She carried it into the living room and sank down on the couch, nestling into the corner and swinging her feet up. As always when she sat here, her eyes fell on the huge still life on the far wall. Ross Thurmond, a local artist, had painted it for her mother—three saddled horses, standing. Waiting patiently.
She closed her eyes briefly, missing her mom and dad. Again. Still. If it hadn’t been for her problems in Atlanta, would they still be here? She couldn’t keep believing that and find peace. Or plan for the future. She snatched the remote and turned the TV on, finding an old sitcom but leaving the volume down almost all the way. She shifted a little, finding the perfect spot, completely comfortable. And hungry. She lifted her fork.
And the doorbell rang.
Startled, she dropped the plate, watching it turn upside down on the upholstery.
The doorbell rang again. Ignoring the mess, she crossed the floor and peeked out through the glass inset. Aaron stood there, hands in his pockets, face unreadable.
She jerked the door open.
“Aaron! Come in!”
He nodded, unsmiling, and stepped in.
Luz peered out around the porch, although obviously he hadn’t brought the girl. But she asked anyway. “Chloe?”
“I left her with Mrs. Baker. Her teacher’s mother babysits sometimes.”
“Yes, of course. Mrs. Baker’s a wonderful woman. And her daughter’s a very good teacher. I’ve met her several times.”
And envied her position, just a little. She pushed the door shut. “I’m surprised you’re here. Something to drink?”
“No—or maybe water, if you don’t mind.”
“Sure.” When she came back with the water, she found him cleaning the last of the broccoli and cheese sauce from the couch with a handkerchief.
“Thanks. I spilled it when the bell rang,” she explained, handing him the water and taking the handkerchief.
“Probably startled you. You weren’t expecting anyone?” He cast a glance at her as he settled into the unspotted corner of the couch.
She smiled slightly. He was handy at cleaning a mess, but obviously unwilling to become part of one. She put her own iced tea on a corner of the table and sat down on the armchair so that she could sort of watch him. Sort of. She did not need to suddenly be acutely aware of how attractive his dimples were, or how strong—and annoying—the urge to turn the chair to face him fully had become.
So she focused on thinking back over his question. She never expected anyone at this time of night, not with her mother gone. But Esmeralda clearly didn’t mind suggesting otherwise.
“You did startle me, actually,” she said, after a moment. “I don’t have visitors this late very often.”
“Well, I thought maybe—”
Esmeralda. The imaginary boyfriend. She discarded the idea of pretending there was someone. She could be honest without trying to snatch another woman’s man, for heaven’s sake!
“There’s no boyfriend, Aaron. What can I do for you?”
He lifted an eyebrow, and surprise touched his face. “Why would Esme—”
She raised her own eyebrow. Not even Aaron Estes could be that naive, could he?
Realization colored his expression, and he slumped a little. “Didn’t see that coming!” Defensively, he said, “I mean, she’s a counselor. She gives advice. Why—” He stopped, brushed a hand through his hair, and downed half his bottle of water. Then he took a visible breath.
“Never mind Esme. I—I came to apologize. And to explain—or try to.”
The explanation interested her more than any apology. She leaned forward a little. “Okay.”
“I behaved like an ass earlier today,” he said, twisting a ring on his finger. Not a marriage ring, she didn’t think—more a college ring. That surprised her. A grieving widow would wear a wedding ring, wouldn’t he?
He couldn’t seem to tear his attention away from his ring, or find a starting place. Finally, he looked up, unmasked pain twisting his features. “Chloe saw her mom die,” he said. “She could have died herself. A classmate of hers did.”
Luz swallowed, and focused on hiding her shock, the grief the death of a child always brought.
He stood up, thrusting his hands in his pockets and pacing across the narrow room. “I usually took Chloe to school, when I wasn’t off on business. Stella was a cop. She usually pulled the day shift so she left around the time Chloe did. Chloe loved it when her mom had time to take her, especially in uniform. When her mom took her in street clothes, Chloe usually argued about it. She wanted the uniform.”
