by Louisa Trent
A darkly delicious shiver ran through her, sexual awareness replacing her anger. Could it be, was it possible, had Tomas Ruiz actually been jealous?
Biting her lip, she gave herself over to the deeply satisfying thought, until Tomas ruined the fantasy by saying, “About the other night, Sera. You needed someone and it just so happened that I was available. That's all that it was.”
Oh-
That's all that it was?
At the doormat, Tomas looked at her sincerely. “After all, you don't really know me. If you did, you never would've turned to me.”
“I was raised to trust people, Tomas. To accept them at face value. I don't know any other way to be. I don't think for one moment that you're here tonight to take advantage of me. You didn't the other night, and you won't now. You're just not that kind of man.” Mores the pity-
“You don't know what kind of man I am, Sera.”
No, she didn't. Not completely. But she was beginning to believe his press was greatly exaggerated. She was beginning to believe he was not quite the bad boy he wanted people to believe he was. It almost seemed to her that, rather than using all that masculine appeal of his as a tool of seduction, he employed it as weapon of defense.
Against her?
Crazy idea! She was hardly worth the effort.
Against all women?
Hmmm. Could be. It was an interesting idea, anyway.
She hadn't thought so at first, but she was beginning to think after much reflection that there might be more going on inside Tomas than what was seen on the surface, that there might be some hidden depths that she hadn't thought him capable of-
“I guess we're even. I don't know what kind of man you are.” She looked into his black brooding eyes. “And I don't think you know what kind of woman I am either, Tomas.”
Impasse. Stalemate. Deadlock. No way out. A Southside dark alley that ended at a brick wall, getting them nowhere.
In the end, Tomas came inside, did exactly what he said he would do, and then left. His damned good manners and gentlemanly consideration were beginning to play havoc with her nerves. It was upsetting to have a man pegged as one thing and then have him turn out to be something else entirely.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Tomas slumped in a chair beside Myra's desk. “I blew it. I'm a complete and total louse up.”
His administrative assistant reached for her mug of coffee mocha, and said nothing.
“I choked,” he said putting his chin in his hands. “I had this whole speech prepared. Very business-like too. No emotion at all. I thought it would be so easy!”
“Uh-huh-”
“First, I'd list all the reasons why the arrangement would work. All the benefits to both of us. But I couldn't spit out a single word.”
Myra eyed him over the cup rim. “Uh-huh.” She took another sip of coffee and waited.
“Dammit! I want this Riverfront Project! Getting it would mean hundreds of new jobs on the Southside. But I couldn't do it. It just seemed so ... cold somehow.”
Myra took another fortifying slurp. “Uh-huh.”
“I never even got as far as asking her. I choked. I didn't know how to put it and have it come out sounding like the logical thing to do.” His head dropped lower. “She really is a nice lady. I really do admire her.”
“I'm sure she is. I'm sure you do. Otherwise, a sweet-talker like you wouldn't have been tongue-tied.”
“That's the thing! I don't want to sweet talk her. As much as I can, I want to be up front with her. Hard to do, now that she's not talking to me.”
“Why isn't she talkin'?”
“She's upset, I guess.”
Myra started tapping her fingers. “Why is she upset?”
“She thought I was at The Flamingo to check up on her.”
Tap. “Were you?”
“Were I what?”
Tap. Tap. “Checking up on her,” Myra said-well, it was more like a screech than a said.
“Well, hell, yeah! You don't think I'd let her work there and not make sure she was doing okay? And good thing I did too; a table of morons tried getting fresh with her and I had to teach them some manners.”
“That's what Lou does! You know he's not gonna let things get out of hand over there at The Flamingo. The man's an ex-cop, for crying out loud. He knows how to settle things down.”
“Yeah, well,” Tomas blustered, still nursing a large resentment over the dick's offer to drive Sera home. “Lou wasn't doing such a hot job of settling last night!”
