After the Midnight Hour

by Linda Randall Wisdom

  Jared rolled over onto his side and slowly sat up. He rubbed his face with his palms, and felt the bristles from his morning beard abrade them. His hair was likely sticking up in unruly spikes, but that was the least of his worries.

  “Why the hell would you make me breakfast?” He could feel his whole being whimpering for coffee.

  She ignored his question as she looked around. “You bring in things. Why?”

  Jared got slowly to his feet. He might tower over the petite woman by more than a foot, but it was clear who was in charge, and it wasn’t him.

  “Like I told you before, this is my house. I’ll be living here from now on.” His head snapped up, his nostrils flaring in reaction to a scent that wafted past him. Why did the scent of jasmine keep teasing him? He didn’t notice the sharp look the woman gave him. “Now answer my question. Why would you make me breakfast and why are you here?” He looked past her. “Where’s Rachel?”

  The woman sniffed with disdain. “That is three questions. I will make you breakfast because how else would you eat? You were kind to my Rachel last night, so I will cook for you this morning. But I see that the little food you have is not good for you. As for la niña Rachel, she is not here.”

  Jared was having trouble assimilating her words other than her announcement that Rachel wasn’t there. She had told him she’d be gone in the morning. He just hadn’t expected her to keep her promise so literally. He’d thought he would have a chance to see her again when he woke up.

  “Your offer to cook is nice, but not necessary. Besides, the stove can’t be hooked up until the gas company comes back out to inspect it. For now, all I’ve got is my camp stove.”

  “Why do you worry about a gas stove when there is a stove in there?” She pointed.

  Jared laughed as he thought of the wood-burning stove that sat in one corner of the kitchen. “That old relic? I don’t even think an antique dealer would buy that piece of junk.”

  She looked horrified. “You do not need to sell it. All it needs is a good cleaning. You get me things to clean with and I will take care of the stove. You work outside, I will work inside.” She paused. Her eyes narrowed. “If you let us stay.”

  He felt as if he was being played. “What about your friend? Does she cook and clean, too?”

  Maya looked him square in the eye. “I will do the cooking and cleaning. She is not here right now.”

  The woman was lying. She was good, but Jared saw through her. There was no way she could pass the lie detector in his brain.

  He looked around the room, which had more than its share of cobwebs, dirt and the remnants of squatters. Cleaning had never been one of his favorite chores. It was easier to buy paper plates than wash them. He scrubbed enough to keep mildew off the bathroom shower walls and to ensure bugs didn’t invade his space, but that was about it. The idea that Maya was willing to help clean these disastrous rooms was appealing. And if he let her stay, he suspected he just might see the mysterious Rachel again.

  “Lady, I’m a cop. I don’t make a lot of money. Hiring you means I’d be an employer and have to pay taxes, plus I’d have to come up with benefits for you. I’d need your social to make it all official,” he said. “Do you realize how much paperwork we’re talking about? Trust me, it’s more than enough to give me a headache. Which is why I don’t need anyone taking care of the house.”

  She gave him a blank look. “My social what?”

  “Your social security number. So that one day you can retire on all the money you’d make off me.”

  Maya shook her head. “I do not need money. Just a place to sleep.” She looked him up and down. “You need someone who will make you good food and make sure you wear clean clothes.”

  He held up his hands, positive he wasn’t going to win this argument. Damn, he never lost an argument! “Fine. Give me a list of what you need and I’ll pick it up when I go into town.” He’d planned on purchasing cleaning supplies, anyway. Not that he was about to tell her that. His old man’s idea of cleaning had been throwing out the empty beer cans that accumulated in the kitchen.

  Maya rolled her eyes. “Do you think I can read and write? I will tell you what I need and you will write it.” It was an order, not a request.

  Jared wasn’t surprised by her admission. He knew many migrant workers moving through the state didn’t bother with formal schooling since they had their very survival to think about. Looking at the woman’s proud demeanor, he also knew he would never doubt her intelligence in pure street smarts. He found some paper, wrote down what she told him she needed, then settled for finger combing his hair and putting on clean socks before heading out.

