She backed out faster than she should and hit the asphalt with every intention of going home, changing, and coming back. She didn’t know when she changed her mind, but she knew when she passed Cattle Guard Road that she was going into town. And talking to an eighty-year-old woman about Rafael’s proposition. Crazy. She couldn’t think of another description for what she was about to do. The fact that she laughed out loud in the empty cab of her own truck didn’t worry her nearly as much as it should have.
Chapter Six
There was a longhorn steer wearing a saddle, tied to the hitching post outside the Silver Boot and Booty. There was a golf cart parked next to the longhorn. And the few people walking along the sidewalks in front of the buildings weren’t even glancing at them. Esme shook her head. Rose Creek had been as small—maybe marginally smaller—than Truth. There had been eccentrics there, too, but nobody rode longhorns and parked golf carts outside saloons. Either she’d fallen into a rabbit hole, the whole town was crazy or—hope flared—someone was shooting a music video. She’d seen lots of weird stuff in country music videos. In fact, hadn’t Cody been photographed somewhere on a longhorn that looked a lot like this one?
Holding on to that fragile hope, Esme grasped the rail running alongside the steep, enclosed stairs and descended into the Silver Boot and Booty, Truth’s newest bar. The rock exterior and deep stairwell were at odds with the garish neon sign, but the interior was as bright and gaudy as the neon. Light gleamed on a polished hardwood floor. The bar took up most of the front of the establishment—high, polished wood that reflected almost as much light as the floor. The tables scattered around were along the sides and towards the back, leaving most of the inside space for dancing. Not as cluttered as her aunt’s place, or as dark.
“Hey, there!” a friendly voice called from behind the bar. A cheerful woman with steel gray hair nodded at her. “We’re really not open, but if I can help you with something . . . ”
“You’re not open?” Esme questioned, waving her hand at a table near the front, but not the one nearest the bar. A man in western garb sat there, a glass of something in front of him, and a half-finished bottle of beer beside him, near a high-crowned cowboy hat.
Before the woman at the bar could answer, an elderly woman came out of the hall beneath the large sign pointing to the restrooms. Western shirt and jeans, boots with ornate embroidery. Hair the color of mountain snow, framing a face that showed age, but was still striking.
Esmeralda had never seen the woman, but she knew. “Lillie Mae. Hi,” she said in greeting. “I’m . . . ”
“Tina’s niece, Esmeralda.” The lady nodded with assurance. Of course you are.” She closed the distance and held her hand out. Fringe dangled down the sleeves of her long-sleeved shirt and tickled Esme’s hand as her own was pumped energetically. She must have flinched away from the spidery-tickling sensation, because Lillie Mae laughed and let her go.
“My Sunday duds are a mite annoying,” she said. “And don’t tell me what day it is, ’cause I know.” She leaned her head forwards and lowered her voice. “I just ain’t washed my workday clothes yet.” She winked and grinned. “Asides which, tourists would rather see the Sunday me.” She waved a hand at the table. “Join me for a bit?”
“But . . . it’s not open . . . ”
Lillie Mae snorted. “It’s open to me and my guests. Kind of like my office, this place. Come on, sit with me.”
“Sure.” Isn’t that the plan? As the women reached the table, the man stood, removing his hat and holding out a hand.
“Hondo, ma’am. You’d be Tina Cervantes’s little girl?”
“Uh . . . her niece,” Esme corrected. “I’m sorry . . . Hondo? Didn’t I drive through Hondo on the way here?”
“Yes ma’am. I’m named after the town, or maybe just the river that runs through it. Didn’t ever ask.” He grinned affably. “Figured one of the reasons I used to get chosen a lot to play extras in cowboy movies was the name.”
“Hondo, would you go check on Babe? Can’t be too careful these days. Someone might just try to lift him, even though everyone in the Hill Country would recognize that worthless old critter on the spot. Almost as famous at the UT longhorn, Babe is.”
He nodded at both of them, then replaced the hat. “Nice to meet you, Miss Esme. Lillie Mae, I think I’ll hitch ol’ Babe on the cart and run by the feed store. He gets a kick out of it ’n’ so do I.”
