Kelly Jamieson - Crazy Ever After

The next day, the drive to the coffee estate belonging to Javier Alvarez took nearly two hours. Two hours of bouncing over potholes in the road. They’d driven through a sudden downpour, the wipers on Travis’s rental Jeep barely able to keep up. Then the sun had come out again, and the jungle turned steamy.

They climbed in altitude, and Samara felt the effects of it. When she’d arrived in Matagalpa, she’d felt a mild nagging headache at her temples and a slight fatigue. It had disappeared after yesterday’s sexual activity but returned now.

The air grew cooler as they ascended. Samara kept a lookout behind them, only a little paranoid after what had happened the day before, but it didn’t seem they were being followed.

“I still think this is a bad idea,” Travis muttered, steering around a particularly large hole in the rustic road. “Don’t you wonder why we could never get hold of Alvarez?”

“Yes.” She nibbled her bottom lip, watching the lush greenery passing by. “You know phone service isn’t always reliable here. Maybe that’s why.”

Travis shrugged. “I guess we’ll find out.”

She told him more about the Paquita coffee bean, the aroma, the tasting notes, the mouth-feel.

“It sounds amazing,” he agreed grudgingly. “You’re making my mouth water to taste it.”

She grinned at him. Their mutual love of coffee was another thing drawing them together. She reached out and squeezed his firm biceps. “Thank you again for coming with me.” For once in her life, she was happy to accept help, relieved and grateful that he was there.

He shot her a look, and the corners of his mouth deepened like he was trying to repress his smile. Probably thinking the same thing she was.

It was hard not to feel optimistic and enthusiastic after everything they’d shared. Knowing there really was nothing standing between them anymore, knowing Travis actually did want her, and knowing there might be a rare coffee bean that was going to make Cedar Mill Coffee Company tons of money buoyed her spirit. Even her nervousness about the man in the hotel and the possibility that he’d been following her yesterday faded away in the bright sunshine, cool mountain air and Travis’s reassuring presence.

“I think this is it,” Travis said, turning off the road onto an even narrower, rougher one. Neither of them had ever been to the estate, but Samara had detailed instructions how to get there from the concierge at the hotel.

They bumped and jounced down the road for a few minutes and then arrived at the farm. Samara knew it was large and had only started direct sales to roasters recently. The varietals they grew—besides the Paquita—were all top quality.

Travis parked the Jeep in the yard, and they looked at each other before climbing out. Samara smiled at him.

A man—dark skinned, dark haired, stocky and probably an inch or two shorter than Samara—emerged from one of the buildings. He started walking toward them. “Hola,” he called.

“Hola.”

Travis held out his hand. “Are you Javier?”

“Yes. Javier Alvarez. And you are?” Javier took Travis’s hand and shook it, an expression of hesitant curiosity in his dark eyes.

“Travis Murray. And this is Samara Hayden.”

She held out her hand and smiled. “I believe you knew my father. Parker Hayden.”

Javier’s eyes widened, his mouth dropped open, and he dropped her hand. “Parker Hayden. You’re his daughter?”

“Yes.”

“Madre de Dios,” Javier muttered. “What are you doing here?”

Samara shot a sideways glance at Travis. Despite the question, she got that he wasn’t really asking her what she was doing there. He was telling her she shouldn’t be there.

“My father left some business unfinished when he died,” she said. “I hoped to talk to you about it.”

Javier’s gaze darted around. “No. No. We cannot talk. That is out of the question. No.” He stepped back. “You must go. Right now.”

“But we came all this way. I’d love to talk about Paquita. I think it could be very profitable for both of us. I’m sure my father told you what kind of price he can pay you for that bean.”

“Yes. Yes. But...” He took another step away and wiped his hands on the dark green cargo pants he wore. “I cannot do that now.”

“Perhaps we could go inside to your office to talk.”

“No!”

Samara’s insides tightened with frustration, and she pressed her lips together. She glanced at Travis for some help. His sunglasses didn’t hide his frown.

Javier’s eyes went to the jungle behind them then flicked back to their faces. “Please,” he said, a pleading tone in his voice. “Leave, now.”

A faint drone of an airplane reached Samara’s ears. Huh. She looked up at the clear blue sky above the trees. Javier noticed and looked too. Desperation filled his eyes, and now he moved forward. He took hold of Samara’s arm and started walking her to the vehicle.

She shook him off. “Hey.”

“I’m telling you, you must go,” he said. “Mierde. It is too late. Come with me.” He took hold of her arm again and started walking toward the building.

The buzz of the plane intensified as it drew closer. Samara stumbled along behind Javier over the dirt of the yard and turned to look at Travis.

“Hey,” Travis said, running up to them and releasing Samara from Javier’s grip. “Hands off the lady. Would you tell us what the hell is going on?”

Javier muttered and strode rapidly toward the building he’d just come out of, a small wooden structure with a tile roof. “Come.”

Samara looked up and saw the plane like a silvery insect in the bright azure sky, the sun glinting off it. It was descending and apparently about to land, and not very far from there. She frowned.

Javier was acting very weird. Tension coiled inside her as she and Travis followed him into the cool dimness. It was an office building, with ancient desks and filing cabinets arranged in the small room they stood in.

Javier strode through the room and yanked open a door. Before he could walk through it, a man appeared. Tall, deep-set eyes, hard bodied. The man from the hotel who’d told her to go home. And he was carrying a gun.

Shit. Travis stared at the man with the gun. It didn’t matter who the hell the guy was, and he had no idea, but there was nothing good about seeing a man with a gun at that point. Javier’s odd behavior and nervousness had infected Travis, too, and his gut felt like there was a rock in it. He resisted the urge to rub the tight muscles of his neck. He reached for Samara and pushed her behind him.

“Ms. Hayden,” the man said.

He knew Samara?

She said nothing, just held onto Travis, crowded up close against his back.

“You should not have come here,” the man continued in perfect English. “I told you to go home.”

He felt Samara stiffen behind him. Oh shit. She did not like people who told her what to do. He’s got a gun, he tried to communicate with her telepathically. This wasn’t a time for stubbornness.

“I’m here on business,” she said, and Travis suspected only he could detect the faint tremor of nerves in her voice. “I have a right to be here. How do you know who I am?”

“It is my business to know,” the man said enigmatically. Travis saw Javier frown, as if he, too, was surprised the man knew who Samara was. Clearly Javier hadn’t been expecting them, and yet, this man seemed to have been.

Another man, also dark haired, but short and slender, and also carrying a gun, appeared from the other room. “What is this?” he demanded, gesturing toward them with the weapon. “Who are they?”