at Carly’s tonight.”

  “How about Sunday?”

  “I need to take Teresa to art class in the morning. How about in the afternoon?”

  “Darn, I forgot that’s my afternoon with Mom. How about next Saturday?”

  “Sure. Why don’t we talk during the week and sort something out?” Her battery was in the red now.

  “OK.”

  Zita hung up feeling a lot better. If the conversation was any indication, David wasn’t upset about her joke. He was available for some fun, and she could definitely find some spare energy for that.

  Grinning, she called to her dogs and headed into the house.

  ***

  Nausea rolled in Zita’s stomach as she rode the elevator up to Carly’s penthouse apartment that night. It was silly. All they were doing was going over the few old photos they had from their time in El Salvador and talking about their father.

  A couple of months ago, during the Day of the Dead celebrations, she’d discovered her father hadn’t died in an accident at work like she’d thought. He’d been murdered while helping someone in their village. She’d been upset to learn the truth, and in her state she’d blurted out the secret she’d kept her whole life.

  She didn’t remember her father.

  It was ironic, since she was the only one who’d taken after him in appearance. Carly and Bridget both resembled their mother, with dark curly hair and darker skin, though Bridget had inherited their father’s height as well.

  Zita supposed she should be pleased she had something to remember him by, that she only had to look in the mirror, but it was difficult. She knew nothing about her Irish roots and her appearance meant she didn’t physically fit in with the Hispanic community. She’d spent years dressing traditionally for any events, in order to feel like she was part of them.

  The elevator doors opened and she knocked on Carly’s door. Bridget opened it with a glass of wine in her hand. “You’re late.”

  “Traffic,” Zita explained, kissing her sister’s cheek and walking in.

  She hadn’t been here since Evan had moved in and she smiled at the easels set up in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows in the living room.

  “Dinner’s arrived,” Carly said, motioning to the boxes of Chinese food on the dining table.

  “Great.” She was starving. She took a seat and grabbed the nearest container. “Where’s Evan?”

  “He and Jack went to the movies,” Carly said.

  “I know we’re here to talk about Papa,” Bridget said as she dished up some food. “But first, I want to hear about your date with David.”

  “I’m not sure I want to,” Carly joked, putting her fingers in her ears.

  Zita smiled at her sisters. “Not much to tell. We had dinner, he showed me his book collection and I went home.”

  “He took his book collection to the restaurant?” Bridget asked.

  “No, I went back to his place.” Her face heated. She regretted that she usually told her sisters all the details of her dates.

  Bridget raised an eyebrow. “That bad, huh?”

  “No! I mean, it was fine — nice. Nothing happened.” Feck.

  Carly studied her and Zita offered her the carton of food to distract her. “Where did you go to dinner?”

  “The Wooden Spoon.” She stuffed some food in her mouth.

  “Holy hell! That’s like the best restaurant in Houston,” Bridget said. “Someone was out to impress.”

  “Or just has a lot of money,” Zita countered, annoyed.

  “True. Does he have a trust fund?” Bridget asked.

  “I don’t know!” Zita glared at her sister. “And I don’t care. I’m not dating him for his money.”

  “But you are seeing him,” Carly said.

  “Yes. No. It was one date.” Her sisters didn’t normally rile her this much.

  “Got another one planned?” Bridget asked.

  “No.” It wasn’t a lie. They hadn’t planned what they were going to do next Saturday.

  “I always thought he was nice,” Carly said.

  “Then you should have dated him,” Zita fired back.

  Carly laughed. “Ew. That would be like dating my brother.”

  The fire in her stomach tapered. “You never fancied him?”

  “No. Never.” Carly squinted at her. “And he never fancied me.”

  It was a relief, though she’d never admit it aloud. The thought of David with Carly was just ick. “So, how are the wedding plans coming along?”

  “Not quite as slowly as the house plans. Hayden and Mama are having fun.”

  Hayden was Carly’s PA and had started putting together wedding information for Carly, without being asked to. When Carmen had found out, they’d formed a wedding planning team. Carly barely had to do anything.

  “What about you?” she asked Bridget. “Any plans yet?” Bridget and Jack had bought a house together, but weren’t engaged.

  Her sister smiled. “I was thinking about proposing to him next weekend.”

  Zita’s mouth dropped open. “That’s fantastic!” She was so thrilled both her sisters had found the men they wanted to spend the rest of their lives with. She jumped up and hugged her sister.

  “Yeah, I’m fairly sure he’ll say yes.”

  Jack had been enamored with Bridget since they’d first met, but it had taken her some time to trust him. He’d agreed to take their relationship at the pace Bridget needed.

  “Mama’s going to be thrilled,” Carly said.

  She would be. Two daughters getting married was going to flip her mother out. Zita cleared the empty boxes from the table and then took her sisters’ plates. She wasn’t sure why she was feeling a little sad.

  “You ready to go through the photo album?” Carly asked her.

  Zita let out a breath. Was she? “I guess so.”

  Bridget gave her a hug. “It’s not so bad, ZZ. We all have issues about Papa dying so young.”

