A Little Texas

by Liz Talley

  “Si,” Rosa said. “We’ve had no one. When Mr. Ryan was here, we overflowed.”

  “I miss him so,” Vera said, her eyes finding the monument to her son.

  “No, no, Mrs. Vera. Ryan would say no,” Rosa said, bustling toward Vera and setting down sweet corn cakes and fragrant corn tortillas. “You enjoy Miss Kate being here. Mr. Ryan brought her here.”

  Kate’s hand hit her wineglass and knocked it over. Thankfully, she’d downed most of it. Still, burgundy spread like blood on the snowy cloth. “Sorry. I—”

  “I get it, Miss Kate. You eat the corn cakes. They are made the way my grandmother made them. God rest her soul,” Rosa said, crossing herself and pulling a towel from the pocket of her apron. She pressed the cloth to the spreading stain, soaking up the spill.

  Kate glanced up at Vera. The woman’s brow was furrowed and her expression perplexed. She wasn’t going to let Rosa’s comment slide. “Rosa, why would you say such a thing?”

  The housekeeper looked up from her dabbing. Kate stiffened because she knew Rosa would say something about fate. Or God. Or some mystical Mexican superstition. Kate didn’t make a habit of running from confrontation, but damned if she didn’t want to flee the table.

  “I saw your note to God. You asked him to heal you. To send you an angel like Mr. Ryan to make the hurt stop.”

  Vera flinched and Kate started a litany deep inside of “no, please, no,” but Rosa charged ahead. “I found the paper when I was putting the hose back into the carriage house. Sitting right by the angel. And the next day, Miss Kate gets here. See, he answered your prayer.”

  Kate swallowed. Hard. Then she looked at Justus to see if he might put a stop to Rosa’s words, but he calmly slurped the soup before him, using his good hand. A trickle of the broth dripped from his chin. The bastard wasn’t going to say a thing.

  “You think Ryan sent her?” Vera’s words were harsh. The woman pointed a slender finger at her. “Her? An angel?”

  Rosa paused. Kate could feel the housekeeper’s alarm. “Si.”

  Vera threw her napkin on the table. “This whole dinner is preposterous. Why don’t you say something, Justus?”

  He looked up. His blue eyes iced over. “Rosa is free to believe what she wishes.”

  Vera’s mouth twisted. “You sit me at a table with your bastard and allow a crazy Mexican woman to spew garbage and say nothing. You have no respect for me. You don’t care about me.”

  Vera started to rise.

  “Sit down,” Kate said.

  The older woman paused. “What did you say to me?”

  “Sit down.” Kate pushed her chair back. “This is your table. I don’t belong at it. I don’t want to be here. The only thing that brought me here was justice. And I mean the word, not the man.”

  Rosa drew back. “But you are a guest.”

  “No, as Vera so accurately pointed out, I’m the bastard child. The one who has no place at this table. Let’s stop pretending anything different.”

  “The hell you don’t,” Justus roared. He launched his spoon at the soup bowl. It clattered against the china and fell onto the tablecloth. “You are staying right there.”

  He used his good arm to point to the chair Kate had pushed forward.

  “And you—” he pointed to Vera “—are going to be polite to my daughter.”

  Vera blanched but hesitated. “I don’t march to your drum, Justus Mitchell. You may control everyone else. But not me.”

  He leveled her with his eyes. Kate watched as the woman visibly weakened under the duress of his stare. “Sit. Please.”

  Vera sank onto the upholstered chair.

  Kate held on to the back of the chair. All she wanted to do was get out of here. She wondered if Rick would come get her. She didn’t know where he was. Didn’t have a number for him. Then she recognized where her thoughts were taking her. Did she really want a knight in red Mustang to swoop in and save her?

  Hell, no.

  She could handle it herself.

  Vera spoke first. “Kate, please. I’ve forgotten my manners. Rosa has prepared a special meal. Surely we can put our feelings aside to enjoy something so generously wrought?”

  Kate nodded. What else could she do? She hadn’t eaten all day and had no way of leaving Cottonwood, save phoning Nellie. All she had to do was get through dinner. Besides, she didn’t want to hurt Rosa’s feelings.

