Santa Olivia (Santa Olivia #1)

Santa Olivia (Santa Olivia #1) Page 36

Loup smiled. “Thanks.”

He eyed her. “You got a boyfriend?”

“No, but—”

Miguel cut her off. “Hey, don’t get any ideas. No offense, but the idea of messing around with anyone who can knock me on my ass doesn’t exactly do it for me. But there’s all kinds of perverts out there. Guys who get off on the idea of getting knocked around by a nice-looking girl. You wouldn’t even have to fuck ’em. And nobody keeps a secret like a pervert, especially an army pervert. You could make good money. I could hook you up with Dolores Salamanca; that’s one of her specialties.”

“No, thanks,” Loup said.

“It’s good money,” he repeated. “Hell, you’d be doing ’em a favor! Nothing worse than being stuck on a two-year tour of the dust patch with an itch you can’t scratch.”

“Yeah, maybe.” She shrugged. “But we’re already taking enough risks. I don’t want to get busted because I was scratching some pervert’s itch.” She was silent a moment. “Anyway, I don’t want to be wanted that way. I just want to be wanted in the normal way.”

“Good luck with that.” There was sympathy in Miguel’s tone.

Loup smiled wryly. “Yeah, thanks.”

“Hey. Whatever happened to your father, anyway?” He tapped ash from his cigar. “One thing I do remember, they all looked happy as hell together. I remember ’cause it pissed Danny off. But he split, right?”

“Yeah,” she murmured. “South. He and the other guys like him. They were all trying to get over the wall and into Mexico. But he was gonna stay after my mother got pregnant.”

Miguel whistled. “So why’d he go?”

Loup glanced at him. “You don’t know?” He shook his head. “Your brother Danny threatened to turn him in to the army as a deserter.”

“Oh.” Miguel was quiet. “Shit, I’m sorry, kid.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“Yeah, I know.” He ground out his cigar and leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees. “Our father really was an asshole. He was tough on us, too. Sometimes it got pretty bad. Danny was the oldest. He had to be a hard guy. To protect himself. To protect me, until I got big enough to beat the shit out of pretty much anyone in town.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Miguel blew out his breath. “Yeah.”

“I’m sorry, Mig,” Loup said steadily.

He shot her another sideways glance, quick and flickering. “Yeah, well.” He rubbed the heel of one beefy hand over his eyes. “Cry me a fuckin’ river, right? Whatever. Everyone here’s got a sob story.”

“Santa Olivia,” Loup agreed.

“Santa fuckin’ Olivia.” Miguel stood, extended one hand. “C’mon, kid. You’re a bad influence on me.”

It startled her. “I am?”

He tugged her to her feet. “It’s a joke, freakshow. I’ve got this weird feeling you’re making me less of an asshole.”

“Good luck with that,” Loup said.

Miguel laughed.

THIRTY-FOUR

Once Floyd Roberts was satisfied that Loup’s defense was becoming ingrained instinct, he added the wrist and ankle weights to her sparring regimen and insisted on another three months of the same.

“I’m dying here!” Miguel complained.

The coach’s colorless gaze fixed on him mercilessly. “You’re also working harder and becoming a better boxer, son.”

“Me?”

Floyd’s mouth wrinkled. “You hadn’t noticed?”

Training.

Sparring.

At the end of three months, on a stormy Sunday morning, the coach allowed Loup to begin practicing offense in the ring. After so long, at first she was tentative.

“Hit him!” Floyd said in disgust.

Miguel spread his arms. “Hit me, little girl!”

She threw a fast, blurred jab at the center of his chest, pulling it at the last second.

“Oof.” Miguel bent, then straightened, realizing the blow had never landed. He grinned at her and began flicking jabs at her head, light on his feet, pressing and insistent. “C’mon. C’mon, bitch. I can take it.”

Loup breathed slowly, deeply.

She matched her pace to his. Slow, dreamlike. Traded blows; catching his, deflecting his. Throwing her own, careful and hesitant. Miguel caught them, turned them aside, scowling at her.

“Faster!” Floyd barked. “Loup, step it up.”

She went faster.

A simple jab combination: right, left, right. Right, right. Knocking, knocking. The last shot tagged the edge of Miguel’s padded chin. His head went sideways, the mouth guard flying out.

“Break!” the coach shouted. “Someone’s at the door.”

Loup winced. “You okay, Mig?”

“Yeah, yeah.” He made a shooing gesture. “Make yourself scarce, kid.”

