What Madeline Wants

by Linda Style

  Either she’d woven some kind of spell over him or she was just that good. In fact, she seemed so comfortable teaching, she could’ve been at the job for years.

  Without the beauty-shop hairdo and her fancy designer clothes, she seemed more real. But J.D. knew better than anyone, new clothes didn’t change who a person was.

  She was still a senator’s daughter, and he was the son of a pizcador, a Mexican field hand. A man who’d married a woman no one considered him good enough to marry, a man who’d supposedly started a fire and killed two people in the process. How much of it was true didn’t matter—not to the people of Los Rios.

  Beaten and bruised, Raphael Rivera had somehow escaped from the Los Rios jail and had fled to Mexico with his wife and baby son. J.D.’s mother had never seen her parents again until she was dying.

  Right or wrong, J.D. carried his father’s legacy, and the powers that be in Los Rios would never let J.D. forget who he was. He couldn’t forget it.

  At first he’d wanted to succeed to prove to everyone he was better than they thought he was. But in the end, he really wanted to prove it to himself.

  He cranked the steering wheel to the left, turning down the long driveway into the ranch. There was no point to thinking about his life. He didn’t have a life—and he for sure didn’t have a future.

  He drove into the backyard, cut the ignition and climbed out of the truck, noticing that the lights were still on in the kitchen. Maybe Ms. Madeline was afraid of the dark.

  He went in through the back and toward the kitchen. As he got closer, he heard music and stopped at the door. Maddy was sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace, her head and shoulders bobbing and bouncing to the beat of an old Beatles song coming from his grandmother’s ancient radio.

  She had a scrub brush in hand and a pail of murky water on the floor next to her. Damn! The woman just didn’t listen.

  But oddly, he felt a sense of calm as he watched her. He couldn’t help admiring her determination to do whatever the hell she wanted. Maybe she was more like him than he’d thought.

  “You plan on staying up all night?”

  She jumped a foot, he was sure. Eyes wide, she made a startled sound, hitting the pail with her elbow. Seeing him, she released a gush of air. “Oh, it’s just you.”

  “You were expecting someone else?”

  She quickly stuck the scrub brush behind her back and smiled sheepishly. “Uh…no.”

  Her hair was pulled into some kind of ponytail, with little sprigs popping out everywhere.

  “Actually…I was expecting to be done before you got here.”

  She was honest; he had to give her that. And she had a great smile. “Done with what?” He walked toward her.

  Maddy’s first instinct was to keep him from seeing what she was doing. She scrambled to her feet and came around to face him, her back to the fireplace, blocking the evidence. But that was ridiculous. He must’ve seen what she was doing while he was standing there. “Just cleaning the fireplace.” She pointed behind her.

  Moving closer, he peered around her.

  “I was curious about what the stones were like under all the grime,” she said. “And, after cleaning a little bit, I wanted to see more, and then…well, I sort of got carried away.”

  He took another step forward and leaned down for a closer view. His arm brushed hers.

  “Too bad you wasted your time,” he said, his face in front of hers, his mouth seductively close.

  “But…see how lovely the stones are.”

  “So?”

  He was really close now, and she realized he wasn’t looking at the fireplace at all, but at her and in a way he hadn’t before. He smelled hot and salty, and even though the cooler was running full blast, it felt as if someone had pumped up the heat.

  “So—” she moistened her lips “—good news. You don’t have to tear out the fireplace. With a little cleaning, maybe some sand blasting on the difficult parts, you can restore it to its original condition.” She tipped her head toward the mass of stone covering the wall behind her, but didn’t move otherwise because she’d have to touch him if she did.

  “You’ll probably have to replace a stone or two since some are chipped,” she babbled on. “And you’ll need to recement those that are loose. A different mantel, maybe, but that’s it.”

  He didn’t seem to be listening, and when he shoved a finger under the strap on her bib overalls and tugged her closer, she stopped breathing. His hand was warm, his breath hot and moist on her cheek. Suddenly her mind spun with possibilities that two days ago she’d never in a million years have dreamed of.

