She hadn’t had much luck with family. Her parents had fed and clothed her, and hadn’t been abusive, really, not beyond letting Beto insult and harass her without any consequences. They had been harsh and cold occasionally, but she knew others who had fared so much worse. If she hadn’t fallen in love with a high school boy—so madly in love that she willingly committed to him heart, soul, and body—her parents wouldn’t have been so disappointed in her.
She tried to shrug the past off, knowing her head would only hurt worse and nothing would change. Toby would still be gone; he’d gone into the military right after graduation, to support her. To prove to her parents he wasn’t a no-good kid interested only in a girl who would defy anyone to have sex with him. Even when he went to Afghanistan—even when he died there—her parents never forgave her for having a sexual relationship outside marriage. They never understood she was just a kid in love—in love with only one man. The sex had been bright and new, but she had loved Toby. She didn’t plan on finding someone to replace him. Yet they started watching her day and night, taking her to and from school, making her life hell. Using the same words for her some of the high school crowd did. Until she had found the strength to leave home for Toby.
No one was around, and she was glad. Angel must have gone in to work already. Not seeing Andy around was always a good thing; they didn’t like each other. She had no idea whether or not Tía was down the hall in her room, but didn’t want to make any noise just in case. She fished a bottle of diet tea out of the refrigerator and headed upstairs to shower and change. With the sun out so late, she might still have time to ride for a while, if she could just shake the headache.
An hour and a hot shower later, she felt ready to face anything again. She put on her favorite riding jeans, boots, and the lightest long-sleeved blouse she could find. The heat was prohibitive, but if she ventured onto paths through cedar, she’d need to keep from being swatted and scratched by untrimmed boughs.
She resisted the urge to hurry down on the stairs, afraid that if Tía hadn’t left for her club yet, noise would bother her. As she reached the next to last step, she suddenly heard her aunt’s voice off to her right, coming from behind the door.
“You’ll regret that! Keep your stupid money and threats! No one needs you!”
Silence followed, and she tried to be even quieter as she hit the floor and headed as quickly as she could do the door, afraid that her aunt would be more upset if she thought she’d been overheard.
Her hand was on the doorknob when Tina’s voice behind her froze her in place. “Esmeralda! You’re leaving again? Come visit a minute.”
I am never going to see Domatrix again. Let alone get to ride her.
Esme pasted on a smile and turned around. “Tía!” She glanced at her watch. “You’re going in a little late.” Her aunt turned and walked to the kitchen and she followed, sitting down without comment in her usual place.
Her aunt fished in the fridge and pulled out two wine coolers. Mild stuff, really, but Esme had already had one drink more than usual. “If you don’t mind, I’ll get myself a water.”
“Don’t be a baby,” her aunt muttered, setting the bottle on the table with a thump and sitting down across from her. “And I’m not going in to the club, either. That’s why I pay people.”
She’d seen little of her aunt since moving in, but she’d never seen her so angry and upset. She wished she knew more about Tina, more about how to calm her, to make her feel better.
Since she didn’t, she tried for the neutral, non-judgmental face she used to approach troubled students with. “Anything I can help with? Are you feeling okay, or . . . ”
Tina jerked her hands across her face and through her hair, then breathed deeply. With fingers that shook, she opened the bottle and downed half of the beverage in a gulp. Then she pushed it aside and blotted her mouth with the back of her hand. “I’m fine.”
“Seriously, if I can help . . . ”
“Just the money problems I mentioned before. Things’ll turn around.” She smiled at Esme. “How did your job interview with the gorgeous Rafael Benton go?”
“I spoke to him twice, and neither one went well.” Esme got up, carried the cooler back to the refrigerator, and sat down again. “Tía, why on earth would you think I’d be interested? How could you . . . ”
“You weren’t?” Tía’s eyebrows shot up. “A woman not interested in spending two months pretending to be Rafa’s wife?”
“Rafa?”
“Oh, come, niña. Aren’t all Rafaels ‘Rafa’ to their friends?” Her aunt smiled tightly. “If you were a little smarter, dear, you could be calling him Rafa yourself.” Esme bit back her protest over Tina’s dig. The fact that her aunt used the common nickname for Rafael made her wonder how well they knew each other. Rafael claimed not to like her, but her aunt seemed on good terms with him. She couldn’t really ask, though. Nothing her aunt said right now would be rational; clearly she was having some sort of meltdown.
“Seriously, Tía, why did you even mention the job to me? Has my mom convinced you I’m so worthless, so . . . cheap that I’d marry a man for money?”
