by Cait London
Because he looked so nettled, this morning she’d kissed his cheek as she passed him. “Come back here and kiss me right,” he’d said quietly, his eyes darkening as she swung her leg over her motorcycle and revved it.
Because his words had sounded like a challenge, Paloma had returned to clench his hair and slant her open mouth to his. “Like that?” she’d asked, fluuefing her lashes at him, and Rio had laughed, a bold rich sound.
Now her heart fluttered again as Rio’s eyes darkened He reached out to tug a pigtail “You’re looking tired. You’re doing a lot of work for nothing. If you wanted the place cleaned up and repaired, all you had to do was ask.”
“I want to do this. It’s like cleaning my life.” She scanned the room, loving it. Dust circled in the shaft of sunlight passing through the old windows—an old man she loved desperately had once told her that was fairy dust. “I doa’t know what I’m going to do with it, but it’s going to be beautiful.”
“‘beautiful,’ like a prissy little tea pallor?”
Behind Rio, Pueblo hovered at the door. Dusty and Titus looked over his shoulder. Out in the parking lot, Roman, Dan, Logan and James leaned against Rio’s pickup. The picture was clear to Paloma. The male posse had sent their best man to run her out of Dodge City...or the feed store. “You’ve been elected to stop me, haven’t you?”
He tipped his hat back on his head and braced his legs apart. “There isn’t going to be any ladies’ boutique here, honey.”
“Just watch,” she said and because he was in such a dark, evil mood, she winked at him. “I’m open to recommendations from the peanut gallery, not that it will change my plans.”
“This peanut gallery has a say in decisions. You plastered rosebuds all over the bathroom,” he accused. “Floral scents and mauve decor don’t exactly appeal to the feed crowd. We’ll lose business. Men won’t use it. They’ll leave and won’t come back to buy.”
“Women will. We’re not in the horse and buggy days. Women drive pickups to town to get their feed. From what I hear of your family, the women probably drove those wagons, too. They just let men come along for the ride and to keep them out of trouble. I’ve been looking at the storage room. I think we should remodel.”
While Rio smiled coldly, Pueblo let out a gasp as if he’d been body slammed. “We’re keeping things the way they’ve always been,” Rio said between his teeth. “You’re upsetting people. There’s a natural balance here in Jasmine, and for years this place has been respected as a place to discuss crops. The agricultural and stock base of this entire valley depends on those discussions.”
She nuzzled the fragrant roses. “By the way, did you know that there’s a vein absolutely throbbing in your temple?”
Clearly stunned that she would tease him over such a serious matter, Rio studied her. He hooked a finger in her overalls and tugged her closer. “Are you getting things settled, slim?”
“I’m feeling better,” she said as he dusted flecks from her cheek. Digging out the cement and crumbling adobe had helped, just as playing the piano had that night.
“You’ve been working too hard. The kitten misses you.” Rio ducked his head for a quick kiss. He glanced at Else, who had just come into the store, bearing a deliciously scented basket of food. “You shouldn’t be encouraging this, Else. She’s tearing the holy hell out of every man’s heart in Jasmine.” Else laughed outright, undaunted by her brother’s scowl hand dramatically covered his heart as if a spike had been shoved through it.
“How’s your underwear, little brother?” Else asked, knowing exactly how to needle Rio.
He slapped his hat against his thigh, a younger brother defeated and mortified by an experienced older sister. “You can’t actually be supporting this. Dad loved this place.”
“Mother didn’t. She wanted more time with him—‘intimacy in a relationship,’ it’s called now. This place caused more arguments than I can remember.”
“They got along fine.”
“Sure. That’s why when he stayed overlong, he always brought her a present Her big rose garden came from every time they made up.”
Fascinated by the interaction of the Blaylocks battling and yet loving, Paloma settled back to watch how Else handled her brood of bristling, tough Westerners. When his sister reached to tug the hair at his nape, appraising the coal-black length with experience, Rio jerked back and glared at her. “Do not talk to the barber about cutting my hair.”
