by Kara Lennox
“You make the plantains. You probably never have any reason to cook since all your meals are fixed for you at that mansion, but Travis needs to know you can cook. When he tastes the fried plantains, he will be yours forever.”
Elena laughed at the thought of a man falling in love with her because of fried plantains. “Anyone can fix this dish. It’s simple.”
“Men don’t have to know that. How do you think I got your father to marry me?”
“Plantains?”
“No, it was my caldosa. But we don’t have time for that today.” Caldosa was a thick soup made with various tubers and meats, and with Rosalie it was an all-day affair.
Elena began peeling the bananalike fruits. “Actually, Travis can cook. He made me lasagna.”
“Aha!” Rosalie pointed her wooden spoon at Elena. “You have been dating him.”
“No, I haven’t. Anyway, I thought you wanted me to marry a Cuban man.”
“When you were prime marriageable age, sure, I wanted a Cuban son-in-law. You could have had your pick of a dozen suitors, but you were determined to go to college and have a career. Now the good ones are married to other women. Anyway, I don’t really care as long as you marry a man who’s good to you. You know that.”
“Mama, really, stop playing matchmaker. This isn’t going to work. Travis is just an acquaintance.”
Rosalie didn’t argue, just gave her a knowing look. “I’m going to set the table in the dining room. As soon as you’re done with those plantains, we can serve.”
A few minutes later, Elena and her mother carried dishes to the table and called in the men. They were deep into a conversation about how to fix a slab foundation that had started to settle and cause cracks. Elena’s father could easily have hired someone to do work on the house, but he liked to do things himself.
“Rosalie,” Elena’s father said, “Travis owns his own construction company. Did you know that?”
“Of course I did,” Rosalie said smugly. “Elena told me all about it. She was very impressed with the work you do.”
Elena gave her mother a warning look, but Rosalie pretended not to see it. Travis was going to think her mother was crazy. Or that Elena herself was.
“He said he could show me how to repair the foundation without calling one of those rip-off slab repair companies.”
“Oh, that would be wonderful! Elmer is getting tired of fixing the cracks in the walls.”
Oh, boy. She’d thought asking Travis to dinner was the right thing to do, the nice, decent thing. But now they were getting in deep. What would happen if her parents found out Travis had kidnapped her? Sure, Elmer was all smiles now, but if he thought Elena had been wronged or compromised or... Well, he could be pretty fierce.
“This looks wonderful, Rosalie,” Travis said. “Do you cook like this every day?”
“Oh, most days even more. Most weekends we grill meat—chicken, beef, pork, lamb, cabrito. But with the weather turning nasty, we decided not to today. This is mostly leftovers.”
“They look a lot better than my leftovers do.” Travis eyed the grilled pork. He was practically flirting with her mother, though Elena didn’t think it was calculated. He really was just being nice.
They all sat down, Elmer said the blessing and then Rosalie began piling food on Travis’s plate as if he was the only one who was hungry. Elena was pretty darn hungry herself. All she’d had to eat all day was that pancake and a few nibbles at Daniel’s.
She smiled at the memory of Travis somehow coming up with an appetizing breakfast under such primitive conditions. He’d done it to please her.
After everyone had been served, Travis took a bite of black beans and rice and then closed his eyes in apparent ecstasy. “Oh, Rosalie. These are the best rice and beans I’ve ever tasted.”
Elena tried not to grin, but she couldn’t help it. Travis Riggs—when he wasn’t trying to kidnap her or worrying about his brother—was funny, engaging and clearly intelligent despite his obvious reading and writing difficulties. He was relaxed but still respectful around her parents, engaging them in conversation but not trying to impress them.
“It’s the spices,” her mother said. “I have my own blend. My mother used it, my grandmother...”
“You should open a restaurant.” Travis ate heartily. He cleaned his plate, and when Rosalie forced seconds on him, he ate those, too.
“Who won the football game?” Elena asked. When she’d joined her mother in the kitchen, the game had been in the last few minutes. She didn’t really care, just wanted to keep the conversation going—and on neutral ground.
“Houston,” Travis answered in a way that told her he really wasn’t rooting for one team or the other. He’d just watched the game to be sociable.
During commercials, Travis had asked about the house—how old was it, what improvements had they made. Her dad was handy—he could fix or build just about anything—so they had that to talk about. The conversation about the foundation must have happened after she’d left.
“Save room for dessert,” Rosalie said. “Elena made fried plantains—it’s her specialty. She used to make them every day when she lived at home.”
Elena had never realized what a good liar her mother was. Before this meal was over, Rosalie would have Travis convinced Elena was the Cuban Julia Child.
“Do you like plantains?” Elena asked him. “Don’t feel like you have to eat them.”
“Of course I’ll eat them.”
“Working at that big mansion, she doesn’t get much of a chance to cook,” Rosalie went on. “But if she had her own kitchen, and people to cook for, she’d cook more.”
Not even Elena’s most stern look could stop her mother from embellishing Elena’s stellar qualifications as a wife. Later, when she had a chance, she would apologize to Travis for putting him in such an uncomfortable position.
