CHAPTER 1
"Beth invited me to have dinner tonight at the ranch. I'll phone you tomorrow." Keith called out to the proprietor of Auntie Haines' Bed and Breakfast.
Auntie Haines was standing behind the small reception desk near the entrance of her establishment. "I'll ... oh dear, my first renter is coming through the door. It must be Mr. Sanchez; he said he'd be here early."
Keith looked in the direction of the door to see a well-groomed man carrying a valise and struggling with a large suitcase. "Can I help you with those?"
The man shook his head negatively, his cold dark eyes staring at Keith, "Where do I register?"
"Right here at the desk, Mr. Sanchez." Auntie Haines called out as Keith turned to leave.
While the man spoke Auntie Haines desperately fought to keep from staring at the slight twitching of his right eye. Handsome as the face in front of her appeared, the movement was both annoying and extremely distracting.
"You have a reservation with us for two weeks, Mr. Sanchez." Auntie Haines, owner of the finest bed and breakfast in Cave Creek, Arizona, confirmed as she picked up her pen. Wiping back the strands of straw-like white hair escaping from the bun in back of her head, she continued. "Now, I need your signature. I only take cash, hope that's all right with you."
"Money, Madame, is no problem. I can pay for all right now." The reply was brusque and boorish, spoken with an accent that Auntie Haines couldn't identify. Before she could object the good-looking gentleman pulled out his wallet and handed her a thick wad of cash.
"You can pay me by the day," Eighty-two year old Auntie Haines protested while pushing back the hundred dollar bills coming at her.
"Carlos Roberto Sanchez always pays total up-front." The impeccably dressed man scowled, insulted.
"Well, all right then." Auntie Haines, always the businesswoman, took the money, counted it, and deposited the twenty-one hundred dollars in her safety deposit box. Then, the octogenarian handed her new renter the key to his room. "I'll show you to your room, Mr. Sanchez. Room four—dinner at five o'clock sharp, breakfast at eight."
Before anymore could be said, Auntie Haines hurried around the front desk and reached for the man's valise and one large suitcase. Immediately they were whisked away. From the irritated but very determined look on his face, Auntie Haines quickly surmised that Mr. Sanchez didn't want anyone touching his things.
"Well, um, come this way. Your room is right down the hall. It has the best view of any of my rooms." As the man followed her in silence, she took a master key from the pocket of her apron and unlocked room four. Pushing the door open, Auntie Haines kept her eyes focused on Mr. Sanchez's face. Sure enough, like all the renters residing in this room, his dark brown eyes grew large with delight. It was a charming and inviting room, decorated in a southwest motif. A log-framed king size bed, draped in a soft feathery comforter of a turquoise and coral design, faced a white adobe fireplace. Three kachina dolls, prominently displayed in niches over the fireplace, symbolized the belief of three human concepts: honesty, life force, and love. Navajo carpets of various dimensions covered the dark stained plank floor, giving the room a tranquil and serene feel. But, the most electrifying feature of the room was the scenery through the large picture window, desert for miles and miles. Not one concrete building or paved road could be seen spoiling the panoramic view. Large saguaro cacti stood proudly with their arms reaching toward the sky. Clusters of prickly pear and organ pipe cacti, agaves and colorful blooming flowers traversed the desert toward a pale blue horizon. It was the Sonoran desert in its natural splendor, alive with cacti and animals native to the region.
"This is breathtaking, Madame! I have always heard about the beauty of the Sonoran Desert, but this is far more than even I had imagined." The words flowed pompously but sincerely, with an accent Auntie Haines still couldn't place.
"Unfortunately, it won't be around for much longer, Mr. Sanchez. Building is going on all around the area. The bulldozer is plowing over every cactus in its way and soon all this land will be filled with homes, concrete roads and shopping malls." Tears filled the woman's eyes as she spoke.
A furrow deepened between Carlos's thick dark eyebrows as he exclaimed, "No! This cannot happen. It would be such a, oh, what do you say? A ..."
"Crime!" Auntie Haines finished his thought as once again she swept wisps of straw hair from her deeply lined face.
"Si, a crime!" Carlos Roberto Sanchez's full black eyebrows shot up as he pronounced the word. Then, as if to emphasize his words, the attractive man shook his head disgustedly.
"Well, rest now, Mr. Sanchez. I'll call when dinner is ready." Auntie Haines started to back out of the room as she saw the man opening his oversized valise. Then, immediately conscious of her presence, he stopped and waited for her to leave.
"Thank you, Mrs. Haines. I would like to be alone now." Abruptly, the small framed man dismissed the woman with a shake of his head crowned with thick coiffed black hair.
Somewhat miffed at the curt dismissal, Auntie Haines left room four and headed back to her kitchen. There she began preparing dinner for the renters at her bed and breakfast. Agitated by the pompous manner of Carlos Sanchez, for the man was too arrogant for her liking, she attacked her meal preparation viciously. Still, the astute woman reasoned, his rental meant that all her rooms were filled for the next two weeks. This time of year was always profitable for the Auntie Haines' Bed and Breakfast.