Tap. Tap. TAP. “Did you give him a chance? Or did you stick your nose in where it didn't belong?”
“I couldn't help myself! The guy had his hand on Sera leg!”
Myra sighed. “Okay. So, call her. Tell her you messed up, and that you're sorry. A good grovel is the only way. After you're finished groveling, and it better be a long one, none of this sound-bite crap, then ask her what you need to ask her.”
Tomas lifted his dropped head. “Call her? You mean, like, on the phone?”
“Who am I dealing with here?” she asked, ignoring him and directing her question to the blinking cursor on her twenty inch twenty-inch computer screen.
He'd just installed that PC because Myra's best friend, Sally Higgins, worked on one, and his administrated assistant thought they should keep up with technology. The monitor was a bright shade of glaring blue, to match Myra's favorite glittering blue eye-shadow, and though he knew it would never get used-hell, pencils didn't get used in his office-what his sweetheart wanted, he made sure she got. But now it was like she had someone to gang up on him with, two against one. Maybe the PC wasn't such a hot idea-
Myra turned back to him eventually. “Yes, on the phone! Must everything be done E-mail? My gawd! Between cloning and the ‘net, soon there'll be no reason at all for men and women to ever get together.”
Tomas picked up the receiver.
After turning up the volume on her hearing aid, Myra leaned back in her chair to have a listen.
* * * *
The Southside's branch of the Fenton Public Library was located in a dilapidated brick building that abutted Riverfront Park.
With Calia Vasquez's help, Seraphina had set up a public relations table on the sidewalk outside to catch patrons as they came and went. Their target group was mothers with young children, there to either attend various pre-school reading hours or to drop off and pick-up children at the day care agency house in the library's basement.
They'd done a brisk business explaining the school's children's music program and Calia was looking worriedly at the two pamphlets left on the table, all that remained of the mountain they'd started the day off with. “Why don't I run back to your car for more pamphlets?” she volunteered.
“You don't mind?” Seraphina replied.
“Not at all. Where are you parked?”
“Behind the library, right on the river, under a tree. I was lucky to have found the shady spot.”
“Seraphina-on the Southside, there are certain places a woman can park and certain places a woman cannot park. Under a tree on the river is one of the places where a woman should never park.”
“Oh, dear.” She grabbed her purse and stood. “We'll both go.”
“No need.” Calia waved as she walked away. “I'll be careful. I know my way around the river and I don't want you losing any future students.” She gestured to a group of three giggling little girls with their mom. “Like them, for instance. They might be future violinists someday and I want to be there to say I knew them when.”
Ten minutes later, Seraphina had finished giving her spiel to the mom and her three daughters and Calia still hadn't returned.
Sera hated to admit it, but she was apprehensive about her teacher's safety. She was about to close up shop and go looking for her, when off in the distance, she spied her pretty young music teacher walking back towards the library. At her side, was a swaggering young man wearing gang colors and carrying a tall stack of pamphlets. Extr
aordinarily, Calia seemed at ease with him. In fact, she was laughing into the stern-set of his dark features.
Calia presented her escort. “Mrs. Seraphina Norris, I'd like you to meet the leader of the R.P.'s, Enrico Cortez.”
Sera could tell this young man wouldn't be a hand-shaker. After placing his stack of pamphlets on the table, he gave her a nod.
She nodded back
“Enrico and I attended high school together,” Calia explained.
“Oh, how nice! You're old friends!” Sera said, much relieved; Calia was a very pretty young woman.
“Not exactly old friends,” Enrico related, his features still set granite-hard. “We barely knew one another in school. Calia Vasquez was class valedictorian; I barely graduated from my shop classes.” Enrico's tight expression softened a little. “But she did slow dance with me once under the moonlight out in the school parking lot.”
Calia blushed and dropped her eyes. “I thought you'd forgotten.”
“Not me.”