Then again, he didn’t look too uncomfortable. He devoured the plantains with the same enthusiasm he’d shown the rest of the meal.
“These are great,” he said between bites. “Can you buy plantains at the grocery store?”
“The Fiesta Mart,” Elena answered. “They have a good selection of foods we Cuban ladies like to cook with.”
“I’ll have to remember that.”
When the meal was over, Travis offered to help clear the table, but Rosalie shooed him away. “You are a guest in my house. Put down that dish.” She said it so sternly, Travis immediately obeyed.
He didn’t stay long after the meal. Elmer asked him a few more questions about home repairs, but then Travis insisted he really needed to go.
“Of course. I don’t mean to keep you.” He pulled his car keys from his pocket and handed them to Travis. “Take my SUV, and take Elena with you. She’ll drive it home. My, um, sciatica is acting up.”
“Since when do you have sciatica?” Elena asked. And since when did he let Elena drive his SUV?
“Oh, you know, one of those things. Getting older. It’s not serious.”
“I understand it can be very painful,” Travis said.
Elmer shrugged.
“Well, I better get going. Thanks again for the ride and the hospitality. I enjoyed myself.” He sounded surprised but sincere.
“Come back anytime.”
Rosalie came bustling out of the kitchen. “Yes, Travis, please feel free to visit anytime. It’s a pleasure for me to cook for more than just two people.”
“I still think you should open a restaurant.” He shook hands with Elmer, and he squeezed Rosalie’s hand. Elena thought her mother was on the verge of hugging him, which really would have been too much, but she refrained.
Elena said nothing until they were in the truck. “Well, you certainly charmed them.”
“They charmed me,” he countered. “Your pa
rents are very nice people.”
“They are. But I know you didn’t mean to get roped in to spending all afternoon with us. When they get revved up, they’re a force of nature. It’s best just to go along.”
“I didn’t mind.” He put the SUV in gear and carefully pulled out of the driveway. “In fact, I can’t remember the last time I actually watched football or enjoyed a meal like that.”
“Yes, well, they came on a little strong. My mother seems to think we’re...you know, involved...despite the fact that I assured her we are just acquaintances who only met recently.”
“She liked me, though,” he said with a wink.
“A little too much. She’s probably planning our wedding as we speak. All that business about me being such a great cook—so not true. But she believes she caught my dad with her cooking, and the same should work for me.”
Travis laughed. “Well, I think she’s a gem. Truthfully, ever since Eric was arrested, my life has been consumed with trying to get him out of jail. And working. I couldn’t afford to lose my business.”
“I’m sorry the kidnapping thing didn’t work for you. Although your brother’s case was brought to Daniel’s attention. You can bet he knows everything there is to know about it by now.”
“Really?”
“And it’s hard for him to walk away when he knows someone is in prison who shouldn’t be.”
“He won’t do me any favors.”
“He won’t do it for you. If he does anything, it’ll be because it’s the right thing to do. He tries to do the right thing.” Even though he had behaved like a snake in the grass. She couldn’t forget that.
They were silent for a time as Travis drove them back downtown. Elena struggled with what to say.
“I’m still willing to help you with the online application form.”
“I think that’s a lost cause now. MacKenzie’s adoption hearing is next week.”
“So, you’ll go and testify as to what you saw. Surely if the judge thinks there is any chance your niece is being neglected, they’ll look into it.”
“They won’t believe me,” he stated flatly. “They see me as an ex-con, blindly loyal to my murderer brother. If I speak out against the Stovers—the foster parents—they’ll just hate me, and they’ll never let me see MacKenzie again.”
Elena could understand how the risk might stop him from even trying.
“Do they let you see her now?”
“Yes, but only because they have to. I’m her next of kin. They never let me see her alone—to make sure she doesn’t tell me what’s really going on there, I’m sure. I think she’s a little bit afraid of them.”
“When she’s adopted, they might not let you see her anyway, even if you don’t testify against them.”
“Can they do that?”
“I think so. You won’t legally be her next of kin anymore.”
“Damn. I hadn’t even considered that possibility.”
“At the very least, you should talk to a family law lawyer. Someone who can look at things objectively.”
Travis made a face. He’d probably had his fill of lawyers during Eric’s arrest and trial ordeals. But then he nodded. “You’re right. You know a lot about this kind of stuff.”
“It’s hard to see alternative solutions to a problem when you’re so close to it, that’s all,” she said modestly.
They’d reached Texas and Market Street. Travis pulled up to the curb. “Thanks for everything, Elena. But it’s over now, okay?”
She looked like she wanted to challenge him, but in the end she nodded brusquely. “If that’s what you want.”
“Go back to your life. Forget you met me.” He unfastened his seat belt, opened the door and stepped down to the curb, hunching against the cold wind as he slammed the door.
She quickly climbed over the console to the driver’s seat and opened the window. “I can’t go back to my old life,” she called after him.
He stopped and turned. “Why not?”
“Because it wouldn’t be the same. I’m different than I was yesterday. I feel differently about Daniel, about my job. I’m afraid the change can’t be undone.”