Lillie Mae didn’t really reply, just watched as he wandered away. “Good man, Hondo,” she said eventually. “Just wish he got it—this boat’s sailed. Buried four husbands and there ain’t gonna be a fifth, but he keeps tryin’. Sit down, girl. I bend a little slow these days.”
Esme sat.
“So, spill it. What brought you here?”
“Didn’t you . . . isn’t it . . . part of Rafael Benton’s plan? Didn’t he send you here to meet me?”
“Now, see, a few years ago, if I’d seen Rafael, I wouldn’t have been talkin’ about any ships sailin’ ’less he was right there on it.” Lillie Mae chortled, and Esme smiled a little in spite of herself. This woman was something else, for sure. But she didn’t know what, or why Rafael Benton—the devil, according to Andy—had sent her here after he propositioned her. Then the mirth left Lillie Mae’s face and she lifted her beer bottle, finished it in a gulp, and pointed it at Esme. “Nobody sends me here. I come sit a spell here every day. Sort of my office, you could say. Now—what you do for a livin’, girl?”
Lillie Mae’s question caught her off guard, and for a moment, she just stared in surprise.
“Come on, girl, that ain’t one of the hard questions.” The older woman giggled, and Esme’s anger started building. This was “dear” Lillie Mae? “Sweet” Lillie Mae? She drew herself up and breathed deeply.
Before she could answer, though, Lillie Mae did. “You’re one of them counselor workers. For a school.”
“I am a counselor,” Esme said coolly. “I have a certificate and might open a clinic, or I might go back to work at a school.”
“So you’re a counselor? You give advice?” Lillie Mae repeated.
“Yes.”
“Then why the hell are you here talkin’ to an old lady you don’t know? Shame on you, girl. You gotta make your own mind up about this job Rafael’s offering.”
Derision crept into Esme’s voice. “Job? What do you suppose the qualifications for a job as a ‘temporary wife’ are?”
Lillie Mae leaned back a little in her chair and narrowed her eyes, then straightened again. “Hey, Freddie!” she called at the woman behind the bar. “Bring me a water and . . . what would you like, Esmeralda?”
Esmeralda hesitated. She seldom drank so early in the day and she really did want time to ride. But a tiny part of her didn’t want to give Lillie Mae reason to think she didn’t make her own rules. “Got screwdrivers?” she called past Lillie Mae, not letting the older woman order it for her, and got an affirmative nod from the woman behind the bar.
Freddie hustled over with their drinks and Esme smiled at her energy. “Bet you can hold your own when the place is open.”
Freddie laughed. “Well, I don’t usually tend the bar, just haul drinks. But when I’m alone . . . old habits die hard, I guess. I’ve always worked as a waitress of one kind or other.”
Freddie left them and went back to dusting and arranging barware and bottles, and Esme downed a large portion of the drink and turned her attention to Lillie Mae again. “So, you were telling me I should make up my mind about Rafael’s ‘job?’ What are the chances he’ll walk in any minute, Lillie Mae?”
The older woman just stared at her for a moment, then snorted, a sound between insult and laughter. “You got some woman cajones,” she noted. “No one in town would’ve asked me that if they’d only known me a couple minutes.” She reached over and patted Esme’s hand, her fringe tickling again. “And that’s fine, if you’re showin’ ’em for the right reason. I’m no enemy, girl. Just someone drawn into a pr
edicament and wantin’ to help.”
Esme considered the words, then shrugged. “What kind of predicament could make a decent man propose marriage—temporary marriage—to a complete stranger?”
Lillie Mae’s eyebrows shot up. “He proposed? So quick?”
So the old lady knew more than she was admitting? No point in getting her dander up if she could get her to talk, though. “He didn’t exactly propose,” Esme admitted neutrally. “He told me he needed to hire someone, that he didn’t like my aunt, and that I was the only person he’d approached.”