  Rick’s grandmother pretended that Vera hadn’t insulted her and handed Kate the napkin that had fallen to the floor and lifted her wineglass to refill it.

  “No, thank you, Rosa.” Kate rose. But not to leave. Instead she headed for the elegant sideboard holding assorted crystal decanters. She reached for a tumbler and a bottle of Scotch. She’d get through dinner with the help of Islay malt.

  The first sip burned a path to her stomach. She nodded and returned to her seat. With a glint of approval in his eye, Justus lifted his own tumbler in her direction.

  The approval made her wish she’d stuck with the cabernet.

  Vera ignored him and placed her discarded napkin in her lap. She picked up the plate of corn cakes and passed them to Kate. “I’d love to hear about your salon. What is the name?”

  Kate blinked. So they were going to pretend nothing had been said. Pretend she’d not just been called a bastard. She looked at Rosa as she lifted the stained towel from the table. The housekeeper shrugged. “Oh, um, it’s called Fantabulous.”

  Vera passed her the container of tortillas. “Well, that’s an unusual name. How did you come up with it?”

  Kate took a tortilla and slathered it with verde sauce. “My partner came up with it. We didn’t want a salon that played ‘loons at daybreak.’ We made it high energy. More Red Bull than green tea, if you know what I mean.”

  Even as Kate made polite conversation, she could feel the tension in the air. It was so thick that if an imaginary finger poked it, they’d all tumble to the side from the power of the explosion. But everyone ignored it. It was the strangest meal she’d ever had. And as she spooned the last bite of flan into her mouth, she looked at the portrait of her half brother.

  If she’d been the slightest bit open to paranormal happenings, she would have sworn the boy winked at her.

  But Kate didn’t believe in divine intervention.

  And she knew Ryan hadn’t brought her to Cottonwood.

  Money had. And that was something she could believe in.

  CHAPTER NINE

  KATE ARRIVED AT PHOENIX in a truck Justus had loaned her. Their conversation had been stilted at best, but her father had called his caretaker to bring the truck around. It was a huge Ford F-250 and ran like a tank. She’d had to slide the seat all the way forward and sit on a phone book, but she’d made it without wiping out any roadside bushes or boundary fences.

  The first thing she saw as she drove up the lane was a huge lady climbing from a small car parked in front of the center. The woman’s skirt rode up higher on one hip than the other and she visibly huffed as she balanced several boxes in her arms. She even carried a stapler under her chin.

  Kate jumped from the truck, tucking the keys into the front pocket of her sweater. “Here. Let me help you with that.”

  “Oh, thank you, sugar.” Puff. Puff. “I still gotta get that bag. Would you?”

  Kate reached past the woman and scooped up a plastic bag full of office supplies. “I’m Kate, by the way.”

  “Trudy Cox,” the woman huffed as she climbed the stairs. “I’m the GED instructor.”

  “Cool,” she said as she followed the woman onto the wide porch and through the open front door. Again, the smell of cedar and pine tickled Kate’s nose. It was a fresh scent, like a new car. She took in several deep breaths.

  “Come on in here, sweet,” Trudy said as she turned to the right and disappeared into the hallway. Kate followed her, entered a brand-new classroom that she hadn’t seen the day before.

  The room had pine walls covered with maps and grammar posters. A l
arge whiteboard was mounted on one wall and the desktops shone like patent leather shoes on Easter Sunday. A potted plant draped itself over the massive desk where Trudy dumped the boxes she carried. “Whew. Those about killed me.”

  Kate set the plastic bag on one of the desk chairs. “Glad I only volunteered to bring the bag in. I haven’t worked out in over a week. I can already feel the burn.”

  Trudy snorted as she began opening the boxes. “Girl, I could sit on you and nobody would find you for a week.”

  Kate laughed. “Nobody would come looking.”

  Trudy stopped and peered over her bifocals. Her black eyes pierced Kate. Maybe the woman had worked as an interrogator for the FBI or CIA. She looked as though she could smell bullshit from three counties over. “Huh. I haven’t known you but a minute, yet somehow I didn’t take you for a gal who’d feel sorry for herself.”