She closed the window, pulled the seat forward, put on her seat belt and drove away.
CHAPTER TEN
TRAVIS STARED AFTER the receding taillights of Elmer Marquez’s SUV, still puzzling over Elena’s revelation. Had she quit her job? Or was she planning to? All because her boss had called in a SWAT team to take Travis down? He had a hard time comprehending that or believing it was true.
Elena loved her job. Last night, she’d waxed eloquent for almost an hour on how grateful she was to Daniel Logan for giving her such a great opportunity. She had practically glowed when talking about Daniel—not a sexual glow, he’d decided, but an aura that came from the depth of her admiration for the man.
She respected him and the work he did.
And the pay—she’d said her paycheck was more than twice what she would have earned anywhere else doing similar work, though she’d pointed out the job was unique. Her family in Cuba depended on the money she sent to them. Because of her, their lives were more comfortable.
Clearly her parents were doing okay financially. Was it possible Elena supported their lifestyle, too? Was her salary that generous?
He hoped she came to her senses before she did something she’d regret—like quit her shockingly lucrative job.
Something strange was going on with Elena. Why had she lied to the police? All she’d had to do was tell the cops what they wanted to hear—that he had violently abducted her from in front of her home, thrown her into the back of his truck and kept her locked up against her will for almost twenty-four hours. All she needed to do was tell them the truth.
If she’d done that, he wouldn’t be standing on the street right now, free.
He couldn’t let her give up her high-paying job out of some misguided defense of him. He would talk to her and convince her that whatever problems she had with Daniel were fixable.
First things first. His truck. Then a shower. Then he wanted to go see MacKenzie, even if it was just for a few minutes. Talking about her had made him worry about her again.
After that, a good night’s sleep. Then he would figure out what to do.
* * *
JOHN AND BEA STOVER, MacKenzie’s foster parents, lived in Timbergrove, just a block away from Eric’s house, though on a street that wasn’t quite as swanky. Eric had known them slightly, but apparently Bea and Tammy had been friends. The Stovers had a house full of foster children, and they also provided day care on a casual basis to lots of neighborhood kids—including MacKenzie.
After Tammy’s murder and Eric’s arrest, the Stovers had come forward, volunteering to take in MacKenzie. Letting them do so had seemed the prudent thing to do at the time; MacKenzie had been so traumatized, and she was at least familiar with the Stovers and their home.
It was almost seven by the time Travis pulled his truck into the Stovers’ driveway. They wouldn’t be pleased to see him; they preferred if he scheduled his visits—so they could make sure everything looked hunky-dory, Travis guessed.
The Stovers were probably sensitive to criticism about how they took care of all those kids. He’d tried not to blame them too much...at first. It took a special kind of person to agree to take on other people’s kids, and with such a houseful, of course things weren’t going to be perfect. Belongings were going to be misplaced, and clothes would get dirty. But the Stovers’ excuses as to why MacKenzie’s things always went missing were starting to wear a little thin.
Her foster siblings made no attempt to engage her, and the parents didn’t seem to mind that MacKenzie was so quiet, that she spent a lot of time just sitting and staring. But anytime he mentioned that MacKenzie’s behavi
or seemed unhealthy, they brushed away his concerns. She’s just tired. The therapist said not to push her.
Bea answered the door when Travis rang the bell. She was a roundish woman—not fat, exactly, just soft and rather shapeless, but she was always stylishly dressed, her blond hair perfectly styled, makeup fresh. Whatever care she gave the kids, she never seemed to get dirty or rumpled doing it.
She pursed her lips in displeasure. “Travis. What are you doing here?”
“I know I should have called. I just... I really wanted to see her. Just for a few minutes.”
“We’re in the middle of dinner....”
Travis could hear kids laughing, dishes clanking, one child crying. Probably hard to keep them all happy at the same time.
“I can wait ’til you’re done.” He didn’t want to mess up the family’s routine too much—if there was a routine.
“Oh, I guess it’s okay. MacKenzie’s done eating anyway. Honestly, she eats like a bird, that one.” Bea turned and headed for the kitchen, and Travis stepped inside, shutting the door behind him.
MacKenzie’s appetite never used to be an issue. She used to eat whatever she was served without complaint. “Is that a problem?” Travis asked. “Should she see a doctor?”
“In my experience, kids eat when they’re hungry. If she picks at her dinner, she’ll eat a healthy breakfast. No need to worry.”
Travis didn’t necessarily agree. But what did he know? He didn’t have kids. He’d been given his chance to take in MacKenzie and he’d turned it down. The idea of being the child’s sole supporter, the one she depended on for everything—that was too frightening to contemplate.
Did he even have a right to criticize the Stovers?
“MacKenzie, your uncle is here to see you,” Bea said.
John Stover looked up sharply as Travis entered the large, eat-in kitchen where the family was gathered around a table that wasn’t quite big enough for all of them.
“At this hour?” Stover said.
MacKenzie looked worriedly from Travis to her foster father.
“Just for a few minutes,” Travis said.