Lillie Mae nodded thoughtfully, but didn’t say anything. She fished in her pockets and drew out a bright red cell phone, checking her messages, then placed the device on the table. “I still bring ol’ Babe into town out of habit,” she confided, “but these modern contraptions sure do beat the old ones to heck.” She picked up the phone and waved it at Esme. “’Specially this. But there’s one thing that’s even faster than this in a town like Truth—”
“Gossip?” Esme suggested, remembering Rose Creek, and even her teen years in Laredo, which wasn’t really a small town.
“You got it. And see, that’s what Rafael’s up against—waggin’ tongues. He confided in you, and if you won’t listen and see what he says, I hope you at least don’t talk.”
“You seem to be defending him.”
“He’s got a name in this town. But he didn’t earn it—at least, he don’t deserve it.” Her fingers drummed an irregular beat on the table. “How’d you hear about it? He look you up?”
“My aunt asked me to talk to him—set up the interview, I guess. She didn’t give me a clue what kind of job I was applying for.”
Something changed in Lillie Mae’s face, almost imperceptibly.
“You don’t like my aunt, either?”
“No, girl, I don’t. But one thing everyone in this town respects is family. We don’t choose ’em, but we honor ’em to the grave and beyond. Don’t you mind what you hear about your aunt any more than what you hear about Rafael Benton.”
“I have to tell you that I wouldn’t have even gone to ask about the job if my aunt had told me what it was.” Esme took a bit more of the orange juice and vodka, more slowly, thinking, but not understanding. “Lillie Mae, I don’t get it,” she admitted. “Why did Rafael tell me to come here? What do you have to do with anything?”
“Well, a couple things, I guess. Look, I ain’t gonna tell you I think Rafael’s doing the right thing, but you oughta hear him out, ’specially since he might not even choose you anyway.”
Gee, thanks.
“You’d be helpin’ some good folks, if his crazy idea works. I told him he was crazy when he came to me, but he knows I’d never lie for him if I thought he was twistin’ the truth or tryin’ to do something wrong. And I won’t tell you why he’s so set on this fool plan of his, ’cept that it’s for family, and family’s sacred—to me and him both. I believe one-hundred percent his job offer’s just that—the strangest damned job a woman could get rich doing.”
“Any other reason you’re in this?”
“Well, I’m gonna sound full of myself, but ain’t nobody gonna believe a marriage here in Truth is legit if I’m not right there in the weddin’ party. Last couple that got hitched here had me and Babe drive ’em to the bus stop to take off on their honeymoon. Made the front page of the Truth Trumpet.”
Esme nodded. “So—and I’m not asking advice, because like you said, I’m a big girl with a counseling degree—I should talk to Rafael Benton one more time? Give him a chance to explain this . . . weird predicament.”
Lillie Mae beamed. “Knew you were a smart girl.” She winked. “When you’re as old as me, dumb’s just plain easy to see.”
Esme smiled slightly in spite of herself. Truth be known, she often told herself something similar. “So I just have one last question,” she added.
“Hit me,” Lillie Mae invited.
“What’s up with the stupid steer? I mean, okay, the Hill Country, tourists, Texas state large mammal, but . . . ”
Lillie Mae drew herself up. “Don’t never insult one of my longhorns,” she warned. “My ma and pa raised ’em afore me. They’re family.” She finished her water without lowering the glass, then set it down. “Besides,” she said, conspiratorially, “they’re our only claim to fame. Bandera is older and claimed the ‘Cowboy Capital of the World’ title long ago. So we have to do more to attract attention. They have longhorns all over, but ours are more public. We had Cody, for awhile. And we’re lookin’ for the next big thing. Meanwhile, I bring Babe to town most every day.”
“For this little one horse town?”
“One bull town,” Lillie Mae amended, then laughed out loud. “Okay, not quite a bull, but close. Lots of tourists don’t ask or know where to look. And honey, this town? I love it. I’d do anything to keep it from dryin’ up the way so many do.”
Esme fished a bill out of her wallet and stood, laying the bill on the table. “Nice to meet you, Lillie Mae. Take care.” She bit back an urge to tell the old woman she’d talk to Rafael Benton again. She would, but it wasn’t anyone’s business but hers.
