by Lynn LaFleur
It will never happen. She’d seen anger simmering in his eyes tonight. He’d rather have snakes crawl all over him than have anything to do with her.
Chapter Four
Synda looked out at the sunny day and blue sky. Thirty-six hours ago, they stood in snow up to their knees. At noon today, the temp hit seventy-two. Only puddles of slush along the sidewalks and curbs remained from the recent storms.
“What a day, what a day.” She flopped into a chair and put her feet up on the short kitchen ladder.
“I’ll say.” Leandra slid onto the bench across the table from her. “If one more person asked me why we didn’t do a Tarot spread for the TV weather folks in San Francisco and Sacramento, I’ll have had to hurt someone.”
“Did you tell them they should have had a reading before they ever left home?” She blew several times across the top of a mug of steaming tea to cool it. “Hello, Halloween was last week. The storm came early.”
“You call that a storm?” Mary Beth stood in the doorway between the dining room and the kitchen. The waitstaff, while setting up for the dinner service, always propped open the swinging doors.
“Hey, M.B., what’s going on?” Synda asked. “Whatcha got there?”
Mary Beth carried a gift bag in her left hand. “What’s this sitting around with your feet propped up like you own the place? Aren’t there cakes to be baked, fish to be poached…”
“Former best friends to be found dead next to the fishbones?” Synda propped her feet even higher. “Besides harassing two real working women, what brings you to town on this sunny, slushy day?”
Mary Beth plunked the gift bag into Leandra’s lap on her way to the cupboard for her personal coffee mug. “I picked that up in Sacramento during the Bisbee trial. It’s supposed to be your Christmas present, but what the heck, you defied wind, snow and sleet to make sure the kitties and I were safe. You deserved more than a spoken thanks.”
Leandra peeked into the bag. Synda swung her feet to the floor and leaned across the table.
“Aren’t you sweet,” Leandra said. “You would have come looking for us if we’d been stuck out there alone.” She glanced at Mary Beth from her head to her feet. “Don’t you look fetching today, as my granddad used to say. What’s going on?”
Mary Beth wore a plaid wool skirt that fell to mid-calf and hugged the curve of her bottom with exactly the right tightness, a V-neck pullover that emphasized her breasts and allowed a tad of peekaboo, and a pair of leather boots she’d received from a client, an Italian designer. “I do own something besides baggy sweats.”
Synda snickered. “At least you’re wearing a shirt.” To Leandra, she said, “Come on, Lea, open the present.” She looked over her shoulder at Mary Beth, who poured a second heaping teaspoon of sugar into her coffee. “The gift’s for both of us, isn’t it?”
“Of course.”
“Oh, M.B., they’re lovely.” Leandra had unwrapped a set of three meditation candles. The fragrances of frankincense and myrrh drifted up from the tissue. “Yum.” She handed them to Synda. “Mmm, smell them, Syn.”
“Reminds me of Christmas.”
Mary Beth shrugged. “It’s the least I could do.”
“What did you bring for Rico?” Synda asked. “He was shussin’ through the mush alongside Lea the other night.”
Heat rushed up Mary Beth’s neck and into her cheeks. She cursed her Irish heritage, the fair skin and freckles that let every emotion inside her shine in true scarlet.
Synda slapped her knee. “Look at her, Lea. She’s all dressed up because she’s hoping to see Rico. Aren’t you?”
“No! I had lunch with a client at Chez Jacques. Which I might add, Ms. Synda, sprinkled something into their crème brûlée that made it taste divine. You should check it out.”
“When pigs fly.”
“Ladies, ladies, enough.”
“Syn knows I’m teasing. Coffee’s great, as usual.”
“So which client?”
“Marty Trinidad.”
“Do you have any other clients?”
“More than you can count,” she shot back. “Sometimes I think Marty’s the visionary from hell. He can find more hot deals to poke around in, leaving me to put out his fires.”
“Doesn’t that make you the devil too?”
“Synda!” Leandra scolded.
“All right, all right. So how’s Eve?”
