“You’re a big girl, Esmeralda,” Tía said, unwittingly echoing Lillie Mae. “Do what you want.” She blew in her coffee again, and with a final pat on her shoulder, Esme left.
• • •
There weren’t a lot of cars outside Tía’s, but Rafael pulled in anyway. He’d spent a couple of hours over at the Silver Boot and Booty, talking business with Jade Brockton, the owner. He smiled. Brockton was a son of privilege; he’d probably choked on a silver spoon somewhere along the way, because he hated his father—one of the richest men around, apparently—with a passion. But he liked Brockton’s straight-shooting demeanor and the plans he had for his own ranch, the Double Block. And he didn’t mind at all that the Silver Boot and Booty had probably three times the vehicles when he left than Tía’s had now. Weeknight or not, if Brockton’s bar put Tina Cervantes out of business, he wouldn’t mind. Not at all.
He saw Esmeralda’s pickup immediately, parked near the edge of the parking lot, so she must have come in fairly late. He was surprised at his sudden eagerness to see her again. Her fault. Why had she teased him about having wanted to spend the summer with him? That she knew he planned on being married in a couple of weeks made it easy for her to flirt and still keep her distance.
Damn. Was he as crazy as Lillie Mae and Marc both thought? Marc knew his parents and claimed to understand the idea—he just didn’t think anyone could fool Chris and Alice Benton. Lillie Mae—he smiled at the dressing down she’d given him. She thought he was crazy, period. But he didn’t mind her scolding him. Marc should have his back, though. What were best friends—and best men—for?
He paused a moment outside the door, surprised at the lack of voices filtering out into the night. He didn’t hear drunken laughter, the jukebox—just silence. When he opened it, though, he knew why.
Esme was sitting on a stool on the stage, feet resting on the brace, crooning into a microphone. Low and haunting, he knew the music only because his Mom and Dad loved classic country and had played this one over and over. The sadness and mystery in the song had attracted his attention, but he’d forgotten the words since he’d embarked on all those constant travels, first for his dad’s energy conglomerate, then with Cody.
He sank into the first empty seat, watching her sing with fascination. She was just singing karaoke, but her voice was beautiful and captured the feeling of the song so well. Cody’s voice could do that when she was on, but toward the end, she’d just belted out songs without the emotional impact of her earlier vocalizations. Lost in the power of adulation and quick success, Cody had lost the love for the music that had propelled her so high, so fast.
Esmeralda. He closed his eyes for a minute. Just as well she’d turned him down. No way in hell could they pull off a platonic marriage, even though he couldn’t afford sexual involvement with the woman he married. Sex complicated everything, no matter what anyone claimed. He didn’t want to hurt the woman who would be his wife for a few very public weeks. And he couldn’t afford to become attached to anyone, either. Not after the disaster of the one serious relationship he’d had, when he’d been played with, used, and discarded. He still couldn’t believe how blind he’d been, or how dearly his parents had paid—emotionally and financially. No, the pre-nuptial arrangement his lawyers had drawn up couldn’t prohibit consummating the marriage for obvious reasons, so he’d have to be very clear with the woman—his wife—who would share his life for a summer.
He frowned. Except for the impossibility of being around her and not wanting her, he couldn’t imagine a better candidate than Esme. He’d need to know a lot more, of course, but she was educated, single, so confident.
She clearly enjoyed attention a little too much. She finished the last notes of the song, her voice trailing away into husky sorrow, then silence, and the small crowd went berserk, cheering, stomping feet, clapping, and hollering. He applauded briefly, knowing his attitude sucked, but unable, as always, not to think of Cody, and how quickly innocence and talent had fallen in the onslaught of attention and the descent into pride, then selfishness and indulgence.
And then death.
He stood, thinking he’d just sneak out without being seen, but Esme stepped off the stage and saw him immediately.
“Rafael!” she called across the room.