“I was a first grade teacher,” Luz volunteered. “There was a little boy—Tony—whose dad was a cop. It’s a big deal to the kids. I can see how Chloe would like her mom to take her.”
“Maybe you heard,” he said, and came back to the couch, sitting down on the broccoli stain next to her. “About the Alabaster shooting.”
She ran names through her mind. There were too many damn shootings, too much gruesome, senseless gore. But yeah, she remembered. Even though her own career had ended four years ago, nothing touched her more than bad news about innocent students.
She laid a hand on his arm. “God, yes,” she murmured. “A teacher almost died. A child did, and another was injured.” She paused, and swallowed as he had. “And an off-duty police officer—Chloe’s mom?”
He nodded and covered her hand with his.
“A gunman opened fire just as she arrived. She didn’t even have her weapon with her—usually she would, but that morning she told Chloe she’d go ‘just as Mom.’ She laughed and said moms didn’t need guns, they were tough anyway.”
Which explains the princess part. “I remember the news coverage. They said the police officer—Stella—stepped in front of another child. She saved lives. The police were there before anyone else got hit.”
“Stella, the hero.” His tone grated, and the hand covering hers tightened involuntarily. “The child she saved was Chloe.”
He freed his hand and stood up, agitated. She stood too, wondering how to help him. How anyone could help him.
“I understand that I can’t protect Chloe from everything,” he gritted. “Bike falls, being thrown from a pony.” Tears glistened in green eyes gone hard. “Car wrecks. Vicious gossip. Shooters in a peaceful, small-town school. I get it. But sometimes—” He turned away. “Sometimes it’s more than I can deal with. Because I already came so damn close!”
She stepped up to him, wrapped her arms around his chest from behind, and hugged him, leaning her face into his back, tears streaming down her own face.
“There’s nothing I can say,” she whispered. “I wish there was, but—”
Somehow he turned in her viselike grip, and embraced her, resting his chin on the top of her head. “You listened,” he said. “I needed you to understand.”
Seconds ticked past as they clung together. Abruptly, though, Luz stiffened and pulled away, the unwelcome reminder of Esmeralda thrusting itself between them. She’d been married to another woman’s man, and even if this was just honest empathy—no.
“I don’t know anything about horses,” he said after an awkward pause. “Well, ponies. So I’ll trust you with what Chloe can do.” A faint, grim smile came and went. “I’ll try anyway,” he amended.
“Fair enough,” Luz agreed, drawing a deep breath. “So no more temper tantrums? If we disagree, you ask me about it privately.”
“Makes sense. I guess.” He fished in his pocket and pulled out a neatly folded handkerchief. She thought of the broccoli and wondered how many handkerchiefs he carried. And where. “Your face has polka dots.”
“Jerk,” she muttered, snatching the cloth away and drying her cheeks. Her skin prickled as she scrubbed away the last traces she’d cried. Except, of course, for the round, purplish spots that sprouted when she did cry. Her mother had always teased her about them, saying they were as unique as her fingerprints were. The thought of fingerprints almost brought new tears. She straight
ened and moved away, suddenly wanting Aaron Estes gone. Too much sadness swam around him, and she had enough of her own.
He sensed the change, apparently, and tried to lighten it. “Didn’t mean to offend…I was trying to be comforting.”
“By reminding me I look like a Picasso clown?”
He shrugged. “Not a clown. Just…different.” He smiled. “Chloe turns bright red when she gets upset. You know you’re in trouble if her lips tremble and her fists clench all at the same time.”
“You’re a good dad,” Luz said, and meant it—Overprotective, yes—But clearly his daughter would never feel abandoned or unloved. In her short teaching career, she’d seen kids with so much less.
“Thanks.” He smiled, the heaviness suddenly gone. “Bet I’ll get better, too—in a decade or two when I can lighten up again.”
“Well, I’ll do what I can to help.” Luz grinned, too. “Like not suggesting a horse for another month or so.”
“A—” He bit off the retort and shook his head at her. “Goodnight, Luz!”