CHAPTER 2
Every year at the end of March one of the area's most luxurious resorts, The Scottsdale Oasis, held a popular and well-attended sport's event in the Phoenix area, a men's international tennis tournament. Most of the top-ranked male tennis players in the world competed in the event. It delivered them from the cold northern winter into the warm sunny climate of the Sonoran desert. Big names like Alex Arden, Mack Jonathon, Trevor Whitney, and the number one ranked, Randy Jordan, were only a few of the top contenders traveling to Scottsdale to do battle in this beautiful facility. There would be several players from other countries adding their names to the event, including the young new sensation, Juan Miguel Castillo, a teenager from Cuba.
The young lad's life read like an inspirational novel. Born in one of the most impoverished areas in Cuba, Juan Castillo began hitting a ball against a high stone wall with an old wooden paddle at the age of four. At first it was a novelty for him and a way to fight boredom, but as he grew older it became a daily part of his life. Then on his eighth birthday, his Aunt Rosita, who had escaped from Cuba to Miami, sent him his first real tennis racket. She couldn't have chosen a finer present. It was to be Juan's brass ring to a better life. Even at the early age of eight, Juan seemed to comprehend that as he intensified his daily practicing. Hitting against the stone wall became a daily four hour ritual.
Around the age of ten the young boy, growing frustrated with just hitting against a wall, began to yearn for someone to play with. There were no real courts in his small, poverty-stricken village. Even if there were, no one had the time to practice or play the game. At the age of ten most of the young children began to help their parents in the fields. Because the hours were long and the work so strenuous, they had little energy to do much after the day was finished. Juan knew his days in the field were going to begin soon; it meant he would have to give up practicing tennis.
Juan Castillo's mother, Carmen, a widow for seven years, worked as a maid for the region's top government official, Captain Gutierrez. By the standards of the small poor village, it was a very good job. On the day before Juan's tenth birthday, Mrs. Castillo was asked if she would put in three extra hours the next day to clean for a huge political gathering. Afraid that if she declined she would lose her employment, Mrs. Castillo agreed, asking only that she would be allowed to bring Juan with her.
"He's a good boy. He will sit quietly. I promised him that I would do something for his birthday tomorrow. I don't want to leave him alone." Her tired dark eyes pleaded with Captain Gutierrez's wife.
"I'm sure we can find something for him to do here." The reply, uttered casually with little thought, was to start the string of events that lead Juan to Arizona and his meeting with his destiny.
Relieved that she wouldn't have to leave her son alone on his birthday, Mrs. Castillo made sure that Juan wore his only good outfit, the clothes he wore to Sunday Mass. White shorts and white shirts were the required dress for young boys attending Mary, Queen of the Rosary, Catholic Church on Sunday mornings.
Having worked for the Gutierrez family for six years Carmen Castillo was no longer in awe at what she saw every day, but her son was. What Juan saw was an oasis in the midst of poverty. Brilliantly colored floral displays, statues of Cuban heroes, and expertly pruned bushes surrounded the huge gated estate. In the back of the estate were two large swimming pools, one for lap swimming and one for play. But, what took Juan's breath away was the sight of a real tennis court. Until that day, he had only seen pictures of such a thing. It was something from a dream, a fantasy-his fantasy. Slowly Juan moved toward the tennis court, mesmerized by its stateliness. It seemed surreal. Then, reaching the fence surrounding the court, he froze. A boy about his age was hitting a ball against a solid green board that was on one side of the court.
"Hi. Want to play?" The boy looked over at Juan, his racket raised above his head.
"Y ... yes!" Juan never wanted anything so desperately. "I didn't bring my racket."
"No problem. We have about twenty over there in the little pavilion."
Hands trembling, Juan picked up one of the new lightweight rackets. It was so unlike the one his aunt had sent to him. How archaic it made his seem! He couldn't wait to try it out as he hurried to the court.
"Those aren't tennis shoes you have on, but I guess they'll have to do for now. My name is Ricardo Gutierrez. I'm going to be a famous tennis star from Cuba." boasted the young Gutierrez.
"I'm Juan Castillo." Juan felt uncomfortable as Ricardo Gutierrez's brow knitted in recognition.
"Oh, yes. You're the maid's son. Well, let's see how good you are."
Playing for the first time on a real tennis court intimidated Juan at first. He felt flustered and awkward as he struggled through the first set, losing four games to Gutierrez's six wins. During the first game of the second set Juan began to realize how much stronger and faster he was than his opponent. With more self-assurance, added to the strength of his return of serve, he began to relax and settle into the game. He showed Ricardo exactly how good he could play tennis. It was easier than he thought it would be. The new light racket was so flexible it allowed for few errors, making Juan's return strokes more powerful and accurate than he had ever experienced. All the years of practicing against the wall of his home paid off. As his confidence grew with each point played, it took less than an hour for Juan to win the next two sets. That afternoon, Juan Miguel Castillo made up his mind that he, too, would be a famous tennis star from Cuba.