“Paloma is not only working here to clean up this mess, but she’s been giving children piano lessons down at the community ball. The ladies’ quilting circle enjoyed a performance of classical music, and Mamie’s lunch crowd enjoyed her rock and roll The poor girl is practically starved all the time.”
“She gets pancakes and orange juice every morning, Else,” Rio stated firmly. “I see to that.”
“If you fed her better, she wouldn’t be so hungry. You’d better take care of her, or I’m moving her over to my place where I can put some good food into her. It will be beansnapping time in another month, and I could use an extra hand at canning. Have you ever snapped string beans, Paloma? That’s a really comforting feeling, sitting on the front porch and talking to another woman while you snap beans. I used to do it with my mother. We had to feed all my hungry brothers. Rio could snap beans real fast when he wanted out of my clutches.”
“No, I’ve never snapped beans. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a bean-snapper,” Paloma said, fascinated.
Else laughed gaily and hugged her. “You snap beans with your hands and I can about a hundred and fifty quarts or more a year. Jars, that is, quart jars,” she said carefully. “I like a full pantry.”
“That sounds fascinating. I’d love to help.” The image of shelves filled with food, waiting to be shared with families, thrilled Paloma. This was what Boone had loved....
“I’m planting a garden this year. If she wants to snap beans, I’ll do it with her,” Rio said daddy, searching Paloma’s expression. “I’ve got a big pantry. Every one of the shelves is empty.”
Else nudged him with her elbow. “You’re just afraid I’ll tell her stories about you.”
Paloma watched, enthralled as the discussion continued; she’d never even been part of a family before, and now Rio and Else were arguing over who could take better care of her. A happy little bubble nestled inside her, slipping up to become a smile. Because they were both dear, Else in one way—a motherly sister she’d never had—and the man she suspected she loved, Paloma gave way to the need to hug them both.
Distracted, Rio stared at her blankly, yet his hand reached for hers. “Don’t try to confuse me. I can’t get a decent argument going with you looking so happy and delicious. Else, watch it. You’re not taking her away from me. If you women wouldn’t stick together, life would be a hell of a lot easier.”
“I like the girl, Rio. You go tell your brothers that if they don’t stop that malarkey about a town meeting to preserve this place, they’ll never have my apple pie again. My Joe knows better than to cross me when I’ve got my mind set on what’s fair for women.”
“Mother’s apple pie recipe?” Rio asked as though shocked.
Paloma almost laughed, then pushed her mouth into a firm line when Rio glared at her. “My mother’s apple pie. She would hold that from me...for you. Don’t you feel bad?” he asked Paloma.
“Nope. I’m hungry.” Clearly the Blaylock matriarch knew how to pull her punches. Driven by her hunger, Paloma tugged away the red checkered cloth covering the basket. “Mmm. Yum. Fried chicken and potato salad. What’s that I see? Apple pie?”
“Not one bite, Rio,” Else stated firmly, as his hand reached toward the basket.
Rio looked from Else to Paloma and back again. He angled his Western hat on carefully, firmly. “I suppose this is war.”
Because Else hadn’t forbidden Rio to eat anything else, Paloma held a drumstick close to his lips. She hadn’t had experience soothing rumpled males, but clearly Rio felt surrounde
d and outnumbered. He took a bite, chewed and stared at her as though pondering his next move. Testing her new womanly role with a man she cared for, Paloma leaned forward to kiss him. In the next heartbeat, he’d drawn her close against him, crushing the roses between them. His hungry, devastating kiss said he wanted more than food from her. With a last sultry look, Rio walked out the door, slamming it behind him.
“Goodness,” Paloma managed as she sagged onto an old wooden barrel, clutching the crushed roses and the chicken drumstick.
Else grinned. “Poor Lettie isn’t making progress with Rio. She’ll have to wait for Tyrell.”
“She’d better not make progress with Rio,” Paloma muttered. She licked the lip that Rio had just lightly bitten and tried to recover from the sensual jolt
“I didn’t say you couldn’t bake him Mother’s apple pie.” Else slipped a folded paper into the pocket of Paloma’s big overalls. “There’s the recipe.”