  Not with J.D. Rivera.

  But his nearness was intoxicating and she felt as if she was tempting danger—and it was exhilarating.

  “Are you planning on plowing the cornfields?”

  It took a fraction of a second before she realized what he’d asked. Mentally shaking herself, she stepped away, bumping his arm in the process.

  His dark gaze roamed over her.

  “Oh, you mean these…” The white sleeveless T-shirt she wore underneath the baggy overalls had shrunk in the dryer, which she’d wanted, but she should’ve waited to cut off the bottom. Because now the shirt ended at her midriff and there was a wide gap of skin between her shirt and pants. She was also filthy.

  Her mother would have a stroke if she saw her.

  “I got these at Masterson’s.” She whirled, as if modeling the latest Anne Klein. “Très chic, don’t you think?”

  A low growl of laughter was his response, and she couldn’t help smiling, too. It felt good to let go and be herself. Even if he was making fun of her.

  The fact that she had the ability to make him laugh at all sent a rush of warmth through her veins. She stepped closer. “Be truthful now.”

  He stiffened a little, then raked the hair out of his eyes with one hand. Nice hair. Smooth and silky. Great eyes, rimmed with long black lashes.

  He leaned in and brought his face close to hers. “Being truthful…I think—” he said, his voice husky but firm “—you’d better stop cleaning and go to bed.”

  Her response was so soft and low she almost didn’t recognize it as her own. “Okay. But first tell me what you think about restoring the fireplace.”

  His breathing visibly deepened. He placed one hand on the fireplace directly behind her head.

  His eyes darkened, then his gaze shifted to her mouth. “I think it’s a bad idea,” he said softly.

  She moistened her lips again. “I disagree.”

  The words were barely out when his mouth met hers. She tasted beer and mint, and his lips were unbelievably soft and warm and every bit as delicious as she’d imagined. And she had imagined.

  He backed her up against the fireplace, and with her hands pressed against the wall of stone behind her, she parted her lips and melted against him, hungry for more. They kissed again and again, slow, wet exploring kisses. Exciting. And dangerous.

  Then suddenly he went still, as if listening to something. He pulled away and raised a finger to his mouth. “Shh.”

  Hard to be quiet when her chest was heaving and her heart was thudding so loudly the people in Los Rios could probably hear it. But then she heard a noise outside. And footsteps.

  Neither of them moved.

  “What’s that?” she whispered.

  He placed a finger over her mouth, still hot from his kisses, then motioned for her to stay put as he stole toward the back door. A bright light flashed outside, then cut a swath of shimmering yellow through the glass in the door and throughout the kitchen. A burglar? Fear skittered up her spine. Suddenly she was reliving the whole nightmare in Georgetown. The incident that had turned her life inside out.

  J.D. grabbed a long slender rod from a drawer, for protection, she guessed, flicked on the outside light and flung open the door. A large dark form filled the frame.

  “Evening, Rivera.”

  “Sheriff,” J.D. greeted the man, but didn’t
stand aside. “Kinda late to be calling on your neighbors, isn’t it?”

  The sheriff tipped his hat to the back of his head and scratched his chin. Noticing Maddy in the background, he nodded at her. “Ma’am.” Then his focus went back to J.D. “Yep. Much too late for social calls. Especially way out here. But when I’ve got a job to do, I do it.”

  J.D. glanced at his watch. “Must be real urgent then.”

  “Anything that involves a kid is urgent. Wouldn’t you say?”

  The sheriff reached to his side and yanked a pint-size boy up by his shirt. Though the kid’s head was bowed and J.D. couldn’t see his face, he knew the clothes.

  “Benito?”

  The child looked up and scowled, his eyes filled with defiance.

  “Ornery little cuss. He’s under sixteen and I caught him out after curfew, but he wouldn’t say a word. Except he mentioned your name. I figured rather than keeping him in jail for the night, I’d ask you where he lives so I could bring him home.” He paused. “Gotta be a reason he’s not talking.”

