Cody had laughed and answered that she owned two horses herself, so that problem was solved. And then she’d winked, “If your life’s been a lie, maybe you should try a little truth.”
Whether or not the line had been rehearsed, Esmeralda couldn’t forget it. And when she decided for sure to leave Rose Creek, she headed northwest without a moment of indecision.
Esmeralda saw her destination ahead on the right and slowed almost subconsciously. So here she was, about to drop in on the aunt she hardly knew. Tina Cervantes, her mother’s sister, had visited three or four times over twenty-odd years. Once she’d gone to college, Esmeralda hadn’t seen her aunt again. She could count on both hands the times they’d spoken on the phone, too. Tina had called to wish her a happy birthday about four months ago, not really near her birthday. Esmeralda didn’t tell her she was two months late; she just relished the brief contact with the woman she always thought would have been a better mother than her own had been.
And now here she was, jobless and homeless, hoping to find the roots she’d struggled to cut when she’d left home back in Laredo, fleeing from cold parents and an abusive brother, heading up the I-35 corridor until she settled in Rose Creek. Gregarious and independent, Tina always insisted that Esmeralda should visit. Once, long ago, she’d offered her house, “any time, just come on over.” Tina was living in Chicago then, with a man she’d never mentioned before, and Esmeralda would never have considered going. Besides, she’d been perfectly happy in Rose Creek with its proximity to San Antonio, and its easy driving distance to Laredo for those infrequent visits to her parents.
She turned carefully onto the side street running along the weathered-wood look exterior of Tía’s. The neon sign outside the club was unlit, but pictured a smiling woman surrounded by an explosion of stars.
Somehow the sign sent confidence surging through her. If Tina billed herself as the town’s “aunt,” or tía, then surely she’d be delighted to have her only real niece turn up out of the blue. Right?
Apparently the business catered to an evening crowd; only two cars were in the parking lot and their proximity to the side door suggested employees, not clients. Esmeralda parked carefully, taking up a lot of space, but being sure delivery trucks or anyone cutting through the large parking lot could maneuver around the trailer. She disliked leaving the mare unattended, but couldn’t see driving out to the farm where she’d found a stall for rent until she’d spoken to her aunt.
When she opened the side window, Domatrix immediately stuck her velvety nose in the opening and nickered plaintively.
“Five minutes,” Esme promised. “I’ll get you out of here before you know it!” Gently pushing the mare’s nose back in, she fastened the panel, drew a deep breath, and headed off to find her aunt.
The front door was locked. She should have just tried the back. Esme glanced around. Across the street, a restaurant had customers going in and coming out. Probably the social hub of the town, she decided. The three—three!—bars in Truth undoubtedly catered to the cowboy and tourist crowd that wouldn’t be in town until nightfall. Next to the restaurant, a neat, cheeky little salon sported a sign claiming to offer “Truth In Beauty.” She smiled and retraced her steps, seeing a large pickup, dark and gleaming, slide into a nearby space.
The back door opened, letting her into a brightly lit food-preparation area. She could smell oregano-spiced menudo simmering on a stove and hear the sound of someone humming from somewhere unseen.
“Hello? Tina? Anyone home?” Esmeralda called, reluctant to go any deeper into this unknown place and startle someone, or set off an alarm. She moved a step or two farther along the island, and stopped short, her attention snared by the mirrored back of the door separating—she supposed—the club area from the kitchen. She brushed at the strands of hair that had come loose during the drive—light auburn hair made darker by the dampness from heat and drive-induced stress. Her breath caught suddenly in her throat as a figure loomed behind her, light glinting off almost-black hair, brown eyes spearing her own in the mirror—a formidable, unexpected stranger.
But surely this person wouldn’t have just walked in if he didn’t have that right. Apprehension dissipated with the logic, and she turned and held out a hand, hoping it wasn’t as damp as her hair.
“Hello. I’m Esmeralda Salinas, Tina’s niece.” His brows went up slightly, as if her introduction surprised him. Did he know her aunt, then? He didn’t look like a delivery man, in his Western shirt, creased pants, and polished boots.