“He said the kitten missed me. I feel guilty. The poor little thing. I try to spend time with her, but—”
Else laughed outright “Rio misses you more than that kitten. Honey, you’ve already got a home and a family, didn’t you know?”
Paloma hugged the roses to her, cherishing each petal that Rio had crushed, holding her tightly. “I’ve never had a home before.”
“Well, it’s time then,” Else said softly. “My brother has waited a long time for you. He’s a proud man and more than a little lonely. With you around, he’s not brooding as much about that poor little boy. And it’s true that old saying—home is where the heart is. You’ll see. You might try some stove black on that old stove. Wipe it off with crumpled newspaper.”
That evening, too exhausted to move, Paloma sat on the floor in the dark room. Moonlight slid through the old windows, the scents of cleaning solvents mixing with the memories. She looked at the new calluses on her palms; they would horrify Lou and her mother. She’d loved cleaning the room, pitting herself against time and pain. She ached in her body, but she felt at peace. She leaned back against the newly chinked logs, her arms around her knees, and let the memories of Boone flow over her. She’d made a promise to Boone that she would care for the old place and she had. She placed her head upon her knees and gave herself to sleep.
She awoke, heart pounding, fear racing through her as the man bent over her. She shot out a fist, felt the jolt of the impact and heard his grunt She hit him again and pushed herself to her fee.
Rio swore and caught her fist in his hand, holding it. “It’s time to come home, Paloma-honey,” he said too quietly. He reached for the front of her overalls and tugged her face close to his. “You had to learn that, didn’t you, to survive?” He was angry, his deep tone pulsed with anger. Then he tugged her against him and held her tight, kissing her hair as though he needed to hold her and know that she was safe.
He needed her.
Her mother had needed her to provide money, but Rio needed her as a woman; he’d worried about her. The novelty of being cared for curled warmly around Paloma. She wrapped her arms around him and held him just as tightly. “I’m fine,” she whispered against his throat.
His voice was harsh against her cheek, his kisses fast and hard. “You’re wearing yourself out I’ll help you find what you need. Let me.”
“I can’t. I don’t know what I need. I just know I have to work this out for myself.” She needed Rio holding her like this, safe and close, as if he’d never let her go.
“Stay with me, then.” Rio’s face was warm and hard against her throat. “I don’t want anything happening to you.”
“I like to clean. I’ve been hoarding so much darkness, that it’s like cleaning out the corners of my life. Nothing will happen to me.” She stroked his hair, at peace for now. She knew Rio had battled nightmares of finding the boy, that his unfounded guilt had tom at him. Rio slept quietly now, as though the memories had eased.
Rio lifted her face, searched it intently and brushed his lips over hers. “You fill me,” he whispered simply.
“Oh, hell,” he muttered the next moment as a police siren ripped through the night; tires squealed on the store’s parking lot.
Minutes later, Sheriff Mike Blaylock’s flashlight swiped across Rio and Paloma. “Good evening, Paloma. Rio, I’m getting tired of my cousins interfering with my love life. I’m trying to get back together with Annie, you know. I didn’t appreciate the call from Miss Fannie, who said there was suspicious activity at the feed store.” he stated. “Man, that’s going to be some shiner, Rio. What happened?”
“Oh!” Paloma turned to look closely at Rio’s swelling eye. “Oh, I’m sorry!”
“You could kiss it and make it better,” he gnunbled.
“Ohhh, ” she crooned this time. The novel experience of kissing and making better delighted her as she placed tiny soft kisses over his closed eye.
“You missed a place,” Rio said, turning his cheek for a kiss, then the other.
Mike flipped off the flashlight. “I’d appreciate a dance with you at the next Jasmine shindig, Paloma. By the way, Rio’s had plenty of black eyes and some of them from me. When he was twelve, he was a sucker for a right cross.”
“She’s got a good one,” Rio murmured with a grin.