“Quit with the drama and the outrage, dear. You said you wanted to be like me? That you thought I’d be a better mother to you than my sister is? Please!” Tina reached across the table and clasped Esme’s wrist. “I would marry Rafael Benton for eight weeks for much less than I expect he’s offering. And dear, just for the record—he told the three of us who know about his little proposition that he’s not paying for sex.” She released Esme and shrugged emphatically. “You’d be set for years, for a few weeks’ work pretending to be a devoted wife.”
“Women aren’t property anymore, Tía! We don’t have to marry. No one marries for convenience anymore. No one!”
“Bull.” Tía shoved her chair back and went over to the counter, rummaging around and finding a pre-measured container of coffee, which she poured into her single serving coffee maker with hands that were still unsteady. “You know better,” she continued, not even looking back. “Men, women—especially women—lots of marriages are all about the moolah, and you know it!” She turned and glared then. “Tell me that’s not true! Tell me you don’t know women—friends of yours—who stay in bad marriages for the money. Or tell me you haven’t heard of someone—or talked about someone—you knew didn’t really marry for love!”
Esmeralda couldn’t deny any of that. Maybe she hadn’t had close friends, but she’d had acquaintances who clearly weren’t in relationships for love. She fidgeted with her water. Sex for pleasure’s sake, short-term relationships both parties agreed to, that was one thing. But marriage—she shook her head slowly.
“Maybe it happens,” she admitted to her aunt, “but it’s not something I’d feel right about.”
“You’d understand why he’s trying to do it if you knew his parents,” Tina told her, filling her mug with the freshly brewed coffee and coming back to stand by the table, blowing on the coffee. “Stubborn as mules and just as stupid.”
“From what I hear, they’re very successful.”
“And kind and loving,” Tina added, in a childishly sing-song voice that raised the hair on Esme’s arms. Did her aunt need mental help? Were her problems driving her to some invisible cliff? Again, she wished she’d known her better. She remembered her aunt as fun—a laughing free spirit who hadn’t come around often, but made her childhood sparkle with hope and possibility when she did. Not as the sometimes hard and bitter woman mocking the parents of a man she apparently knew fairly well. Rafael Benton had confided in her aunt, and that had to mean something.
Didn’t it?
“Well, if his parents are so traditional and difficult, all the more reason to say no,” Esme pointed out. “The reason my parents and I had problems is how set they were on their way or no way at all.”
“And yet you would have married a horny teenager who didn’t have the proverbial pot to pee in before you were even of age?”
Something in the flatness of her answer must have gotten through to Tina. She suddenly slumped into the chair and looked at Esme with watery eyes.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be so . . . sarcastic and petty. I’m just worried about my situation, and wishing you could have everything I can’t have.” She shrugged again, less forcefully, and tried to smile.
“Aunt Tin—Tía—would you get anything out of me marrying Rafael Benton?”
“No. What could I possibly get?” The scowl returned to Tía’s face. “Why do you ask?”
“No reason. You were close to Cody, though, right?”
Her aunt’s smile was instant and genuine. “She was the daughter I always wanted. We bonded the day we met.” Just as quickly, the smile disappeared. “Which is why Rafael hates me. Or says he does. He couldn’t stand not being the most important person in his sister’s life. She’d always looked up to him, and he was jealous when she stopped. Cody had grown up and he never has.”
Her aunt’s odd mixture of rants and raves threatened to give her a headache again. Or emotional whiplash. Cody had been a daughter to her? I could have been. “I’m sure he doesn’t hate you, Tía. And—thank you for thinking maybe I’d be the right person for this . . . strange job offer. But I’m not.” She walked around the table and rested a hand on her aunt’s shoulder briefly. “I need to go check on my horse. Do you need anything before I go? Or maybe I could bring dinner back.”
“Don’t bother.”
Esme wished her voice didn’t hold so much indifference, such emptiness. “Hey, even if you’re not going into town, I could run by Tía’s. I’ll even sing if you think it would help—though I still don’t know why me doing karaoke would help anything.”
“You’re a big girl, Esmeralda,” Tía said, unwittingly echoing Lillie Mae. “Do what you want.” She blew in her coffee again, and with a final pat on her shoulder, Esme left.
• • •
There weren’t a lot of cars outside Tía’s, but Rafael pulled in anyway. He’d spent a couple of hours over at the Silver Boot and Booty, talking business with Jade Brockton, the owner. He smiled. Brockton was a son of privilege; he’d probably choked on a silver spoon somewhere along the way, because he hated his father—one of the richest men around, apparently—with a passion. But he liked Brockton’s straight-shooting demeanor and the plans he had for his own ranch, the Double Block. And he didn’t mind at all that the Silver Boot and Booty had probably three times the vehicles when he left than Tía’s had now. Weeknight or not, if Brockton’s bar put Tina Cervantes out of business, he wouldn’t mind. Not at all.