At least she wasn’t as furious with him as she’d been off and on earlier today. Today? He glanced at his watch and smiled mirthlessly. Yesterday. And she looked just as fresh and fine as she had when she walked into his study for the first interview. His smile broadened as he remembered the dirt stain on her skirt. Okay, she looked fresher than that.
She looked good.
“Last song I thought I’d hear tonight was ‘Ode to Billie Joe,’” he told her. “You killed it.”
“Thanks.” She looked a little abashed. “I hadn’t done it in years, but I used to love hearing it.” She grinned. “This town must be starved for entertainment if folks’ll listen to me sing old country I’ve half forgotten! You’d think they’d never heard a singer.”
He saw the sudden horror as she realized what she’d said and her face turned red in embarrassment.
“Don’t apologize,” he said gently. “You didn’t mean anything. And you were great.” He sighed. “Can I buy you a drink?”
“No.”
He hadn’t expected her to agree, but wished she had. He really didn’t want to walk out the door and leave her here.
Before he could say good night, though, she stepped close and lowered her voice.
“Rafael, can you take me somewhere? Somewhere you can tell me about this job offer again.”
He couldn’t believe what he’d heard.
“You …”
“I want you to convince me I’m the right person for your job,” she said. “I want you to convince me that I can marry you for money.”
Chapter Eight
Esmeralda heard her own words echo in her head. So matter of fact and so … crass. She hadn’t promised to agree, she reminded herself. After the blow up with her aunt and her long ride through the low hills around the Petersons, she’d decided to listen to him again. She wanted to believe in marriage, that it was special. Sacred. But she’d had to admit, on her trail ride, that she’d known few happy marriages. She hadn’t been wildly popular in Rose Creek, and she’d tried to steal a married man and a man in love with someone else. No wonder she hadn’t been invited to many homes to consider the blessings of marriages.
If his proposition was as cut and dried as she’d just made it sound—maybe. She still might not think so, but if she did, she might be able to help her aunt. Her parents were well-established, not wealthy, but she didn’t think they needed anything. A brief pang shot through her at how distant she’d become from them. Maybe she could build a relationship with her aunt, and then work on cutting through all the old anger directed at her parents. As for her brother, there was no room for a relationship with him. In fact, her loathing for Beto probably had much to do with the lack of love her parents showed her. After all, Toby had been gone for a long time now, but they still treated her as if they’d walked into the house and found Toby asleep in her bed. Undoubtedly Beto kept her parents’ contempt for Toby well nurtured.
Rafael wasn’t answering, though, and his smile was gone. Had he changed his mind? He’d told her that he didn’t particularly want her because of his relationship with Tía. He’d said that his parents were coming in a few weeks. Did he plan on being married by then, or marrying when they came? Either way, if he actually went through with the madness, he didn’t have much time to look.
“Rafael?” she prompted, not wanting others to notice—or get close enough to hear their discussion.
“You caught me off guard.” He flexed his arms. “Let me walk you to your truck. I saw it when I came in and it’s way in the back.”
She nodded and waved goodbye to Angel and Tom, who were standing near the bar, talking.
“You don’t have a purse?”
�
��Didn’t need it. License in the truck, keys in my pocket. I travel light.”
“I guess that’s a good thing. You’re okay to drive?” he asked, as she clicked the fob to turn on the truck and unlock the doors.
“Why wouldn’t I be? I haven’t had a drink since Lillie Mae sort of dared me to.”
He chuckled. “I bet she didn’t say ‘dare you,’ though, right? She just sat there and drank her morning beer and you figured you needed to make her blink.”
“Smart ass,” she muttered. “So … are you still interested in me taking the job, or have you decided to move on?”
“It’s one in the morning and I know we’ve both been up since at least ten, Esme. You’re not at all tired?”
“I am, but …”
He maneuvered around her to pull her door open, passing so close that he brushed her, although she didn’t think he meant to. “Let’s call it a night,” he suggested matter-of-factly. “We’ll probably both think better tomorrow.”