“I hear Rio is sporting a black eye and won’t say how he got it,” Miss Lorene said. “He’s a real secret-keeper, that boy is. I guess that’s why he was in the special forces.”
The next day, after polishing the old stove, Paloma played piano in the lacy parlor of elderly Miss Lorene Malone. Miss Lorene sat beside her twin sister, Sissy. Miss Lorene loved Fats Domino’s music and tapped her fingers on a lacy doily as she listened to “Blueberry Hill.” “Now that is music. I’ve waited for a long time to see that scamp, Rio, meet his match. He needs a good woman and a good home. That little boy’s death was awful, and until now, I’ve been worried about my former student. Rio started bothering girls early, as I remember, about first grade, but I never saw him squire a girl with as much attention as at last week’s dance. He’s like his father, though, not giving a girl time to think, I’ll wager.”
Paloma frowned. Rio hadn’t talked about his life away from Jasmine. “I didn’t know he was in the service.”
“Oh, my yes, though it’s very hush-hush. He won’t talk about it at all Those Blaylocks just seal up when they want to keep a secret. I think something awful must have happened.” Miss Lorene’s blue eyes twinkled merrily. “The poor boy has been hunted by every marriageable girl in this county. Now you tell Rio to come fetch my mother’s rocker. It’s sizable for tall people, good and sturdy. I’ll never be rocking my babes in it, or my grandchildren. I want you to have it, dear.”
Paloma smiled politely. Last night, Rio hadn’t kept any secrets from her, telling her exactly when she had to be home or he would come looking for her.
“You’re not my father,” she’d informed him and that lit the fire for another “what can happen to you” tirade. She’d thoroughly shocked herself by hopping up on his bed and throwing pillows at him as she argued back. The whole experience was thrilling as Rio circled the bed and she bounced to the other end, eluding him. He dived at her and caught her ankle, and Paloma pounded him with a pillow until they were both laughing.
“Come here,” he’d said softly and drew her down for a long, slow, thorough kiss. “Well, now that’s settled, I guess I can go to sleep,” he’d said when she was limp, warm and drowsy, aching for him. He’d patted her bottom before leaving the bed for the couch.
Paloma had lain there, warm from Rio’s tender, hungry kiss and had ached for him. This time, she could have poured an entire river over him.
Now, she listened to the elderly Malone sisters praise her music. They reminded her of a genteel man with a gentle voice. Boone. “I’m glad you enjoy my music. Did you know Boone Llewlyn? Or his family?”
“I knew Boone. When he came back after those thirty years of being gone, I was quite a bit younger than him, but wanting a husb
and. He said his wife had died and we kept company. Oh, not what you young folks would call dating, but we talked about life and such. He loved his land, his inheritance, and he loved the children who came to visit I always thought he felt something special for you, dear. Did you feel that, too?”
“I did. He was a loving man.” Paloma fought the surge of pain. Was he her father? Why didn’t he claim her as his own?
That evening, Paloma parked her motorcycle on the knoll overlooking Rio’s ranch; the sun was setting and she was drained from scrubbing the rough floor, her final cleanup. Her half of the feed store was clean now, white new filling between the aged logs, the windows caulked and gleaming. She could almost feel Boone’s hand upon her shoulder as he said, “You’ve done a good job, girl. You’ll always do what’s right because you have a good heart and a strong will.”
She checked the boxes of flowers, strapped behind her seat. She ran her leather glove across the orange-gold marigolds. She’d never planted flowers or watched them grow, and now she would. According to Else, Rio was gone, giving a program about keeping a clean habitat to 4-H children. Paloma studied the ranch, sprawling in the sunset, shadows fingering across the fields. Not far from the house, Rio had tilled a dark moonlit square, a garden, just as he said he would. A gentle peace came upon her as later she walked to it and bent to feel the earth trickle through her hands. “Good, rich dirt, and good, clean lives. This is a land for families who love each other, Paloma. Remember that. A person doesn’t need more,” Boone had said long ago.