  Zita looked at her sister. “Really?”

  “Sure. One of the reasons I got into workplace safety was because I thought Papa had died at work. I didn’t want anyone else to go through that.” She glanced at Carly.

  Carly sighed. “And I felt like I had to take care of you all, because I’d promised Papa I would.”

  Perhaps Zita wasn’t the odd one out after all. She walked over to the sofa and sat down, her sisters sitting either side of her. Carly handed her the photo album. The first few pages were of Carly, Bridget and their parents before she was born. Her mother was so young, younger than Carly was now, and she looked so happy. There were photos of the four of them together, smiling. Her father had a look on his face as if he couldn’t believe how lucky he was. The love shone out of his blue eyes.

  He was lanky and far taller than Carmen, but that wasn’t difficult, considering Carmen was just under five feet. He was probably about Bridget’s height, and his hair was the exact color of Zita’s, though it was short and disheveled in most of the pictures.

  As she flicked through the photos, her sisters told her stories of where they were taken and what had been happening at the time. It was Carly who spoke the most. She was the eldest, five years older than Zita, and therefore recalled a lot more, but there were a few things Bridget remembered.

  “This was taken the day you were born,” Carly said, pointing at the photo where Zita first appeared. It was a family photo, her mother looking a little tired, her father pleased as punch, and Bridget awkwardly holding Zita with Carly helping her. “Papa said he had his three princesses.”

  “Did he ever want
a boy?” Zita asked.

  “Mama once said they would have liked a boy as well,” Carly said.

  They continued through the photos until they reached the end. It didn’t take long as there were so few. It would have been lovely to have photos from when her father was a child.

  “Have you ever searched for Papa’s family?” Zita asked.

  “No,” Carly answered. “Mama always said his parents were dead and he had no siblings. It was one of the reasons he was happy to stay in El Salvador.” She glanced at Bridget. “Have you?”

  Bridget shook her head. “I figured any relatives we did have in Ireland would only be distantly related and wouldn’t care about us.”

  Zita was silent. Her Irish family had always fascinated her, but she’d never been brave enough to search. She was worried she might upset her mother, make her think that she wasn’t good enough, but it wasn’t that. It was the tenuous idea that she might have people who looked like her, and who could tell her more stories about her father. But there was no guarantee they would welcome her into the family, and that was the main reason she’d never gone further. Still, looking at these photos made her want to know more. Surely he would have an aunt or an uncle who remembered him?

  “I’d kind of like to,” she admitted. “Find out if they have anything of Papa’s. Do you think Mama would mind?”

  Carly shook her head. “No. Do you want a hand?”

  “No. I’ll do a search when I have a little bit of time.”

  “All right,” Carly said, getting to her feet. “There’s one more thing. I found it when I was going through the box of things Mama kept from El Salvador, and got it digitized.” She switched on her laptop that was sitting on the coffee table. She smiled at them both. “Neither of you have seen it.” She clicked on a file and a movie came up.

  A home movie.

  Zita gasped.

  “How have we never seen this?” Bridget asked, as shocked as Zita was.

  “I asked Mama and she said she didn’t have anything to play it on and had forgotten about it.”

  The movie was of their parents’ wedding, her mother looking beautiful in a white dress with matching bolero and her father in a blue suit. They were in a little church that was packed with people.

  “That’s the church in our village,” Carly said.

  It was strange to watch a walking, talking version of her father. All of a sudden, he was alive again. Zita listened as they said their vows, her father in halting Spanish with the most horrendous accent. She giggled. “Papa sounds awful.”

  Carly laughed. “He must have learned quickly. I remember him speaking it fluently, though still with an accent.”

  The video changed to show the family farm and the house where they had lived with their grandparents, and then went through each one of the girls’ christenings. Carly must have edited them together. Zita’s heart swelled as her father held her and kissed her forehead so tenderly. It was obvious he loved her. Tears pricked her eyes.

  “This is my favorite bit,” Carly said as the setting changed again to the beach.

  It had to be the day at the beach that Carly had spoken about at the last Day of the Dead celebration. The three of them were building sandcastles, their father next to them, patiently helping and giving them encouragement. Carmen called from behind the camera, “Time to wash up.”

  Her father jumped to his feet. “Last one in is a rotten egg,” he said and raced for the water. Carly was on her feet in a flash, racing after him and after a moment’s stumble, Bridget was after her. Zita, however, was the slowest. She got to her feet and ran as fast as her little legs could carry her. Carly and Bridget were already in the water, shrieking and splashing, but her father was encouraging her, jogging slowly so she could catch him.

  “Beat you, Papa,” Zita called as she got to the water and then she tripped and fell into the waves. Her father scooped her out, wet and bedraggled and gave her a huge hug and a kiss. “You sure did, a leanbh.”

  Tears streamed down Zita’s face. Her father had loved her. He had held her, and kissed her, and waited for her. She took the tissue Bridget handed her and the three of them wiped their eyes.

  “Has Mama seen this?” Bridget asked.

  “Not yet,” Carly said.

  “We’ll need to buy a carton of tissues before she does,” Zita said, sniffing. She hugged Carly. “Thank you.”