  “Do not forget I need a mop!” she called after him as he settled on his bike.

  His shoulders slumped. “With the list you gave me, I shouldn’t have returned the rental truck.”

  Maya remained in the doorway as Jared disappeared from view. “He is gone.”

  A gentle breeze caressed her cheeks. She smiled at the loving touch against her skin.

  “He knows you are here, chica, even if he does not understand. You must be more careful.”

  She walked away, not expecting an answer. After all, how can a breeze speak?

  Three hours later, Jared was grumbling that Maya’s supplies would put him in the poorhouse as he unloaded them from his bike. He showed her how to use the camp stove and explained that he’d plug in the microwave oven later that day. Maya looked at him as if he was insane after he’d answered her questions about the device.

  Jared then fled for the outdoors. Something told him the woman wouldn’t think twice about putting him to work inside if he stuck around. Sure, he’d intended to clean up the interior. Just not yet.

  Maya redeemed herself at noontime when she called him in for a lunch of hearty stew and homemade biscuits.

  “This definitely beats fast food,” he complimented her.

  She frowned. “Is what you cooked before?”

  “Careful, Maya, people will think you’ve lived in a cave for the past hundred years.”

  She offered a humorless smile as she returned to her chores.

  “You never did say where your friend is,” Jared stated, resisting the urge to look around.

  “No, I did not.”

  “Where did you two go? Did you stay at one of the shelters in town?” He didn’t want to admit he’d gone by there, but no one had seen anyone fitting the descriptions he had given the workers.

  Her face could have been carved from stone. “It is a large country.”

  Jared waited for further explanations and soon realized she wasn’t going to say anything more.

  “I’m going out to see how much of the fence I’ll need to replace,” he said when he’d finished eating.

  “A gentle wind could knock it down. You will have to replace all of it and put in new posts,” she told him as he left. “I will have dinner ready when you return.” She walked to the open doorway and watched Jared wade through the weeds covering what had once been a lush green lawn. She smiled at the faint breeze brushing across her cheeks.

  “He will not be back until dark. I will fix enough dinner for two.”

  After so many years Rachel shouldn’t still feel the isolation so keenly. Or feel so affected by it. Over time, memories of commonplace actions faded, until they seemed nothing more than dreams. She couldn’t recall the feel of the morning sun on her cheeks, or completely remember the sounds of the men working around the barn and in the corrals. Or the homey clucking of chickens in their pen, their calls rising when the cook, Elena, went outside to feed them.

  She missed the nights hearing one of the barn hands, Diego, singing songs in his native tongue. Songs of a love she had never experienced. There were other memories that weren’t as pleasant. Those she would have joyfully forgotten, but they refused to leave. A woman’s voice that was dark and cruel still haunted her at odd times. She shuddered at the memory of rough hands holding her down so harshly they left bruis
es on her delicate skin. Those times she experienced a visceral fear that was embedded so deep within her that it never left her being. On the heels of that memory was one of the day she’d faced death and instead, ended up in a world that had no beginning and no end.

  Now she felt nothing, as if she was wrapped entirely in cotton wool. The walls formed a prison she was doomed never to escape unless she could find the key to her freedom. She knew if she hadn’t had Maya with her all these years she would surely have gone insane.

  The closest Rachel could come to the outdoors was to hover at a window and look outside. She’d done just that, watching Jared walk around the buildings before he headed across a field she remembered had once been filled with Thoroughbred horses. Horses grazing on rich grass that had been planted to provide them with the best food money could buy. The house, built with quality lumber, had been meant to last years, and the furniture that once filled it had been brought all the way from New York City because Caleb wanted the very best. The library had been filled with books that were never opened, since he couldn’t read and refused to allow his wife to use them, resenting the fact that she could. He wanted the trappings of knowledge and prosperity so his business associates would assume he had qualities he didn’t. He wanted them to envy everything he had, including his beautiful wife. She wondered if any of those men had known what really went on in this house. Or if they would have cared.