She retreated to Floyd’s office until he came to tell her it was safe. “It’s just one of your young friends from the church. Said she was in some kind of a jam and knew you’d be here.”

She returned to the gym to find Pilar Ecchevarria looking nervous and apologetic. Miguel was hanging over the ropes, trying unsuccessfully to banter with her.

“Hey.” Pilar shivered. “I’m really sorry to bug you, but this sewer line broke at the bar this morning, so Joe sent everyone home. And I thought it would be fine because it’s so early, but then this creepy guy who used to hang around and stare at me until Joe banned him started following me and saying gross things, and I got freaked out. When I saw the gym, I remembered you’d be here. Is it okay if I stay until you’re done and walk home with you?”

“It’s okay by me, sweetheart,” Miguel offered. “But you can’t blame a guy for staring.”

Loup glanced at the coach, who nodded. “Yeah, sure.”

“Thanks.”

The next two rounds went badly. It was distracting to have Pilar there, watching. Loup couldn’t find her rhythm, couldn’t match Miguel’s pace. She went too slow and the coach yelled at her; then she went too fast and Miguel yelled at her. Too slow again and even her defensive rhythm was thrown off, letting Miguel land a couple of unexpected low jabs to her rib cage.

“Break!” Floyd called. “Go wash up and call it a day.”

Miguel spat out his mouth guard and leaned over the ropes, eyeing Pilar. “How about I stay here and keep you company while Loup scrubs down?”

She shivered again and turned to Loup. “Can I go with you?”

“Sure, if you want.”

In the room that had been Tommy’s, Loup stripped off her sparring gear, stowing everything carefully. Dirty clothes went in the gym bag. She washed at the sink with a washcloth, scrubbing her skin with deft, practiced motions. Pilar sat and waited on Tommy’s old cot.

“Does it hurt? Getting hit like that?”

“Yeah, it hurts.” Loup turned to reach for a towel, quickly enough to catch Pilar watching her.

Pilar flushed. “Stupid question, I guess.” She was quiet a moment, trying not to watch Loup drying off. “So, hey. Whatever happened with you and Mack? I thought you guys were so good together.”

“In a lot of ways.” She stepped into clean underpants, grabbed a clean tank top. “But after we slept together, we figured out that was never gonna be one of them.”

“How come?”

“Because Mack wished I was normal.” Loup pulled the tank top over her head, tugged it in place. She looked directly at Pilar and told her the truth. “And I wished he was you.”

This time, Pilar turned bright red. She opened and closed her mouth a couple of times before getting any words out. “I’m not queer, okay?”

“Jesus, Pilar.” She sighed. “I don’t care what you call it. But if you don’t like me, why do you look at me the way you do? Why did you kiss me that night in the cemetery?”

“Your brother had just died!” Her voice rose, indignant. “I was comforting you!”

Loup laughed. “With your tongue?”

“Fuck you!” Pilar shook her head and stood, looking away. “I’ll wait downstairs and take my chances with Miguel fucking Garza.”

“Fine.”

She finished dressing and returned to the gym to find Pilar waiting alone, a mutinous look on her face. When they left the gym, the sky was low and glowering, clouds roiling overhead. For the space of several blocks, they walked quickly and intently, neither saying a word.

“Any sign of your creep?” Loup finally asked.

“No.” Her voice was stony.

“Pilar.” Loup caught her arm, forced her to halt in the middle of the street. “Look, I’m sorry! I wasn’t making fun of you. I do like you. I like you a lot. And I think you like me, too. But I think you’re scared, and I don’t understand why. I’m not good at that kind of thing. Is it because I’m a girl? Or because I’m different? Or just because of what people would think?”

“Jesus!” Pilar’s eyes flashed. “I’m not that fucking shallow!”

Thunder rumbled. Loup let go of her arm and waited.

“Oh, God.” Pilar covered her face. “Okay, maybe a little. It’s just…” She exhaled hard, lowered her hands. “I don’t know why I have this thing for you. It doesn’t fit. It’s not part of the plan. And I know you all think I’m shallow and vain because I’ve got a pretty face and great tits and I want to marry a rich guy, but you know what? I don’t care. It’s what I’ve got to work with. I like guys. Guys like me. All I want to do is find one who’s reasonably nice and reasonably cute, with enough money that I don’t have to work my ass off for the rest of my life. Is that so wrong?”

“No,” Loup murmured.

Rain spattered down, spotting the dusty street.