Her parents had called Tina some awful names, in Spanish and English. The kindest thing Esme could remember hearing from her mother was that Tina “liked men.” Could this man be her partner? The names, and the possibility of a man or men in her aunt’s life, didn’t bother her. Lord knew she’d been pegged, usually by other women, as everything from a tramp to a whore. None of the labels were true, but she never disclaimed them—gossips wouldn’t change their minds and she didn’t care. But her aunt might not appreciate her deciding to just drop by and say hello, taking her up on that long-standing invitation to come any time.
Esme ignored the misgivings. If her aunt didn’t have room or time for her, she’d hang around a day or two and move on. She had a degree, a few dollars in the bank, and absolute confidence in her own abilities.
The man still hadn’t answered. She arched her own brow. “And you are?” she prompted, with a tinge of sarcasm.
His head moved back slightly, almost as if he weren’t used to being challenged. Then he smiled and took her hand. “Rafael Benton.”
Her hand tingled under the firm pressure of his, but she ignored it. She’d come to Truth to find herself again, not a man. She’d committed a professional blunder back in Rose Creek, toying with a six-year-old’s emotions because she wanted the little girl’s father. One could argue that she hadn’t done any real harm, but she expected more from herself. Always.
He released her hand and took a step back, but she could swear he was looking at her left hand.
Did he wonder if she was married? Was he thinking about striking up a conversation? Finding a way to ask her out? He’d better not be involved with her aunt, then. She’d been burned more than once thinking a man was free. Or giving herself free rein to pursue men who weren’t available, figuring it didn’t matter to her if their own women couldn’t keep them from straying. Never again, she vowed.
He didn’t toss her compliments or suggestive lines, though, just peered past her at the door. “You caught me by surprise. Tía never mentioned having a niece.” He seemed to think that would hurt her feelings, judging from momentary awkwardness in his quick glance her way. “Not that we’ve spoken often.”
The humming stopped and Esmeralda heard something fall, followed by a brief curse in Spanish. Then a woman emerged, her apron spattered, but her thin face changing from annoyed to pleased as she greeted Rafael.
“Rafa! How are you?” Then dark eyes turned her way and Esmeralda sensed immediate suspicion.
“Yes? May I help you?” she demanded, wiping her hands on the sides of her apron.
“I’m Esmeralda—Esme Salinas. Tina’s niece.”
“Her niece—oh.” At least this woman, who clearly worked for her aunt, didn’t seem surprised that Tina had a niece. Startled, maybe, but not surprised. She walked over to offer her hand to Esmeralda, giving her a polite nod. “I’m Angelica Morales, but your aunt calls me Angel.” A slight smile lightened her expression. “Tía says a place like this in a town like Truth needs every angel it can get.”
“She isn’t wrong about that,” Rafael Benton muttered and both women shot him a glance. He shrugged and added, “You should know, the place I live is called Witches Haven by the locals.”
“Rafa,” Angel scolded, her face troubled. “Why would you even repeat such gossip? Hasn’t there been enough trouble in this town without helping it along?”
His lips tightened and his chin tilted, making him look angry and a little intimidatin
g. “The trouble isn’t with a house on a hill, Angel. We both know that witches had nothing to do with this town’s personal slide into hell.”
The bitterness and darkness of his words bothered Esmeralda more than they should. “Well, it was nice to meet both of you,” she said robotically. “I’ll come see Tina later. Do you think she will be in later, Ms. Morales?”
“Tía comes in every day. Mostly.” She glanced at a decorative clock on the wall. “About an hour, I imagine. She always comes in to check before we open at four. You can wait—”
“No, thank you. I have a horse with me, and I need to get her unloaded. I’ll drop by in a while.” She nodded briefly and left.
She had her hand on the doorknob when she heard Rafael’s voice, low and fierce, as he whispered to Angel, “I’ll kill her.
Chapter Two
Twenty-five minutes more of twisting Hill Country roads and fingers knotted around a steering wheel brought Esmeralda to a small piece of land with a modest, well-kept home and a miniscule shed encircled by an equally tiny corral.
“It’s perfectly safe, ma’am,” the landowner assured her, his weathered face creased into lines of weariness. He hitched up his overalls.