CHAPTER 3
Standing at the front desk of an Arizona "cowboy" ranch called a bed and breakfast, Juan Castillo found himself gazing into the large adoring eyes of a very young girl. Thick black hair cascaded down her back in a single braid; the adoring look on her thin face was intense. Juan, always considerate about the feelings of others, had to control himself from laughing.
"You're Juan Miguel Castillo! You look just like your picture, the one I saw in my tennis magazine." The adulation on Teresa's face, a look reserved only for a young teenage girl's idol, was easy for Juan to see. Even though it had been one year since his name began appearing in several sport's magazines, he still found it amazing that so many knew who he was.
"Yes, and I'm here to check into the Auntie Haines' Bed and Breakfast." With his accent and broken English he captured her heart on the spot.
"Oh, I'm so happy, um, we're happy to have you here. Staying with us, that is ..." Faltering as she spoke, thirteen year old Teresa's green eyes grew large as a deep blushing color traveled down her face from her widow's peak to her chin. She was enthralled with meeting her tennis idol. His picture had been on the cover of several of the tennis magazines she started receiving six months ago. Today, Teresa rushed to Auntie Haines' ranch after school to help with the check-ins just to be there when Juan Miguel Castillo arrived.
Often helping Auntie Haines on Saturdays and occasionally after school, Teresa enjoyed mingling and talking with the guests. It made her aware of a larger world beyond the one in which she lived. She dreamed about traveling to those places someday. To Teresa, Juan Castillo was by far the most exciting guest she had encountered. As she studied the tall, broad-shouldered, muscular teenage tennis star, Teresa had an epiphany. She would become a great tennis star like Juan Castillo; she would see the whole world!
"Please follow me. I'll show you to your room, room five." Teresa, remembering her manners, walked around the desk to pick up Juan's bags. A long-eared, short-legged dog followed behind her.
"Thank you. What's your dog's name?" Juan directed his words to the little dog who was begging for attention.
"No Name."
"You haven't named him yet?" Juan Castillo bent to rough up the dog's ears. Immediately the impish creature flipped onto his back for a belly rub.
Teresa giggled nervously as only a young girl could. "That's his name, No Name. My Aunt Beth found him when she lived in Chicago and brought him to Arizona with her to live. She said he didn't have a name tag, so that's what we call him."
"Well, Teresa," Juan Castillo saw her name on a tag pinned to her apron. "I'll carry my bags. They're too heavy for you. Could you bring the bag with my tennis rackets?"
Teresa's eyes widened as she looked at Juan's case of tennis rackets. "How many are in there?"
"I only have six. Most players carry twice that many."
"Gee, I only have one racket." With that word exchange the young girl, followed by No Name, escorted the tennis pro to room five. The smallest of the rental rooms, Teresa liked it the best. It was cozy, bright with the colors of the western sunsets, and reasonably priced. "Auntie Haines rings a bell to announce dinner usually an hour before so you can meet with the other renters for drinks in the living room."
"I don't drink liquor, not even beer, it would ruin my game. Besides, Teresa, I'm only seventeen." He grinned at her as she began to leave the room.
Teresa stopped at the door, remembering that No Name was with her. "No Name, come on. Let Mr. Castillo rest."
But, the dog didn't appear. They looked under the bed and around the room, still no dog. "Speedy guy, he must have left when we were setting down the luggage."
On her way to the kitchen Teresa spotted No Name. His nose, under the door of room four, was sniffing at a frenzied pace. His tail, moving like a windshield wiper in a heavy storm, suggested an interesting discovery.
"No Name! Get away from Mr. Sanchez's room." Teresa scolded. The dog pulled away, sat straight up in front of the door, bared his teeth, and growled.
Annoyed by the dog's antics, Teresa prodded him back to the kitchen where she knew Auntie Haines was in the middle of preparing the evening meal. "Oh, Auntie Haines, I can't believe it! He's here, under this very same roof. Juan Miguel Castillo, the famous tennis player is here! I just talked to him! He's so wonderful! I'm in love!"
"Wow, that's terrific! Not the `I'm in love' part, mind you, but I'm glad he's staying here with us. Imagine, a tennis star staying at my bed and breakfast. I wonder why he didn't stay at the resort where they're holding the tournament. I guess I'm a little cheaper."
"A little cheaper!" Teresa laughed, "a whole lot cheaper. You include two delicious meals a day. Besides, he's not rich like the other players. He's just starting his career. One of the tennis magazines wrote that Juan's aunt in Miami helped him and his mother escape Cuba. They are not a rich family."