  The woman smiled in order to soften her words. All Kate could think was Trudy hadn’t had dinner with Vera last night. Perhaps sitting at that table with a woman with an identity crisis and a biological father who annoyingly slurped his soup had given her license to throw herself a pity party, complete with streamers and a bad attitude.

  “I’m over myself. Thanks for the reminder,” she said, lifting the bag from the chair. “I’m assisting Rick for the next couple of weeks. Anything I can do to help you while we’re waiting on sleeping beauty?”

  “Oh, he ain’t sleeping, that’s for sure. Probably out running or picking up this and that. He’s always moving, that man,” Trudy said, lifting several books from the box, squinting at the spines and setting them in two separate stacks. “But I guess I won’t turn down any help. Would you mind alphabetizing these books on that bookshelf under the window?”

  Kate took the first stack and headed to the bookshelf as Rick stepped inside the room. Uncanny how she felt him before he spoke.

  “Morning, ladies.” His words were like slipping on a favorite robe. Kate felt herself relax. This was even stranger than feeling him before seeing him. She never felt easy with a man. She felt angry, turned-on, interested, but never like she fit with him.

  “You been out running in only that little bit of clothing? Are you crazy, boy? It’s cold out.”

  Kate turned to look. Rick’s nicely toned arms braced the door. He was wearing a sleeveless light blue workout shirt and dark blue running shorts. She could see some of his ink curving up his neck and scrolling down his arms. She wanted to know what his tats looked like. Wanted to trace them with her finger across his golden sweaty skin. The man made perspiration look sexy hot. Scratch that comfortable feeling. Replace with turned-on.

  “Not that cold. You know I can’t function without a run and a cup of coffee.” His eyes swung from Trudy to Kate. “You’re here early.”

  Kate tried to stop mentally undressing the man, but it was hard to stop imagining his flat stomach against hers, the way his thighs would nudge hers apart. She swallowed and diverted her thoughts from naughty to nice. “Thought I would make a good impression on my first day. And, like I wanted to stay any longer than I had to at the haunted mausoleum on the hill.”

  He tossed out a laugh. “So I’m guessing there were no family-fun pillow fights or board games at Cottonwood last night?”

  Kate shot him a go-to-hell look. “Not exactly. More like Jerry Springer.”

  Trudy kept pulling books from the boxes, but Kate could tell her ears were tuning in like a satellite dish.

  So she looked at the woman pretending she wasn’t soaking up the words between her and Rick. “Trudy, just so you know, I’m staying at Cottonwood with Justus and Vera Mitchell.”

  She didn’t say she was staying because she was Justus’s daughter. And no way her mouth even formed the word blackmail. She didn’t know the GED instructor, but she knew Oak Stand. The town was talking about Katie Newman showing up and ensconcing herself in the mansion outside the city limits. No way in H-E-double hockey sticks the subject hadn’t been discussed from the Dairy Barn to the hardware store. So she knew Trudy knew who she was. If she didn’t, the woman had been in a hole for the past forty-eight hours.

  “I’m Margo’s cousin on her momma’s side,” Trudy said, as if that explained everything. And it did. That connection meant she knew all about Kate, Justus and every person in between.

  “Heading to the shower. See you later.”

  Kate shifted her eyes from the overly wise ones of the GED instructor. She desperately tried not to imagine Rick standing naked beneath the stinging jets of the shower. She could just see him moving languidly as the water sheeted down his body, head tipped back as he lathered his hair.

  “Kate?” Rick’s voice interrupted.

  “Hmm?”

  “I asked if you’d had breakfast. Grandmother doesn’t work on Wednesday mornings, so…”

  “So?” Kate asked, rubbing her thumb along the creased spine of a thesaurus, still caught in the fantasy. “You asking me to—”

  “Breakfast. That is if you want cinnamon rolls,” he finished. She’d been hoping he’d say something more interesting, like scrubbing his back. Too bad. She’d rather have him than pastries. “Okay.”

  “I guess I just lost my helper, and don’t think I didn’t notice I didn’t get an invitation to eat.” Trudy said as she placed a stapler on her desk at a perfect ninety-degree angle from her tape dispenser.

  Rick grinned. “I know Ernie got up and made you homemade biscuits this morning. I saw him at the gas station.”

