Page 47 of In a Far-Off Land
This sounded fishy. “What kind of question?”
He leaned back, the glow of the cigarette lighting his face. “You tell me about Minerva Sinclaire—” he smiled—“and I tell you about Max Clark.”
I took the cigarette back. I could play along for now. “All right. Why don’t you like Max?”
“No, no.” He shook his head. “I start.”
This kid was a real shark.
He looked me up and down. “A beautifulseñoritalike you must have a boyfriend, no?”
That was easier than I expected. “No.” I raised my brows. “Now tell me about Max.”
Roman took the cigarette back, taking his time. “Sí. He is myprimo—how you say—‘cousin.’”
I already knew that. “How? And why doesn’t he—”
Roman shook his head. “No, no. Little answer from you, little answer from me.”
I let out a frustrated breath.
The wicked look was back. “No boyfriend? So, what is Max to you then? Is he really just your... how you say, ‘agent’? And you must tell truth, remember.”
“You mean is there something going on between us?”
“Sí.”
I felt my cheeks heat and was glad for the dark. “He works for me.” That was the truth—at least it was now.
Roman lifted his eyebrows. “But you are very beautiful, and Max, he loves beautiful women just like his father did.”
“You said the truth. I told the truth.” That was all he was getting from me.
Roman nodded. “That is too bad for him. But good for me.” His hand slipped down and picked up mine, caressing my wrist.
I snatched my hand back. “My turn. Max. Spill the beans.”
Roman smiled good-naturedly and leaned back against the tree. He’d been waiting for this, I could tell. “He grew up here, with us. His mother and my mother were sisters. He and Oscar—” Roman brought his two pointer fingers side-by-side—“like brothers.”
Max, the charmer, and Oscar, the guy who couldn’t crack a smile to save his life? It was too hard to believe.
“Mamá and mypapá, with Tía Concha, Max’s mother. They come together from Mexico.” He waved toward the house. “They move here for Papá to work on the railroad, but Tía Concha...” He shrugged.
“What about her?” Max’s mother, whom he never spoke of.
He sighed. “She was very beautiful. She was found by the men who made the films and had small parts in the Westerns.”
I was starting to get the picture. “And that’s where she met Dusty Clark?” He wasn’t called the Kissing Cowboy for nothing.
“Sí. She became with his child and he did not want her. She came back here, to our house. Max was born and not long after, Oscar. They grew up like brothers.”
Max had lived here, not with Dusty Clark? Why hadn’t he ever told me?
Roman wasn’t playing the game now. “Max, he hasn’t been back here since...” He shook his head.
I pulled myself together. “Since when?”
Roman looked at the ground, and for a moment he didn’t look like the cocky young man, but a child who’d seen more than his share of sorrow. “Since Maria Carmen.”