“I thought you had a closed stall, Mr. Peterson,” Esmeralda protested, hating the feeling that turning him down would hurt him financially, but not willing to leave her mare here in the middle of nowhere exposed to any bad weather that might blow in. She couldn’t see any hazards in the corral, and the fence looked sound, but . . .
“Lillie Mae had her horse here after she fell,” he added. “Six months. Wintered here. I closed up two sides of the shed and he was just fine.”
“Yes,” she said gently. “I spoke to Ms. Wilson, remember? You sent me her name as a reference?”
He looked puzzled. “Lillie Mae complained about me?”
“No. She told me you’d been wonderful, taking care of her horse for free after she broke her hip. “But—” She shrugged and waved a hand at the small area. “My mare just wouldn’t have enough room or shelter here.”
“Well, then, good luck to you, Miss Salinas.” He scratched his chin and looked thoughtfully at the trailer. “Might find a place over at the Double Block Ranch. Not a lot of places would board a horse around here. Unless—” The sun-browned face brightened. “If you have kin—”
“I do,” she acknowledged. “But my aunt Tina wouldn’t have a place for a horse, I don’t think.”
His brow knotted. “Tina? Small town, and we know pretty much everyone here, but I don’t remember . . . ”
“Most everyone calls her Tía, I think.”
His puzzlement disappeared. “Oh, that’d be Tía Cervantes. Nice lady. But we never heard about you.” He shrugged a little. “Well, if you want the truth be told, she’s kind of standoffish to some of us. But I’m sure she’s a nice lady anyhow.”
He turned at the sound of an old sedan laboring its way along the drive, and his whole face lit up. “Connie’s come home,” he explained. “My wife works down at the Longhorn Bait and Wait store over at the lake.”
Connie came toward them, her frame thin like her husband’s, her steps a little slow, but a huge smile of welcome on her face. “Hi, there,” she greeted, walking right up to Esme, pecking her cheek, and hugging her. “Y’all’d be the lady bringing the horse to stay. Emerald—” She stopped herself. “No, that’s not right. It’s Spanish, right? For the same thing?”
Esmeralda smiled, liking this couple who were already more accepting of her than many folks in Rose Creek had ever been. “Don’t worry. It means the same thing. If you’d like, you can call me Esme.”
“So, are you about to take your horse out?” Connie asked hopefully. “I love horses, but can’t ride anymore. Even if we could afford to, I couldn’t. Hurt my back last year, and I’m not real well.”
“Ma, Esme don’t want to hear all our troubles. She’s changed her mind—wanted a little better place for her horse.”
Connie’s face fell, but she gave Esme a brave smile. “Sorry to hear that dear, but of course you want the best for your horse.”
Esmeralda looked around slowly. The place wasn’t luxurious, but seemed safe. Besides, if for some reason she didn’t stay here . . . she breathed a little prayer under her breath that this wouldn’t be a mistake. “Actually, Mr. Peterson—”
“Irving, ma’am. Call me Irving. We don’t stand on formality.”
“Irving, if you don’t mind, I think I’ll leave her until I get settled. You did hold the place for me.”
Irving’s face broke into a wide smile. “Well, you won’t regret it. If you move her later, that’s fine. And if you want her to stay, I could fix up the shed. Build up the walls so she’d be nice and warm.”
“Let’s wait on that, though,” Esmeralda encouraged. “I need to see what my long-term plans are. I’ll let her out now, if you don’t mind.”
“Can’t wait to see her!” Connie walked over to a spot by the small corral and waited, her face full of expectation.
Esmeralda drew the pin on the trailer and let the ramp down, then eased in beside the mare and backed her out, hearing the gasps of admiration from the Petersons.
“She’s beautiful! Never seen a prettier Appaloosa,” Connie declared, clasping her hands together almost in applause.
Esme smiled. This must be how parents felt when their babies were complimented. Domatrix did attract attention with her stocky conformation, glossy blood bay coat, and rump-covering blanket of white, with its explosion of bay and black spots.
After unclipping the mare’s lead and rubbing her ears, she watched as Domatrix inspected her new surroundings, then returned to head butt her affectionately. Connie came over, her hand held out.
