Free Captive Heart by Patti Beckman Page B

just fine…"
    But the minute she hung up, she burst into tears. She sat weakly on the edge of the bed.
    "Seňorita, what is the matter?" asked a familiar masculine voice from the direction of the doorway.
    JoNell raised long, wet lashes and saw the figure of Jorge Del Toro.
    "Nothing—it's a personal matter," JoNell said unsteadily, brushing tears from her cheeks.
    He took a step into the room. "But you're crying. You look very upset."
    "I—I've had some disturbing news from home."
    "But what is it?" He took another step toward her, a look of concern furrowing his brow. "Please tell me." His voice was gentle—quite out of character for him.
    She hesitated. "I—I just had a call from my mother. It's my father's illness. He has become very depressed."
    "I'm so sorry. Is there anything I can do?"
    The note of kindness in Del Toro's voice surprised JoNell. Was he actually capable of showing sympathy for another human being?
    "No," she said. "It's a family matter. I hope I can help cheer up my father when I get home."
    He glanced toward the bed, saw her packed bags, and frowned. "You are leaving?"
    "Yes. We've completed the sales agreement. Ten hours of flying instructions. There's no reason for me to stay any longer. I want to take the earliest commercial flight home that I can get."
    Del Toro slumped into a chair, his frown deepening. His green eyes looked dark and troubled. "I had not expected you to be in such a hurry to leave. Is it because I have been such a poor host? You have not been happy in my home? Please forgive me for the bad hospitality I have shown you, seňorita. This has been a difficult time for me… the presidential election… I have been under a great deal of pressure…"
    JoNell again noticed the lines of worry and fatigue in his face. For an instant, she almost felt a touch of compassion for him. But her voice was aloof when she replied, "That has nothing to do with it, seňor. As I said, I was here to do a job, and that has been completed. Now I must go home."
    A strange expression crossed Del Toro's face. There was a strained silence before he spoke again. "Couldn't you delay your trip home for a few days so I can show you more of our city?"
    You'd like that, wouldn't you, Del Toro? You suddenly remembered that unfinished matter back on the deserted beach.
    "Thank you," she said coldly. "But I have no more time for sightseeing. As I told you, my father's health is growing worse. He has so many business worries in addition to his poor health. I must get back to help him."
    "How can you help, seňorita?"
    "I'm not exactly sure," she admitted. "I was planning to finish college next year, but, of course, now that is out of the question. Instead, somehow, perhaps, I can help save my parents' business. It's the worry about the business that has undermined my father's health so badly."
    "His business is not doing well?" She shook her head. "No, frankly it is not. We were never rich, you understand. But we got by quite nicely. Then the naval base in our area closed last year, and many people moved away. That's when business started dropping off. My father worried a great deal. He tried to keep up a happy front, but he couldn't fool my mother. Finally, the strain was too much for him and he had a heart attack. You couldn't possibly know what it's like to be middle class and lose your business. The airplane you bought from us was a financial boost for a little while, but when that money is gone…" Her voice trailed off as she choked back her tears.
    Del Toro frowned again. He arose and began pacing the room, slapping a tightly gripped, folded newspaper against the palm of his left hand. He appeared to be struggling with some kind of inner problem and trying to decide what to do about it.
    "I'm going to make you an offer," he said at last.
    "An offer?" she asked suspiciously, suddenly very wary of him.
    "Let's call it a business proposition that will be of much benefit to both of us." He paused. "You are aware