“Enrico,” Sera said brightly, never one to let an opportunity to promote the school escape, “would you be interested in taking an adult music education course at the conservatory this September?”
She quickly skimmed the offerings. “Lets see,” she said, reading directly from the course roster, “we'll be offering drums. Electric guitar...”
“Classical violin,” Enrico replied before she'd finished. “That's the instrument I'd be interested in taking.”
Sera blinked. “Violin?”
“Yes, ma'am.”
“You're in luck; Calia is our violin teacher.”
“Good,” Enrico said his voice warm, his eyes all for his former classmate. “Where do I sign up?”
* * * *
Tomas was heading for his truck when he heard a, “Psst! Over here, man,” coming from the vicinity of his outdoor equipment shed.
It had to be important for the RP's leader to show up in the middle of the day at the site.
Tomas didn't mince words. “Orale? What's up, ‘Rico?”
“Seraphina Winslow was at the library today.”
“Yeah, I know. What happened?”
“I was watching over them like I told you I would, but they ran out of the damn pamphlets, and Calia left to get some more. There's only one of me and I couldn't watch them both, so I trailed Calia. And lucky I did, cuz Mrs. Norris had parked that blue heap of hers off road inside the park.”
Tomas’ dark skin went pale.
“They were waiting for her, man. They wanted the teacher. But they were gonna settle for Calia.”
“Is she okay?”
“Yeah, I got there in time and scared them off. Calia didn't even know what was happening, no clue they were waiting to jump her. She could've been hurt, Tomas!”
“Did you recognize any of them?”
“They scattered, but yeah, I could finger them if I had to. Punk dealers, every one of ‘em. They traded out of the mansion before the teacher moved in.” Enrico pounded his fist against his thigh. “They're after Mrs. Norris, man, and in a big way. I know those junkies and I know how they operate. They won't quit until they get the teacher. They almost got to Calia today. I won't let it happen again.”
Tomas grabbed hold of Enrico's shoulder. “I'm sorry about Calia.”
“The dealers got too close to her, Tomas. They almost put their filthy hands on her. And it won't stop. Now that Calia is chillin’ with Mrs. Norris over at the mansion, by association, she'll be considered fair game.”
Enrico tightened his gang armband. “From now on, I watch Calia. Where she's at, that's where I'm at. I suggest you do the same with Mrs. Norris. Stick to her the way I'm sticking to Calia. If we don't watch out for our women, who will?”
Our women?
Weird, but Tomas didn't bother to correct ‘Rico's mistake.
* * * *
Sera placed a clean jelly jar filled with buttercups slightly off center on her scratched oak table. The bright yellow blossoms grew in a clump by her back door. The garden she'd planned wasn't planted yet, and goodness knows, she couldn't afford to buy cut flowers, but the buttercups looked very pretty. One person's weed was another person's wildflower, she supposed.
As a child of missionaries, she'd learned early on to get by with very little in the way of material possessions. When she'd married, nothing changed. Matt had cared very little about the things of this earth; his thoughts were directed to a higher, spiritual plane. After her bout with cholera, she'd left India with only a suitcase. The scratched oak table was the first piece of furniture she'd ever owned, and she loved it, scratches and all. Later, when she had some extra time, she'd strip the table down and sand out some of the deeper gauges; the superficial imperfections she'd ignore. Those imperfections gave the table character, made a piece of furniture interesting. And besides, shabby chic was in style...
Seraphina knew enough about herself to understand why she was standing in the kitchen worrying over silly things like a scratched table and fussing over the placement of a flower arrangement, instead of doing something practical, like slicing the loaf of bread. Tomas Ruiz was coming over for dinner this evening and the butterflies inside her stomach were flapping away like crazy.
There he was now, the man who caused those flapping wings, knocking on the screen.
Whipping her cobbler apron over her head, she smoothed her fingers over her hair and raced for the back door.
“Please come in,” she said, opening the screen and stepping back to allow him plenty of room to enter. He was such a large man!