“You’re assuming a lot,” she retorted. “Tomorrow I might not be living on adrenaline and thinking I can do anything.” That sounds a lot like the old Esmeralda. Not who I planned on becoming when I left Rose Creek. She lifted herself into the seat and closed the door, then rolled the window down. “When and where would you like to meet?” she asked.
“Do you fish?”
“Excuse me?”
“Fish? We could go to the lake, spend some time trying to catch a fish. I never have, there, but we could try. And we could talk.”
She leaned her head out the door to gauge his expression. “Is this a test?”
“Why would you think that?” His face fell a little. “You don’t fish, do you?”
“No, not recently. But I can go watch you fish.”
“Good. It’s peaceful there, Esme. There’s this shady spot with boulders. We can talk without anyone interrupting.”
“How do I get there? I’m new in town, remember?”
“Why don’t you go over to Witches Haven around nine and we’ll just take one truck?”
He frowned at her hesitation.
“Sure,” she said, finally. “Why not? Bring food, water, and the dogs. Oh, and whatever you need to fish with.” She grinned and put the truck in gear. “Oh, and move,” she added. “Just in case I run over your feet or anything.”
He laughed, but moved back anyway, making a show of checking his feet.
“Idiot,” she murmured, glancing in the side mirror and seeing he was still standing there, watching her leave. But then she thought of the immediate surge of desire she’d felt at the sound of his throaty chuckle, and knew she was the idiot.
• • •
Esme couldn’t help smiling a little when she saw the back seat of Rafael’s truck. He’d covered both seats with sheets, and the dogs took up the entire space. The bed of the truck held all the things the cab couldn’t—fishing gear, ice chest, folding chairs, a canvas heap he told her was for shade—enough stuff, she thought, to survive being lost in the woods for a week.
Not that that would happen, she reminded herself. But she thought she’d moved fewer belongings from Rose Creek to Truth than he was taking for a few hours fishing.
And interviewing her, she reminded herself.
He saw her grin at the overload and smiled, too. “You wouldn’t believe I’m an accomplished world traveler, would you?” he admitted.
“Why do you need all this?” she asked, careful not to actually link herself to him or anything he had planned. Just business, that’s what today was.
“Honestly?” He slanted a glance at the truck. “You’re the one who said to bring the dogs and food. The fishing gear—well, we needed that, right? Besides,” he added, with a slight shrug, “I’m practicing for when Justin comes. You’re supposed to over-pack for kids, right?”
“I don’t have kids,” she reminded him. “Packing for them usually doesn’t come up in my line of work.”
“Right. We’re late. The fish get up a lot earlier than we did. Let’s go.”
They climbed in to the cab, and when both Danes reached over to greet them, Rafael reprimanded them. They obediently turned away to their respective windows, and Esmeralda couldn’t help being relieved. She really didn’t know why she’d told him to bring the dogs; they were gorgeous, but they’d already started drooling. At least with them along, he’d have to watch them and his fishing. Less time to focus on her. She, on the other hand, could ask him the questions for which she needed answers.
The road to the lake was like the road she’d come into Truth on: narrow and dug between high banks of clay and rock, with trees perched awkwardly sometimes. When she wasn’t driving a horse trailer, they didn’t seem nearly as formidable, though a car careening around a curve partially in their lane elicited a curse from Rafael as he swerved farther toward the shoulder to avoid it.
“I’d been going to suggest you talk, but maybe not,” she murmured. “Does everybody come back from the lake in that big a hurry?”
“Not everyone. The scary ones are towing boats, though. Twice the chance of getting hit.” He didn’t say it with real concern, though, so she relaxed against the seat.
“I don’t know why I said we should talk again,” she said. “I still don’t think …”
“You still think I’m crazy,” he finished for her, and she saw his dimples slash across his cheek. “Maybe I am, but if it’s crazy for my family, it doesn’t embarrass me. You’re not seeing anyone?”
The question caught her off guard and she blinked, but answered levelly enough. “We’d established that, hadn’t we? I wouldn’t be talking to you if I were.”
“There’s a reason I asked again, Esme. If you were … wouldn’t your parents prefer you married, or would they be okay without the formalities?”
