A Love for Rebecca by Mayte Uceda Page A

so self-centered.”
    At that moment Lola entered the kitchen, her pajamas wrinkled and her hair looking like a stork’s nest. “Good morning,” she said hoarsely. “You two make more noise than a bulldozer.”
    “I was just filling Berta in on your little games.”
    “Good. I’m just in time then,” Lola said indifferently as she looked through a cupboard.
    “What did you do this time?” Berta asked with a suspicious smile.
    Rebecca’s eyes flashed. “She forced me into the arms of a wild-looking Scotsman.”
    Berta’s glassy eyes opened wider.
    “Oh, yeah? Who’s the wild man?”
    Lola burst out laughing. “Oh my God, he’s the most wild and sexy thing I’ve ever seen in my life. If I didn’t love Rory, I’d take him to bed myself. Or to a Scottish hayloft. Or a dark Scottish room. Or the backseat of a Scottish car. Or a stable filled with Scottish sheep, or  . . . ”
    “OK, Lola!” Berta said, nearly choking on her tea. “I think we’ve got it. But would one of you tell me who you’re talking about?”
    Lola took the remaining stool at the counter. “Sophie’s brother.”
    “He’s a wild man?” Berta asked, surprised.
    “A total barbarian.”
    “The same guy Mrs. Munro told us about?
    “The very same. And—are you ready for this?—he’s also the same guy we saw at the river rendezvous with Mary.”
    Berta’s eyes widened even further. “The dude at the river is Sophie’s brother?” Rebecca nodded slowly. “And did he recognize you?”
    Her friend’s sheepish expression told her the answer.
    Berta howled with laughter. “I so should have been there! Oh! Why did I have to get this stupid cold? And you say Lola forced you into his arms? Oh, God! I want to hear this.”
    “I only asked him to dance with her,” Lola explained innocently. “I was dancing with Rory and  . . . you know  . . . so she wouldn’t be alone.”
    “So I wouldn’t be alone!” Rebecca exploded. “Mary was right there, and she was absolutely livid!”
    “Oh, my goodness! This is better than I thought.” Berta turned to Lola and added: “You are evil.”
    “Hey, she shouldn’t complain,” Lola countered. “There were a dozen girls wanting to do the same thing, but little Miss Goody Two-Shoes didn’t even realize it.”
    “I didn’t want to dance with anyone!”
    “OK, calm down,” Berta said. “There’s no reason to get so upset over an innocent dance.”
    “An innocent dance with a hot guy dressed like that dude from Braveheart ,” Lola continued. “You should thank me. It’ll be the closest you get to a real man in your life.”
    Berta laughed loudly, but her coughing cut her off.
    “Go to hell, Lola,” Rebecca said.
    The other two were taken aback at the force of her words.
    “You better watch your language, Miss Potty Mouth, or you’ll have to find a Catholic priest to hear your confession,” Lola retorted. “And you might have to pop over to Ireland to find one.”
    They were all quiet: Rebecca muttering to herself, Berta holding in her urge to laugh and cough at the same time, and Lola trying to arrange her curls.
    “Well, you should know Mary’s not his girlfriend,” Rebecca informed them as she finished her last bite of toast. Her friends looked at her. “He told me they’re just friends and what happened at the river wasn’t going to happen again.”
    “If that’s how he is with his friends, I advise you not to go near him again,” Berta said, holding back a sneeze.
    “I wonder why on earth he would tell you that,” Lola said pensively. “After all, he doesn’t even know you. Unless  . . . ”
    Rebecca gave her a look of annoyance. “Unless what?”
    “He’s interested, I bet. He likes you.”
    “Yeah, right. Anyway, he told me not to tell his sister about what I saw.”
    “Well, I think he likes you. I’m telling you, I have a nose for these things. I’m like a bloodhound.”
    Rebecca took another piece of toast and began to spread lemon curd