  J.D. straightened, his nerves drawing tight, his stomach muscles knotting. He knew exactly what the sheriff was saying. He believed Benito’s relatives were undocumented immigrants—in the country illegally. And J.D. had personally experienced Collier’s method of dealing with UDAs.

  Maddy stepped forward and took Benito’s hand in hers. “I’d like to talk to him for a minute. Okay?”

  Without waiting for the sheriff’s response, Maddy led the boy inside. J.D. held his position at the door.

  After several moments with Benito, Maddy called J.D. over. “He says he went to get a drink, saw some older kids outside his window and went to play with them. They were just hanging out near the road when the sheriff came along. He was the only child under curfew age, so the sheriff took him in.”

  Talking low so Collier wouldn’t hear, J.D. said, “Ask him why he didn’t tell the sheriff where he lived so he could take him home.”

  She asked, and the boy bowed his head again, mumbling his explanation.

  When she’d finished listening, Maddy whispered to J.D., “He says he was scared that he’d get his aunt and uncle in trouble because they went to Mexico overnight and he was alone. He told the sheriff he was staying here till they return because he thought the sheriff might let him go.” Her gaze darted to Benito, then to the sheriff and back to J.D. “So, what do we do now?”

  “Stay here. I’ll deal with this,” J.D. said and walked to the door. “I’m afraid this is my fault, Sheriff. I was supposed to pick him up, and the time just got away from me. Guess I’m not much good in the child care department.”

  Collier’s eyes narrowed to slits. “You telling me you’re baby-sitting?”

  “I guess you could call it that. Sorry if the boy was a bother for you, Sheriff.”

  The man’s face hardened. He’d obviously had other plans for the child and his family if they didn’t have papers, and he’d wanted J.D. to know it. Well, J.D. wasn’t about to let anyone experience the humiliation he had as a kid.

  Maddy suddenly piped up from behind them. “Thank you for bringing him home, Sheriff. Very kind of you to do so.”

  The sheriff coughed, a hacking chain-smoker’s cough. He said, “Tell the kid he got lucky this time. I’m letting him off with a warning, but I won’t do it again.” He coughed again, then clomped down the stairs and swaggered away.

  After the sheriff was gone, J.D. turned to Maddy.

  “You lied to the sheriff,” she said. “How come?”

  “How come you went along with it?” He shrugged and went over to Benito.

  “Because I can’t imagine how his relatives could leave a child this young alone overnight. But even worse, I can’t imagine what it would be like for a little boy to spend a night in jail.” A second later, she said, “What you did was wonderful.”

  J.D. shook off the compliment. “It’s called protecting my investment. He can’t work if he’s in jail.”

  Her face fell.

  “Now, can you please tell him I want him to bunk here until his relatives come back?” After a second, he added, “And find out who he’s staying with.”

  “Protecting your investment?” Maddy practically spat out. “Is that all you care about?”

  “At the moment, yes.”

  She frowned. Her expression told him that any credit for kindness she’d attributed to him had dissolved. But she did as he asked.

  After a quick exchange with Benito, she said, “He’s staying with an aunt and uncle, but won’t tell me their names because he’s afraid he’ll get them into trouble. He says they’ll be back tomorrow and he can get a ride home with Carlos after work.”

  “Yeah?” It was a good story, but J.D. doubted it was true. Seeing the boy’s wary expression, he said, “Well then, tell him to come with me and I’ll show him where he’ll sleep tonight.”

  J.D. raised his chin to Benito. “C’mon, buddy. Let’s hit the sack.”

  MADDY WOKE AT DAWN, stretched like the old Siamese cat she’d had as a kid and tossed off the sheet, unable to think of anything except J.D. Despite what he’d said about Benito’s being an investment, Rivera’s actions didn’t mesh with his words.

  And then there was that other little issue—the kiss. Her cheeks warmed at the memory of it. She’d responded to him like a love-starved teenager, and heaven help her, she’d felt like one. His touch had sent a current of electricity to her brain, obviously frying any common sense she might’ve had before.

  She shouldn’t have kissed him back, but she’d never been kissed quite so thoroughly. And it was delicious and wonderful and she hadn’t wanted to stop.