• • •
The dogs weren’t on the porch and Rafael’s flashy pickup wasn’t anywhere to be seen. I’m batting a thousand. First I don’t call my aunt Tina, now I don’t call Rafael Benton. She glanced at her truck. Her cell phone was in the cup holder of the console, and her aunt had given her his number. Or, she could march up the stairs and ask the snotty Ms. Thompson where she could find him. Marie didn’t like her, and that knowledge alone stiffened her resolve. She’d spent her lifetime confronting dislike, only occasionally from anything she’d done. Oh, give me a break. I do occasionally flaunt my pride just a little. And that’s when I’m being the lovable me. She was grinning a little at the self admission when the door opened and Marie stepped out, not even faking a smile.
“Ms. Salinas. Mr. Benton didn’t tell me you were coming back.”
“He didn’t know. Where can I find him?”
“He isn’t here.” The woman cast a glance around almost as if expecting him to appear suddenly and steal her control. “I’ll take a message—”
“Where can I find him?” Esme repeated. “Because I left my phone in my truck and I can call him, but since he invited me . . . ”
Marie colored a little, not missing the emphasis on who had called whom. “He’s down at the river,” she said, sweeping a glance over Esme’s still unchanged attire. “But it’s steep and dirty there. You probably should wait. I’ll call him.”
“I can do that. I’m sure he’ll give me directions.”
Marie’s face grew redder and tighter. “You follow the trail there—it runs across the pasture and into the tree line. Just follow it until you find him.” She spat the words out with a drumming cadence meant to intimidate. “This ranch has livestock, Ms. Salinas. If you open a gate, close it. And don’t run over the dogs.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Esme said, and Marie stared at her a moment more before slamming back into the house.
Esme was still grinning by the time the truck jolted over another root-filled crevice in the path down to the river and she saw Rafael’s truck parked at an angle where the path ended. She pulled the truck up beside it and slid out, pulling her skirt down and casting a dubious glance at her heels. She’d be amazed if they held up to much more hiking around over stones, exposed roots, and . . .
A lizard skittered over her foot, and she shrieked and kicked, startled, and somehow wound up on her butt in the dirt by the truck. Out of the corner of her eyes she saw a flash of gold and heard barking that sounded more like rolling thunder. She hadn’t seen Rafael, but she’d certainly found his dogs. Or they’d found her. They were standing, splay-legged, heads down, clearly being protective of someone. She’d never thought of Danes as dangerous, but from her position, they were sooo big.
What were their names? Luc and—
“Good boys. Good Luc . . . ”
One of the dogs stopped barking and tilted his head.
“Chief, Luc. Stop!” She heard Rafael before she saw him. The dogs heard him, too, and immediately came up to her, tails wagging, now completely willing to be friendly. She raised an arm to fend it off, but one of the Danes managed a quick slap of its tongue across her face.
“Yuck!” she muttered, dragging her arm over her mouth. “Idiot dog!” The dogs didn’t look abashed, though, and she heard Rafael laughing.
“I’m sorry.” He chuckled as he pushed the Danes away and reached down to help her up. “I couldn’t help remembering that little girl in the Peanuts cartoon—the one who hated it when the dog kissed her.”
In spite of herself, Esmeralda smiled a little, remembering the ongoing gag. When Rafael’s hand closed around hers and eased her up, she tried to ignore the warmth and strength of his fingers locking hers inside his hand, or the way he reached out with his other hand to support her arm as she stood, setting off tiny sparks of heat where his skin met hers.
“Marie should have let me know you were coming,” he said, noting her disheveled clothing. “I’d have made sure the dogs behaved. Are you okay? You didn’t . . . sit down too hard?” In spite of the concern in his eyes, she saw his dimples appear and heard a note of amusement in his voice.
“I sat down plenty hard. I’m not sure how you judge too hard,” she retorted. “Marie gave me directions. Guess she decided you’d figure it out when you saw me.”
“I’ll have to talk to her. So, what brought you here?” He indicated the thick growth on banks sloping down to an unseen body of water.
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