  She wondered if Jared would care about what had gone on in this house all those years ago. She remembered the nights when the angry young boy would come out here to escape his own beatings. She’d never seen him cry. Many times he hadn’t even said a word. He would pace the floor or sometimes sit huddled in a corner, anger rolling off him in dark waves. She’d seen a boy who hated the world grow into a lonely and bitter man. She remembered the cuts and bruises on his face and body, testaments to the violence he must have endured. She prayed the boy’s anger hadn’t blackened the man’s soul the way it had Caleb’s.

  Caleb’s dark nature and obsession with things beyond his control had ultimately caused her death. Then it gave her a shadowy existence that would never end.

  Damn that woman, Jared thought as he studied the sagging fencing. Maya was right. He would have to replace all the posts.

  He stopped and squatted down on his heels. Out of habit, he didn’t use his fingertips to pick up what he saw lying on the ground, but dug a screwdriver out of his back pocket and used the tip to sort though the pieces of papers. The familiar sweet smell of marijuana wafted upward.

  “No surprise there.”

  He stood up and glanced around, again having that feeling of being watched. When he looked toward the hills he thought he saw a flash of light among the trees. Logic told him the flash didn’t necessarily mean binoculars trained on him, but his sixth sense also told him the spark of light didn’t come from the sun hitting a window, either.

  It was late afternoon by the time a weary Jared made his way back to the house. His thoughts were centered on a much needed hot shower and then collapsing in his bed. He picked up his pace when a rich aroma reached his nose.

  “How did you do that?” He stared at the pots bubbling on top of the stove he had planned to toss out onto the trash pile. Now it looked so clean he wondered if the woman had spent all afternoon scrubbing the black iron surface.

  Maya sniffed. “A good cleaning is all it needed. It was always a very good stove. Wash your hands.”

  “You act as if you know that stove.”

  “This stove I know,” she said cryptically.

  “Do I have time for a quick shower?”

  She nodded. “Go.”

  Jared went upstairs and showered in record time, eager to find out if the food tasted as good as it smelled.

  “I hope my hands are clean enough for you,” he announced, walking back into the kitchen.

  “Maya pretends to be very stern, but she is actually very sweet.”

  Jared spun around so fast he almost skidded on the wood floor. His angel stood a short distance away. The expression on her face was wary, as if she’d bolt if he even breathed wrong.

  “Hi.” Good going, you smooth talker, you.

  “Hello,” she said softly.

  Jared tried to unscramble his brains. “Rachel, right?”

  Her smile lit up her delicate features. “Yes.”

  He thought how the name suited her. He noted that her dress was the same one she’d worn the last time he saw her, while his ear relished the musical drawl of the Deep South in her speech.

  “Where have you been lately?” he asked.

  Her smile wiped pretty much all thought from his brain as she walked over to the table with a plate in each hand. “These plates are not very sturdy.”

  “They’re sturdy enough. The best thing about paper plates is that they don’t need washing,” he admitted. “I’ve never been much on fancy housewares in my kitchen. I’m rarely in there enough to care.”

  She smiled. “Maya said you need a proper table.”

  Jared chuckled. “Maya seems to think I need a lot of things. That woman is bossy with a capital B.”

  Jared’s taste buds fairly screamed as he looked at the pork chops, fried potatoes and corn bread Rachel placed on the table. He ate with a hunger he hadn’t felt for a long time. He slowed down when he noticed Rachel eating with dainty bites, as if she savored each mouthful.

  “When was the last time you ate?”

  Rachel stopped, carefully put her utensils down and folded her hands in her lap.

  “Actually, I do not require a great deal of food,” she murmured.

  “Women and their diets,” he muttered. “You’d be better off eating more.” He stared at her until she shifted uneasily under his intense gaze.