“My parents.” She fell silent briefly. “Yes. They’d prefer marriage. But they’ve pretty much given up on me.”
He turned to look at her, surprised, and this time an oncoming driver leaned on the horn as he moved too near the middle of the road. “Are you close to them?”
“We talk. I visit now and then. But …” She didn’t finish. “One of my plans when I moved here was to start mending fences. Thought as I spent some time with my aunt, I’d find out more about my mother.” She looked out the window at the wall of rock, clay, and cedar crawling past as Rafael braked for a sharp curve. “I’ve never understood why my mom and aunt aren’t closer than they are. I’ve always wished I had a sister.”
“I was lucky,” he said, as they suddenly came out on a cleared parking area overlooking the lake. “I have parents who never gave up on me. And when I had a sister, she and I were close.” He parked and turned to her. “Let’s get set up down by the lake, and then we can talk.”
He opened his door and slid out, then turned back to grin at her. “Quietly. We will talk quietly, or I’ll never catch anything here!”
The dogs bounded out the moment he opened the door, but stopped obediently and waited while he clipped leashes on them. Then he handed her the leashes with a grin. “You wanted them. You babysit.”
Drat. That hadn’t been in her plans.
“And I can control these things?”
“You can control a horse, right?”
“Mostly. And one at a time.”
“Quit whining,” he ordered good-naturedly. “If they try to run into the water, though, don’t let them. We don’t want to scare—”
“The fish away. Got it.” She headed down toward the water’s edge, comfortable that her tennis shoes wouldn’t slip, but a little uneasy about actually controlling the dogs if they decided to chase something. Sure, Domatrix was bigger, but she was usually calm and well-mannered. These giants could drag her half a mile before she got them stopped.
They behaved halfway down to the water, walking so obediently that she dismissed her worries and relaxed her hold on their leashes. Only, Rafael clearly hadn’t been joking about their love of the water. A few yards a
way from the edge, both dogs suddenly bolted, catching her completely off guard, and raced straight for the calm water.
She shrieked, startled, then hung on for a step or two, but the vision of winding up face-down in the lake and spending the morning around Rafael in a wet T-shirt made her let go of both leashes, flinging them away from her just as one of her feet went under water. Unrestrained, the dogs bounded about, barking and splashing. Their joy was contagious, and she laughed at them.
“Oh, no!” Rafael said. “They’re in the water.”
“Surely you can get them out,” she reassured him, then looked at him. “So … how long it does take for the fish to calm down?”
“You’re serious, aren’t you?” he asked. “Fish don’t ‘calm down.’ You’ve really never gone fishing?”
She looked out over the lake. She didn’t want to answer, but she’d come to talk, hadn’t she? “My fiancé and I went fishing at South Padre right before he left Laredo for the Army.” She managed a faint smile. “We never got to the beach.”
He made a noncommittal sound and unfolded an expensive chair, with cup-holders and a padded seat. Then he whistled the dogs out of the water and removed their wet leashes. While he was working, he asked, “Did you ever marry?”
He couldn’t see her, because he was still trying to untangle fishing line that had tangled around a leash, but she shook her head. “No. He never came home from Afghanistan. The trip to South Padre was the last time we were together.”
That brought his head up. “I’m so sorry. Are you still in love with him? Is he why you never married?”
“How do you know I never married?”
“Well, you’re not married, not dating …” He carried the tangle of line over and tossed it in a trashcan, then came back. “I just assume he must be the reason.”
Esme stopped searching through her beach bag for her iPad and tilted her chin. “Just for the record, I loved Toby, but I went through hell for that. From the first time Toby got me home late, I was called a tramp, a slut, a whore. Since I got labeled anyway, I don’t think you could say I’ve been carrying a flame for Toby. When I think of him, I’m sad that he lost his life. Maybe we would still be together, but really, who is? There have been a lot of men in my life since Toby. A lot. And I enjoyed them. I’m not apologizing for that, got it?”
His Temporary Wife Page 9