“Goodnight.”
He started past her toward the door, stopping beside her. “Thanks for letting me talk to you. I really needed to. And Luz?”
“Yes?”
“If you Google the shooting, don’t believe everything you find.” She gaped at him, trying to be indignant. He leaned forward and kissed her cheek. “See you,” he murmured, and went out into the darkness.
For a moment, Luz just stood, feeling the faint warmth of his kiss on her skin. How long since a man had offered even friendship?
“Snap out of it,” she ordered herself. “The last thing you want is a man in your life. Brian cured you, remember?” She latched the screen door and went to turn her laptop on.
For several minutes she toyed with doing just what he’d suggested. Human nature demanded information, even tawdry information. She wouldn’t be human if she didn’t want to know more about Aaron. More about the woman he’d loved.
But information was a thin line from gossip. She’d lost her career to gossip. And she’d lost the daughter she’d had once upon a time, when, unlike Chloe, she herself had believed in fairy tales, princesses, and happily ever after.
Resolutely, she shut the computer down.
• • •
“Ann, you don’t think it’s too soon?” Luz peered dubiously at the pit bull. The scars that marked the dog’s brown-and-white coat were vivid, and she still seemed on the verge of starvation. Plus, Luz thought of the kitten with no name, the guinea fowls, and her newest hard luck case, a crow with an injured wing. The damage a mean dog could do…
She took a deep breath. She’d heard stories from legions of pit bull owners. Not all members of the breed lived chained in yards, prized only if they were vicious and quick to kill.
The dog’s tail thudded on the porch. The short white muzzle nudged her hand gently. Luz sighed and patted the dog’s head.
“See? She loves you already!” Ann proclaimed cheerfully.
“I’d really rather find a home for her—a good home—somewhere else.”
“Post her online. But I doubt you’ll find takers. Luz, if you really can’t keep her—”
Ann’s face was strained, and Luz knew she’d put the dog down if she had to.
“You think she’ll be all right—with animals, and the occasional person?” She thought of Chloe suddenly. “With children, specifically?”
“We didn’t have problems at the clinic—but you know how hurt and how weak she was.”
“Yeah.” Luz sighed. “I suppose she wasn’t chipped?”
“No. Wish she had been—bet her owner knew a lot about the dogfights that have been leaving carcasses all over. We don’t even have pit bulls in Rose Creek, except for Ms. Thompson’s mix, and suddenly we’ve seen four of ’em torn to bits.”
“I guess it’s a little late to have second thoughts,” Luz admitted. “And I suppose I have a dog for the first time in years. I just worry about all those other animals—”
“Which are going to get you in trouble someday.” Ann sighed. She held out a bottle of pills. “She’s been de-wormed, has her shots; just give her these vitamins to help her pick up.”
Luz took the container. “And the bill?”
“She wasn’t your dog until just now. Don’t think you should pay.” Ann bent over and patted the dog, waving off any argument. “I’ve been calling her Duckie, just so you know.”
“Why would you do that?”
Ann straightened, smiled. “She just looks like a Duckie, don’t you think? Seriously, Luz, we’re out here in the boondocks, but someday even Rose Creek will start regulating animals. I know how you feel—but you can’t help ’em all. And you’re going to find more and more just mysteriously turn up along your fence line. It’s like babies. No one’s going to just leave a baby in the middle of nowhere, right? So they find a nice house and leave it on the porch. You’re getting a reputation.”
“You’re exaggerating. And you watch too many novelas.”
Ann laughed. “Ain’t that the truth! But it’s what happens when your mother-in-law moves in with you and is addicted to them.”
“Bet Ramiro would get you your own TV if you asked,” Luz pointed out. “And I get the feeling you kind of like the novelas for the same reason a lot of women do.”
“Yeah. Forget the fact that they’ve helped me improve my Spanish, if not my mind. All those bare-chested guys…” She heaved an exaggerated sigh. “I hear novelas are actually overtaking American soap operas in some places.” She picked up the satchel she carried everywhere and slung it over her shoulder. “Speaking of bare-chested men,” she added. “What’s up with that green-eyed god everyone’s raving about?”