“She’s great but like any good father, Marty worries about her.”
“She’s not sick, is she?”
“Her fiancé asked for his ring back.”
Synda grimaced. “Ouch.”
“Let me guess,” Leandra said. “So now Marty wants to drive over to the Bay Area and kill him. And like a good attorney, you talked him down.”
“I’m sad for Eve,” Synda said. “She’s a great gal, even if her father’s a windbag.”
“Marty’s not that bad.” Mary Beth sipped her coffee. “By the way, Syn, Marty and I both thought Jacques’ crème brûlée tasted like curdled milk compared to yours.”
Synda folded her arms. “Thank you for that. Since one good turn deserves another, you’ll find Rico out back chopping wood.”
Leandra put the candles back in the gift bag. “He won’t stop. He’s supposed to clock out after lunch, but he’s still working alongside us when we close up for the night.”
“It’s the prison mentality,” Mary Beth said. “For years he did the same thing, day in and day out. Unless you tell him to stop, he won’t.” She leaned back against the counter. “By the way—and don’t get mad at me, Lea—I talked to Tom about Rico. That’s before I knew who he…” She stopped suddenly when she realized she’d said too much.
“You met him before the other night, didn’t you?”
Mary Beth shook her head. A fresh surge of heat crawled up her neck. “No, not really. I’d seen…”
Synda swaggered over and looked up into her face. “For an attorney, you sure don’t lie worth a damn.”
“It’s not what you think. We might have met before—and I’m not saying we did—but it was a long time ago—if, in fact, we did meet.”
Synda rolled her eyes, and Leandra smiled. “It’s okay, M.B. We know he’s gorgeous. Synda would be all over him if our employee manual didn’t forbid it.”
“In a flash. That man is hot! Especially with the tats. I love the way that cobra crawls up his arm and neck when he flexes his muscles.”
“And if you’re not the horniest gal in Truckee, I don’t know who is.” Mary Beth put her cup in the sink. “Sorry, I have to run.”
“Without saying thanks to Rico?”
“Oh stop it, you two.” With that, she draped her purse over her shoulder and hurried out. She could hear their laughter halfway through the dining room.
*
Mary Beth almost lost her courage at the sound of an axe striking against wood. No sense in postponing the inevitable. Rico had found her. Now it was time to clear the air.
She looked up at the sky, as blue as Donner Lake, with a single fluffy white cloud that reminded her of a smiley face. The fragrance of fresh damp pine mingled with the smoky remnants of last night’s blazing fireplaces. Even the scent of the world’s most expensive perfume paled in comparison to what Nature gave away to anyone who stopped long enough to take in its beauty.
This is the reason I moved here. Dark looks and mistakes from my past are not going to drive me away.
Mary Beth turned at the path that led around the back of the restaurant. She could have gone straight out the kitchen’s back door but refused to give Synda the satisfaction of knowing she’d guessed right. Yes, she’d dressed up for her meeting with Marty Trinidad, but it was important, too, to approach Rico on her terms. To show him who she was now. To put the past behind them and move on.
Her good intentions melted like the slush at her feet when she rounded the corner and saw Rico raise the axe high over his head and send it crashing into a round of oak that had no chance
of surviving intact.
His shirt lay carelessly thrown across a wooden sawhorse. A pair of worn jeans rode low on his hips. His skin glistened in the sun and the muscles in his upper back and arms strained when he raised the axe again. The sight took her breath away, in spite of the tats or maybe because of them. A tingle of forbidden possibilities raced through her. Me Jane, you Tarzan, Boy gone for the day! Her nipples hardened against the lace of her bra and a fluttering in her pussy told her it had been way too long since she’d been with a real man.
The second blow struck. The tie that held his long hair in place let go, and a swell of lush dark waves fell to his shoulders. Mary Beth’s knees grew weak. Snap out of it, she scolded, as surprised by her strong reaction as she was delighted. How long had it been since a man made her hormones rage? She stood at least a hundred feet from him, yet the distance did not dilute his effect on her. What if they stood side by side, or better still, with their arms and legs entwined? Their mouths would meet, over and over, before he slid his hot cock into her wet pussy.