  “Is Maya always so bossy?” he asked, to break the tension.

  “Sometimes she’s worse,” she whispered with a hint of a smile. “But she has a big heart and enjoys caring for people.”

  “She sure knows how to cook, I’ll give her that.” He took his third piece of corn bread.

  After dinner, Rachel led the way to the front room, as if she was the hostess and he was the visitor.

  Jared looked at the scarred wooden floor, which was much cleaner than it had been that morning. Considering the amount of dirt ground into the wood he was amazed to see it actually shine. The scent of lemon and beeswax told him just how busy Maya had been that day. He chuckled when he saw that his two easy chairs had been arranged on either side of his big-screen TV.

  “She obviously doesn’t think I’ll be watching football this fall,” he commented. He gestured toward one of the chairs and waited for Rachel to be seated before he sat down.

  She sank down gingerly in one of the chairs. Her ankles were crossed, hands placed demurely in her lap and her back ramrod straight.

  “Someone would think you were in the military.” Jared sat back in a more comfortable posture. “Take it easy, Rachel.”

  She appeared to relax a little in her chair.

  “You said your name is Stryker?” she said.

  He nodded. “That’s right.”

  “Is that your first or last name?” she asked.

  “My last name. I don’t bother with my first.”

  “If someone wished to use your first name, what would they call you?” Rachel persisted.

  “It depends on who it is. Some people usually call me something a lot more graphic.” He chuckled. “My first name is Jared.”

  She smiled. “But you refer to yourself by your last name. Don’t you like being called Jared?”

  His mood darkened with memories best left undisturbed. “It’s just a name I don’t like to be associated with.”

  Rachel’s smile dimmed. “You did not have a pleasant childhood.” She made it more a statement than a question.

  “Trust me, that’s another topic better left alone.” He speared her with a glance. “Unless you’re willing to tell me your story.”

  Her eyes
darkened with unhappy memories. “My story is very simple. I was raised in Atlanta, Georgia, and my husband brought me out here after we were married.”

  That piece of news wasn’t something Jared expected to hear. He barely knew the woman, yet he felt a sinking sensation in his stomach at the idea that she was taken. But that brought up more questions. He couldn’t imagine any man being fool enough to abandon her. “So you’re married. Where is your husband now?”

  She looked away. “He is dead,” she whispered.

  Jared usually believed a person who didn’t look at him directly was lying, but he didn’t think that was the case this time. There was a sorrow in her eyes, but he’d bet his Harley that sorrow had nothing to do with her dead husband. He had a hunch she hadn’t had a happy marriage. Maya’s protective nature about her spoke of a close alliance between the two women. Was their closeness forged by a shared tragedy?

  Where did that idea come from? Usually his suspicious nature would wonder if she’d had something to do with her husband’s death. He’d seen sweet-faced women who looked as if a breeze could blow them away think nothing of using a knife or a gun on their spouses.

  He mentally shook his head to clear his thoughts.

  He turned to Rachel, studying her face. He didn’t care that she quickly appeared uneasy under his scrutiny. He wanted to memorize her features before she disappeared on him again.

  Her dark hair was such a rich shade that calling it brown would be a gross mistake. Gold highlights gave it a shimmering effect he didn’t think came from any salon. She wore her hair in a simple braid draped over her shoulder. Her dress might be old-fashioned, but it was spotless. For someone who was apparently homeless she was clean and neatly dressed. What fascinated him the most, though, were her eyes. He’d seen that deep luminous violet color on only one other woman, in the movies. She took his breath away.

  “How many people have told you you have eyes like Elizabeth Taylor?” he asked.

  She looked puzzled. “Who?”

  “Hey, I’m not that old,” he said wryly. “Look, no offense, but I don’t think you and your friend can stay here much longer. This place is barely habitable for me and, well, I’m not in the market for roommates. I’d be more than happy to make some calls and find the two of you a place to stay.”