Tomas handed her a bouquet of roses. “You look real nice,” he said.
She'd tried. The conservative powder blue dress was her best, but it was years old and horribly outdated. The dress befitted the wife of a missionary: high collar, long sleeves, and a hem that fell to her calves, modest enough for anybody's granny to wear. The blue dress definitely had to go. Right after dinner, she'd put it in her ragbag with the rest of her saved scraps of material. Someday, she might even find the time to make that quilt...
“Thank you, Tomas. For both the compliment and the flowers.”
Preceding him, Sera went back inside the house to the kitchen, where she placed the expensive rose bouquet in the jelly jar amongst the wild-growing buttercups. The flowers, wild and cultivated, complimented one another on the scratched table.
“By the way, Tomas, feel free to use the front entrance. Now that you fixed the electricity, there's no need for you to continue to walk all the way ‘round back when you visit. The bell now works just fine.”
“I think it's better if I'm not seen coming and going from the house, especially at night, until we have a few things resolved between us. That's why I'm not using the front door.”
Her brow puckered. “Resolved? What needs to be resolved?”
“Before I come to your front door, I want you to understand what you're letting yourself in for by being seen in public with a man like me. People talk, and they sure as hell are gonna talk about the company you're keeping if that company is me. You have the school to consider, your reputation in the community-”
“For goodness sakes! We're only having dinner together. That's hardly keeping company.”
Such an old-fashioned term! And disconcerting too, coming as it was from such a hip man. Which is why, she supposed, she let slip the terrible truth about her advanced age. “Besides, at almost thirty-one, I'm far too old for you to keep company with.”
Tomas gave a short hoot. “Sera, you ain't nothing but a babe in the wood.”
“I'm older than you!” she blurted.
“I'll be twenty-six come my next birthday. That's only a five-year difference between us. Factor in my experience, and I'm the one doing the cradle robbing.”
“Nevertheless, we are not keeping company,” she said obstinately.
Tomas examined the tip of his scuffed boot, then made a big production of sniffing the air. “What's on top of the stove, woman?”
Sera went along with the change of subject without calling him on it; she didn't want to talk about their ‘keeping company’ either. The very idea was absurd! “Spaghetti sauce. I hope you like Italian? It was too hot for the oven tonight.”
To give her hands something to do, she stirred the large pot that was simmering on the stovetop. “A little old lady who lived in New York City gave me this recipe.”
“You've been to New York?”
“I've been all over the country. My parents had missions in several different states, as well as in South America, and India. We moved around quite a lot when I was growing up. We moved to Calcutta when I was twelve years old. I only left to attend college here in the States.”
“That's something you and I have in common. I moved around a lot too as a kid.”
“Tell me about it!” she exclaimed. “Maybe we've lived in some of the same places. We can compare notes.”
“Some other time, okay?” He handed her a box that he'd had under his arm.
When she looked at it quizzically, he said, “It's nothing much. Just after dinner mints. I didn't know what else to bring.”
“Flowers and candy! So very thoughtful. Although, after installing those beautiful windows, I should be the one giving you presents.”
Tomas arched his jaw to her high ceiling, thereby continuing to avoid eye contact with her. Why didn't he want to look at her?
“That ceiling fan really circulates the air in here. I should get one for my trailer. That tin box really heats up in the summer, and in the winter, it's as cold as a witch's ti-It's cold enough inside to make ice cubes.”
Serahina smiled to herself. Tomas was trying so hard not to offend her. Like, she hadn't heard the word ‘tit’ before it came out of his mouth! “You live in a trailer?”
“Yup. I'm a vagabond. I live in my trailer and I move from site to site, wherever a construction job takes me.”
Tomas Ruiz was a fairly successful builder. He could afford something better than a trailer! It didn't make sense that he would choose to live so simply.
Yet, when she thought about it, there was no flash about him, no indicator at all that he was anything more than your average Joe construction worker.