Mary Beth whimpered and ran the back of her hand across her mouth. Perspiration broke out on her upper lip. Last night’s fantasy flashed through her mind. She cleared her throat. When she did, Rico spun around. What she saw did nothing to calm her heart rate or quell her libido.
His forehead and cheeks glowed in the light of the sun while beads of sweat rolled down his face. The scar on his cheek was a white rib against the thick dark shadow of his beard.
The muscles in his chest rippled against black hair and the narrowest waistline she’d ever seen on a man, with shoulders as wide as a tree. How many hours a day had he worked out in prison?
He looked surprised, then scowled, as if smelling the odor of rancid meat. His eyes went dead and his expression bland, except for the set of his jaw.
“Hey,” she said and dared to close some of the distance between them. “Pretty day, isn’t it?” A stupid remark, but she couldn’t think of anything else.
He unlocked his jaw. “Whatta you want?”
She swallowed the verbal slap along with the lump in her throat. This was starting out tougher than she expected.
“To thank you for coming out the other night with Lea. That was so nice of you.”
“It’s my job. I’m paid to do it.”
A few steps closer. Now she smelled his scent. She wondered if wolves found their mates the same way.
“Would you have come if you’d known it was me?”
“I told you, it’s my job.”
She buried her fists in the pockets of her skirt. As an attorney, she was accustomed to cool receptions. On the way over, she practiced what she’d say to him, much the same as she practiced her closing arguments. This time, she was the defendant.
Keep it brief and professional. Tell him you’re sorry for what happened, but that was a long time ago when you were both very young. Now it’s time he got past it and on with his life. Point, set and match.
“Rico…” she began. “I’m really sor… Would you like to come to dinner?”
Good grief, what have I done?
The invitation had spilled out of Mary Beth’s mouth, like a ventriloquist’s dummy speaking someone else’s words instead of her own.
For a second, he looked almost as shocked as she felt. Then he nodded and said, “Yeah…okay.” With that, he set his jaw and the scowl slipped back in place.
“Like maybe tonight?” she asked. “Seven?”
Still holding the axe in his right hand, he wiped the sweat from his forehead on his arm and grunted something that sounded like yes.
“Great.” She dug inside her purse until she found the little stack of cards she carried with directions to her house from town.
He snapped the card from her hand without bothering to look at it and stuffed it in his jeans pocket. Then he turned his back and swung the axe in a mighty arc.
Thwack!
She winced at the sound of the sharp blade whacking into the huge piece of oak on the stump. Her breath caught at the force of the blow. “Well…all right. I guess I’ll see you at seven.”
She knew better than to wait for an answer.
Chapter Five
The light changed to green. Mary Beth eased her foot off the brake and turned in the direction of the supermarket.
What do you serve an ex-con who’s lived on bologna sandwiches and chipped beef on toast for the last ten years? It had to be something hearty—maybe spaghetti, garlic bread and a salad.
Not for an Italian. She’d bet his mother made the best spaghetti this side of Palermo, handmade pasta that she cut with a razor-sharp knife about two feet long, and sauce she simmered for hours. He’d know in a second that Mary Beth had doctored up a jar of sauce she plucked off the shelf. She couldn’t compete with that.
Hell, she couldn’t compete with anyone because she didn’t cook worth a damn. She’d inherited that dubious honor from her mother. A paralegal and a single mom, she’d nurtured a love of the law in Mary Beth and a disdain for anything domestic. With delis, Italian and Chinese on every corner in Queens, Mary Beth had grown up on takeout and frozen dinners.
She pulled into the lot and threw the gearshift into park. If she had any brains at all, she’d turn right around and head back to The Tarot. Synda would throw together a fabulous dinner for two, including an amazing dessert. If anyone knew what Rico liked, the gals would.