“Aaron? Nothing’s up with him, he’s never been bare-chested in his life—well, in his life according to me—and who’s everyone?”
“Disappointing on the bare chest. You’re just not a fast worker. And since almost all of us in this God-forsaken place are married, everyone actually means just Esmeralda, who apparently has more than a professional relationship with him—or wants to.”
“Bye, Ann!”
The vet clattered down the stairs, waving vaguely. “Bye, Luz. Get busy.”
“Busy doing what?”
Her friend half turned her head. “Deciding what to do about critters. Saving Aaron from Esme—I don’t know. Just—”
“I am not calling this poor dog something stupid like Duckie, either!” Luz shouted after her, as the vet swung up into her pickup. Another wave out the open window was her only answer.
“And I’m not keeping Aaron away from Esme, or anyone else,” she muttered. The pit bull thumped her tail and leaned against her legs, looking solemnly up at her. Gentle and worn as she was, the dog still looked sturdy enough and toothy enough to tear someone apart if she chose to.
“Wonder if you’ll freak him out?” She thought of Aaron and smiled in spite of herself. Esme or no Esme, having him around now and then was…she couldn’t find the right word, so she settled on a word she’d always told her first graders to avoid. Nice. Having Aaron around was nice.
Chapter Five
Aaron sat hunched over in the chair, twining and untwining his fingers. He could pull out his phone and catch up on the market. He’d traveled before Stella’s death. An investor and advisor with a profitable company, he had benefits and a future. He wasn’t hurting for money, either. He could provide for Chloe for years to come, especially here in Nowheresville.
He caught himself up short, knowing he had no reason to bash Rose Creek. Folks here were friendly and, mostly, discreet. If they knew his circumstances, no one talked about them. Except Esmeralda, and with her it was professional, at least to him. He’d picked up on her interest, of course, when she’d suggested they should get together to talk about Chloe, and then tried to turn it into a date. An overnight date, he suspected, remembering how her foot kept finding his under the table. He frowned. Then there was the imaginary b
oyfriend Esme had conjured up for Luz. What kind of counselor invented men for their female rivals? Once again he considered finding someone else, outside Rose Creek. He’d go as far as he had to for Chloe. And to escape Esmeralda? Her persistence made him nervous. He closed his eyes. Sometimes he didn’t recognize himself.
A quick glance at his watch showed Chloe should be popping out of the counselor’s office any minute. Last time they’d come, Chloe had emerged wiping tears from her cheeks with her sleeve. He’d bounded to his feet, but a frown and shake of that aristocratic head had stopped him in his tracks.
Esmeralda had said vaguely that Chloe needed her own time and space and he should let her reach out when she was ready. He’d had doubts then about bringing her back, and wondered if he should move to a bigger city. One with more counseling services. Grief centers. Get over your hero-wife centers. One appointment later, his thoughts were the same.
Christ, does it never end?
He sprang to his feet, agitated, just as Chloe came out. No tears, today, though, just a beaming smile as she ran over and hugged him. Take that, Counselor.
Esmeralda smiled. “As you can see, she’s doing great. We had a wonderful time, didn’t we?”
Pressed close to him, he felt—or sensed—Chloe’s momentary hesitation, her apparent indecision. Then, came the green eyes and the smile. “Sure. Esme let me play with her horse collection.”
“Esme?” Aaron looked down at Chloe, who fidgeted and didn’t meet his eyes.
“Look, Aaron, I’m sorry if you disapprove.” Esmeralda came across the room and laid a hand on his arm. “But I asked her to use my first name.” She winked at Chloe. “We’re besties, right?”
Chloe hesitated, then nodded slightly. “Sure.” She looked up at him. “She can be my friend, right?”
Part of him wanted to growl “no!” Besties? With a six-year-old? But Esmeralda Salinas was the only counselor in Chloe’s life right now. Until he could figure out his next move…
Wildflower Redemption Page 4