  “You’re most welcome, niñita. Now you can see how much Papa loved us all.”

  She could. She really could.

  Chapter 5

  David checked his reflection in the mirror for the third time. Jeans, long-sleeved red top, and his long black cashmere coat. He nodded in approval. He wanted to make a good impression on Zita after he’d spoiled their last date.

  He’d overreacted to Zita’s comment – got way ahead of himself. It was just because they hadn’t jumped straight into bed after arriving at his apartment that he’d mistakenly thought he wanted more. It was ridiculous. He was too young to settle down.

  He checked that he had his phone, wallet and keys, and then headed down to the foyer to wait for Zita. She’d insisted on picking him up, stating it was easier for her to come to him as she lived on the outskirts of Houston. She’d also told him she’d arrange the details of their second date, so David had no idea what they were doing. He wasn’t used to being the one waiting and in the dark.

  Zita pulled up in the unloading zone outside his building, so he hurried outside.

  “Hi, how was your week?” Zita asked, flashing him a grin as he got in the car.

  He smiled back. “Same as always.” She looked great in a bright red fifties-style dress and white tights. “Lots of meetings and people wanting to increase their budgets.”

  “Is it your job to say no?”

  “Yes. My eye has to be firmly on the bottom line, but there are some projects that would be worth spending money on.” If only he could convince his father.

  “That must be hard. I’d be hopeless at it. I always want to please people.”

  He nodded. “Yeah, I’m not the most popular person at work.” But he didn’t want to talk about it. He needed to make up for their last date. “Where are we going?”

  She grinned at him. “Discovery Green. There’s a flea market on today.”

  He raised an eyebrow. Was she kidding? He hadn’t been to a flea market since he was in college and his friends had dragged him to one. He glanced out at the dark clouds threatening rain.

  “There are a whole heap of food vendors there and I thought it might be fun to try something different.”

  “Sounds good,” he lied. The last thing he wanted to do was pretend to be interested while someone tried to sell him a second-hand toaster that had seen better days.

  Zita managed to find parking immediately. The market was set up in a shady area of the park and the stalls were a myriad of color, displaying their wares. It wasn’t too crowded and as David got out of the car he smelled smoky barbecue and some other spicy scent. His stomach rumbled. If it tasted as good as it smelled, it might not be too bad.

  “Let’s eat first.” Zita shrugged into a long lime-green coat and then grabbed his hand and led him over to the food vendors. They walked side by side, and Zita didn’t seem to notice she was still holding his hand, but he did. Her hand fit comfortably in his. There was no awkwardness. Strange that he’d never paid any attention to holding someone’s hand before.

  They walked along the trailers of food. The Brazilian barbecue was responsible for the delicious scents. “How about here?”

  “Great idea.” Zita pulled out her wallet. “I’ll pay.”

  David tensed. “No, I will.” He’d been taught a gentleman paid for a lady.

  “Don’t be silly. You paid last time.” She handed over some money as he reached for his wallet.

  He withdrew some bills and held them out to her.

  She shook her head. “Put it away.” She held her hands behind her back and gave him a don’t-
mess-with-me stare.

  He replaced the money. “I’ll get dessert.”

  “Sure.” She smiled.

  Pleased she agreed with him, he took the meal he was handed and they moved onto the grass under some trees and sat down.

  “This smells so good,” Zita said and took a bite of her spicy meat. “Mmm,” she hummed, swallowing. “Tastes good too.”

  He swallowed as well, as her blatant enjoyment stirred something inside of him. He shifted his position and took a bite of his own meal. It was good.

  “Played any golf this week?” Zita asked.

  “No, it’s been too dark by the time I finish.”

  “Of course. Do you work crazy hours like Carly used to?”

  “I try not to. If there’s nothing urgent, I leave around five. I don’t tend to take work home, but lately there have been a few extra reporting requirements.”

  “So what do you do after work?”

  “I’ve been catching up with my reading and overdosing on comic book TV series.” He waited for her reaction.

  “Ooh, what are you reading?” She leaned forward, grinning.

  He loved her enthusiasm, and the fact she read fantasy novels as well made him feel far less of a geek. “The latest Jane Dargatz.”

  “I haven’t read that series yet, but I’ve heard it’s good. What do you think?”

  “I love it,” he said and went on to explain why. By the time he was done, they’d both finished eating.

  “I’ll have to add the series to my to-be-read list,” Zita said, scrunching up the packaging. “Do you want to wander around the stalls?”

  “Sure.” He’d pretend to be interested.

  Reaching the first stall, he let out a soft exclamation of surprise. Home-made jewelry — earrings, bracelets and necklaces — all professionally worked. The next stall had leatherwork and the next, second-hand furniture that had been lovingly restored. This flea market was letting craftspeople show their wares. It was a celebration of creativity, not a junk yard.

  Zita went from stall to stall, chatting with the owners, praising the quality of the work and asking at the recycle stalls what she could do to help the environment. She was so in the moment and encouraging. He could tell each owner felt good talking to her. That was an incredible talent.