  The older woman actually giggled. “You right, sugar. I got that man trained.”

  Kate rose, brushed off the new jeans she’d donned that morning, and gave Trudy a salute. “Don’t worry, I eat fast. I’ll be back to help you get set up. That is, if Rick doesn’t need me for anything else.”

  She didn’t intend her words to sound seductive, but they did.

  Trudy raised her eyebrows then grinned as she plopped into her straight-backed wooden chair and started opening drawers. Rick simply vanished from the doorway.

  She followed him down the hall and out the back door. The wind had her snuggling into the fleece pullover she’d gotten on clearance for under twenty bucks. Rick should have been freezing, but he ignored the cold and jogged down the steps, hooking to the right toward a small cedar-and-stone bungalow that sat below the hill line.

  “I never noticed this cottage yesterday,” she called as she followed him. The house was a smaller version of the main building.

  “Home sweet home,” he called back over his shoulder. “Sorry I’m not waiting, but my pulse dropped and I’m cold.”

  She hopped across the stepping stones, glad she’d bought some inexpensive sneakers. Her flats would have been soaked by the cold morning dew.

  Rick unlocked the door and ushered her inside.

  A blast of warm air hit her, along with the smell of cinnamon.

  “Holy cow,” she breathed. His cottage was awesome. Modern mixed with Mission. Glass tabletops, streamlined aged wood and chrome lamps. It was Harley Davidson meets This Old House.

  Rick shrugged. “I like it.”

  “Did you do this yourself? I mean, you’re not gay are you?”

  He shot her a look. “Are you serious?”

  “Do you think I’m serious?”

  He gave her a big, bad wolf smile. “I think you want me to show you.”

  She felt heat flood her body. It had nothing to do with the air blowing from the vents above her and everything to do with the Hispanic hunk who stood arm’s length away. “I think you’re a mind reader.”

  Kate didn’t wait on him. She moved closer, allowing her fingers to brush the Dri-FIT fabric of his shirt, to feel the power of the man beneath the clothes. She wanted to feel his bare flesh even if her stomach was gurgling over the prospect of cinnamon rolls.

  But Rick didn’t give her the opportunity. His mood shifted, and he caught her hands and gave them a shake. “Go pour yourself a cup of coffee while I grab a quick shower. Cinnamon rolls a
re in the warmer.”

  He gave each of her cold hands a brush of his lips before disappearing into the dark hallway behind her.

  Well, hell. So much for scrubbing his back.

  Or maybe…

  But Kate nixed the idea. She wanted Rick, and any other time she’d do something about it, but she could see something held him back, so she resigned herself to eating.

  The kitchen was galley-style, tucked beside a small breakfast nook. With light pine cabinets, black granite counters and stainless steel, upscale appliances, it was a masculine kitchen. But it was also well used. Rick liked to cook, if the complicated tools in the sink and the fluffy rolls were any indication.

  She didn’t drink coffee, so she opened the fridge to look for a soda. No soda. Lots of fruit, soy milk and organic eggs. The man was a health freak. She shivered and grabbed a carton of organic orange juice with extra pulp.

  By the time she’d consumed almost two cinnamon rolls and a glass of orange juice, Rick appeared smelling clean and filling up the small kitchen.

  “These cinnamon rolls are, like, really good,” she managed to say around the last bite.

  “Thanks. Rosa taught me.”

  He reached past her to open the fridge. She didn’t bother moving. Better chance of him rubbing up against her. She felt primed for him. What better way to forget the knots in her life than a hot session of sex with a fine specimen of manhood? For an hour—or if she were lucky, two—she could forget and simply feel.

  He sidestepped her and grabbed a carton of soy milk.

  “They say that stuff is full of estrogen. Sure you really want to drink that?”

  He poured a glass and took a big gulp before smiling at her. “I’m not afraid to get in touch with my feminine side.”

  “I’ll let you get in touch with my feminine side if you want to,” Kate said, sliding against him like a cat.

  He grabbed her arm. “Hey, about that. You know I find you hot—”

  She froze. “I can hear a but in that sentence.”

  He set the glass on the counter. “Thing is, Kate, I feel not myself around you, and you make me want to toss out the promise I made to myself.”