Not on your life. No way she’d admit to them she’d invited Rico to dinner. She’d rather serve him gruel than watch that smirk turn up the corners of Synda’s mouth and see Leandra finger that deck of Tarot cards she always kept in her pocket. This was no big deal, but they’d read an entire book into one little dinner.
Steaks? Everyone liked steak…unless they were vegetarians. She hadn’t defended any vegetarians. Most in prison went meatless for religious reasons. Rico didn’t strike her as the type, and he sure as heck didn’t get that amazing body from brown rice and soy milk.
Steak, a huge baked potato with all the trimmings, fresh salad, and some French bread right out of the oven. No one could resist that. If he was still hungry, she always kept ice cream in the freezer and Oreos in the pantry.
*
The café was jumping. Every table filled, and a bar full of people waiting to take the first empty place. They’d done a brisk business in carryout too, but as always, Synda had everything under control in the kitchen. She ran the line like a drill sergeant, and made sure no dish left without her approval.
They had three readers working tonight in the alcoves, and two diners had asked Leandra to read theirs personally. After the readings, she stepped outside to let the cool mountain air clear her head.
Behind her, Leandra heard the crunch of footsteps on the gravel that separated the back of the café from Rico’s cabin. She turned quickly, sure she had heard him drive off on his motorcycle a while ago.
“Who’s there?”
“Me,” Rico answered.
“I thought I’d heard you—”
“I forgot something.” He stepped into the light spilling through the kitchen window.
Leandra sucked in a breath. “Oh my…”
He stopped in mid-step. “What?”
“You look so different.” She’d never seen him dressed in a pair of slacks and a sweater. He still wore boots. Not the old worn leather ones, but black ones shiny enough to show his reflection. He wore his hair tied back and had trimmed his beard. “Where are you headed?”
“Out.”
He obviously didn’t want to confide in her. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”
Rico lowered his head. “No, it’s okay.”
The wind had picked up enough to penetrate Leandra’s wool sweater. She shivered. “It’s getting chilly. Break time’s over.”
She’d stepped inside the kitchen when he called after her. “Can I ask you something?”
She turned back to him. “Of course. Anything.”
“Your friend…”
“M.B.?”
He nodded. “She…” He looked down again.
“She what?”
“I’m supposed to have dinner at her place tonight,” the words rushed out of him. “Kind of a thanks or something for the other night.”
“What fun.” Leandra took a step toward him. “Do you need directions?”
He shook his head, and after a false start, said, “My ma always brings something when people invite us over. Something she cooks to go with the meal. I’m…” He shoved his hands in his pants pockets. “I’m not good at this. People don’t invite ex-cons over unless they want something. Whattaya think she wants?”
“First, let’s get out of the wind.” She waited for him to join her in the shelter of the porch. Once he stood beside her, she noticed he wore an aftershave that she remembered her dad and brothers had worn—about fifteen years ago. She bit her lip to keep from smiling.
“You’re talking about two different things here,” she began. “I’m sure your mother’s a great cook and makes things all her friends love. That’s a wonderful gift, but people who invite you over aren’t looking for anything other than your presence. M.B. doesn’t stand on ceremony. She doesn’t invite people over because she feels she has to. She does it because she wants to do something nice, or to get to know them better.”
He looked doubtful.
“If you feel you can’t go empty-handed, let’s fix that. Follow me.”
“I don’t wanna make a big deal out of this with…” He nodded toward the kitchen.
“With Synda?”
He nodded again.
“Trust me, Rico, she’s so busy cracking the whip on the line, she won’t even notice you.” She opened the door. “Pastry chef’s our first stop. If he can’t spare a couple of desserts, we can always raid the wine cellar.”
A few minutes later, she and Rico slipped outdoors again. This time he carried a plastic container with two slices of Black Russian cake and a paper sack with a bottle of M.B.’s favorite Napa Valley merlot.
“Thanks,” he said. “You guys are great.”
“Hey, none of that. Synda and I appreciate what you’ve done the last couple of days. I have to warn you, though, M.B.’s a good lawyer, not such a good cook.” She tapped on the cake box. “This may be the one decent thing you eat tonight.”