“Okay if I make friends with her?” she asked, and the mare turned around and head butted her, too, then snuffed at the stranger’s cheek.
“Looks like she’s fine with it.” Esmeralda grinned.
“What’s her name?”
Right. Her name. There were times she wished she’d chosen a tamer name, that Toby, her fiancé, hadn’t goaded her to choose the name she’d given her. “Domatrix.”
The couple’s face didn’t change. “What a pretty name,” Connie crooned. “I bet you call her Trixie for short, right?”
“Ummm . . . I usually use her whole name, but I don’t mind if you call her that,” Esme offered. She looked around. “I’ll unload the food and get her watered. Then I need to go into town. I’ll be out first thing in the morning.”
The Petersons nodded absently, both busy fussing over her mare, who seemed to like the couple far more than she did most strangers.
A few minutes later, Esmeralda pulled open the door of the truck, wishing it were the Corvette she’d sold before packing up and leaving Rose Creek. At least she could leave the trailer for the moment and the sun was still high in the summer sky. Surely she’d have an easier trip back.
She hoisted a leg to swing up when she suddenly remembered the words Rafael Benton had hissed at Angela. “I’ll kill her.” Why the words returned so abruptly she didn’t know, but she shivered slightly. Maybe she’d misheard him. And “her” could be anyone, couldn’t it?
“Mr.—Irving, do you and Connie know someone named Rafael Benton?” she asked curiously.
“Hmph! Can’t say I know him, but I know about him,” Irving answered, face full of displeasure. “One of those rich city bigwigs come here to ruin the town.”
“Irving Peterson, shame on you! Judging a man on nothing but rumors and gossip,” Connie said.
“Well, he lives at Witches Haven,” Irving snorted. “Can’t be a godly man alive who would live there.”
“Witches Haven?”
“Now don’t you pay no mind to that,” Connie ordered. “Just a name someone gave this house on a hill, cause it’s built so secretive and so dark.”
“Looks like the devil’s place,” Irving put in.
“Sounds weird,” Esmeralda noted, climbin
g in and fastening her seatbelt.
“Surprised you didn’t see it,” Irving continued. “You drove right by it about a mile from here. It’ll be on your left on the hill as you go around Death’s Curve.”
“Colorful,” she muttered, then nodded at the Petersons and backed out.
She’d left Rose Creek after a kidnapping and fire had ended a dog-fighting ring—something she would never have expected to find in such a small town.
Yet here she was in Truth, hearing a muttered death threat from a man who lived in a place called Witches Haven. On Death Curve. Yeah, right. The irony amused her most of the way back to Truth, and by the time she remembered to be on the lookout for the sinister-sounding place, she’d driven right by. She shook her head and turned the radio up a little louder, blocking out everything except the music that always sustained her.
• • •
I’m crazy. Rafael Benton slouched in a plush chair in Tía’s private upstairs office, and methodically closed and opened his fingers, a habit he’d had since he’d run wild on the streets of Laredo, a child without a home or hope. Sometimes he’d used those fists, often to his own disadvantage. Small and undernourished as a child, he knew he was a lot more intimidating now than he’d been then. He didn’t mind; there was protection in strength, real or perceived.
But he’d been stupid, telling Angela that he’d kill Tía. He didn’t mean it; he would never hurt a woman. Probably not anyone else, either; his parents had brought him up to be persistent, but not ruthless. Protective, but not violent. He smiled, seeing images of his adoptive mother and father in his mind. Good people, enormously successful. A little stubborn and set in their ways. Incredibly loved.
And he’d let them down. Irritated, he shoved himself from the chair and paced across the small, polished wood floor, his stomach churning. From up here, he could still see her life-size photo on the far wall of the club, a single candle burning there always. Cody Benton. The baby sister he’d adored. The woman he’d let die. Bile rose in his throat, and he swallowed hard. He’d had help letting her destroy herself. Tía had been chief among all those “friends,” with their endless demands, pleasures, and false smiles. For every move he’d made to increase the security around his sister, Tía had managed to help Cody circumvent it.
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