  Jeez. As if his opinion of her wasn’t low enough, what would he think of her now? She buried her head under the pillow. There had to be more important matters to dwell on, but she couldn’t quell the wild fantasies invading her mind.

  What it would be like to make love with J.D. What her life would be like if she stayed here on the ranch. What it would feel like to be loved by him.

  Oh, she’d had sex before. And she’d had infatuations. But the few relationships she’d been in had never made her feel this way. Could she be falling…in love with J.D.?

  Finally, she got up, dressed to go jogging and made her way to the kitchen, all the while wondering if he was up yet, and if so, what she should do. Avoid him or talk to him about last night?

  What would she say? That she found him attractive? Sexy? She couldn’t tell him that. She couldn’t tell him she’d discovered that maybe J.D. Rivera wasn’t as tough as he made himself out to be. She couldn’t say she liked the man she saw under the facade or even that she liked his smile and wanted to see him do it more often. She couldn’t say any of that, so maybe it would be better to say nothing—just wait to see if he brought the subject up.

  If he didn’t, she’d pretend the kiss had never happened.

  In the kitchen, she decided it was too early to check on Zelda, so she’d jog first. She filled her water bottle and attached it to her waistband. Hearing a hammering noise outside, she went to the window. J.D. was on a ladder working on one of the outbuildings.

  It was also too early for Juana to be here, so Maddy quickly put on a pot of coffee and when it finished percolating, she filled a thermal cup that she’d seen J.D. using before and carried it out to him.

  As she neared, he glanced up and saw her, his expression softening as she came closer. “Morning,” he said.

  Her hearing must be off because he sounded almost cheerful.

  “Buenos días.” She smiled and handed the drink up to him.

  “Gracias.” His fingers brushed hers as he took the cup from her hand.

  “De nada. Yo no supe que usted habló el español.”

  He laughed and held up a hand. “Hold it, Petunia. Gracias and Qué pasa are the extent of my foreign-language skills.”

  “Oh. I thought maybe you were holding out on me—that maybe you learned Spanish as a kid since you grew up h
ere.”

  He arched one dark eyebrow. “Where’d you hear that?”

  “From people. And I heard some other things while I was in town, too.” She grinned. “But I didn’t believe any of the bad stuff they said.”

  He laughed. “Well, you oughta. If what you heard was bad, it’s true. And if it wasn’t bad, it’s a lie.”

  She chuckled, liking his sense of humor. Until now, she’d doubted he had one.

  “Your family’s been in the area a long time, didn’t anyone speak Spanish?”

  Pensive, he sipped the coffee, then set the cup on the ladder shelf. “My father did. I did as a little kid, but when I came to live with my grandparents, I spoke only English. I forgot most of my Spanish. But my father would’ve wanted it that way, so it was okay.”

  “Really? How odd. I’d think parents would want their children to be bilingual, especially here in Arizona where there’s such a large Spanish-speaking population.”

  “Nope. My father wanted me to be the all-American kid.”

  “And were you?”

  “Not by a long shot.”

  “Did you want to be?”

  He took a deep breath. “I learned a long time ago that what I wanted didn’t matter to anyone but me.” Bitterness edged his words.

  She felt a pang of empathy. That she could understand. What she wanted had never mattered to her family. Only what they wanted for her. But at least she’d known they cared.

  Surely his parents or grandparents had cared. She thought about asking, but didn’t, because she was afraid he’d stop talking if she got too personal.

  “And I made sure I lived up to everyone’s worst expectations.”

  She smiled. “I’ll bet you did.”

  They shared another laugh and then she said, “But that was a long time ago. I’m sure you’ve done some good in the interim. Right?”

  He became quiet. A muscle flicked angrily in his jaw, his expression suddenly somber. Then, he said, his words sharp and precise, “I killed a man in the interim.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  THE AIR LEFT Maddy’s lungs. If he’d wanted to shock her, he’d succeeded. Even though the sheriff had told her the same thing, hearing it from J.D., hearing the hurt and anger in his voice, sent a chill through her.