He saw Esmeralda’s pickup immediately, parked near the edge of the parking lot, so she must have come in fairly late. He was surprised at his sudden eagerness to see her again. Her fault. Why had she teased him about having wanted to spend the summer with him? That she knew he planned on being married in a couple of weeks made it easy for her to flirt and still keep her distance.
Damn. Was he as crazy as Lillie Mae and Marc both thought? Marc knew his parents and claimed to understand the idea—he just didn’t think anyone could fool Chris and Alice Benton. Lillie Mae—he smiled at the dressing down she’d given him. She thought he was crazy, period. But he didn’t mind her scolding him. Marc should have his back, though. What were best friends—and best men—for?
He paused a moment outside the door, surprised at the lack of voices filtering out into the night. He didn’t hear drunken laughter, the jukebox—just silence. When he opened it, though, he knew why.
Esme was sitting on a stool on the stage, feet resting on the brace, crooning into a microphone. Low and haunting, he knew the music only because his Mom and Dad loved classic country and had played this one over and over. The sadness and mystery in the song had attracted his attention, but he’d forgotten the words since he’d embarked on all those constant travels, first for his dad’s energy conglomerate, then with Cody.
He sank into the first empty seat, watching her sing with fascination. She was just singing karaoke, but her voice was beautiful and captured the feeling of the song so well. Cody’s voice could do that when she was on, but toward the end, she’d just belted out songs without the emotional impact of her earlier vocalizations. Lost in the power of adulation and quick success, Cody had lost the love for the music that had propelled her so high, so fast.
Esmeralda. He closed his eyes for a minute. Just as well she’d turned him down. No way in hell could they pull off a platonic marriage, even though he couldn’t afford sexual involvement with the woman he married. Sex complicated everything, no matter what anyone claimed. He didn’t want to hurt the woman who would be his wife for a few very public weeks. And he couldn’t afford to become attached to anyone, either. Not after the disaster of the one serious relationship he’d had, when he’d been played with, used, and discarded. He still couldn’t believe how blind he’d been, or how dearly his parents had paid—emotionally and financially. No, the pre-nuptial arrangement his lawyers had drawn up couldn’t prohibit consummating the marriage for obvious reasons, so he’d have to be very clear with the woman—his wife—who would share his life for a summer.
He frowned. Except for the impossibility of being around her and not wanting her, he couldn’t imagine a better candidate than Esme. He’d need to know a lot more, of course, but she was educated, single, so confident.
She clearly enjoyed attention a little too much. She finished the last notes of the song, her voice trailing away into husky sorrow, then silence, and the small crowd went berserk, cheering, stomping feet, clapping, and hollering. He applauded briefly, knowing his attitude sucked, but unable, as always, not to think of Cody, and how quickly innocence and talent had fallen in the onslaught of attention and the descent into pride, then selfishness and indulgence.
And then death.
He stood, thinking he’d just sneak out without being seen, but Esme stepped off the stage and saw him immediately.
“Rafael!” she called across the room.
At least she wasn’t as furious with him as she’d been off and on earlier today. Today? He glanced at his watch and smiled mirthlessly. Yesterday. And she looked just as fresh and fine as she had when she walked into his study for the first interview. His smile broadened as he remembered the dirt stain on her skirt. Okay, she looked fresher than that.
She looked good.
“Last song I thought I’d hear tonight was ‘Ode to Billie Joe,’” he told her. “You killed it.”
“Thanks.” She looked a little abashed. “I hadn’t done it in years, but I used to love hearing it.” She grinned. “This town must be starved for entertainment if folks’ll listen to me sing old country I’ve half forgotten! You’d think they’d never heard a singer.”
He saw the sudden horror as she realized what she’d said and her face turned red in embarrassment.
“Don’t apologize,” he said gently. “You didn’t mean anything. And you were great.” He sighed. “Can I buy you a drink?”
“No.”
He hadn’t expected her to agree, but wished she had. He really didn’t want to walk out the door and leave her here.
Before he could say good night, though, she stepped close and lowered her voice.
“Rafael, can you take me somewhere? Somewhere you can tell me about this job offer again.”
He couldn’t believe what he’d heard.
“You . . . ”
“I want you to convince me I’m the right person for your job,” she said. “I want you to convince me that I can marry you for money.”
Chapter Eight
Esmeralda heard her own words echo in her head. So matter of fact and so . . . crass. She hadn’t promised to agre
e, she reminded herself. After the blow up with her aunt and her long ride through the low hills around the Petersons, she’d decided to listen to him again. She wanted to believe in marriage, that it was special. Sacred. But she’d had to admit, on her trail ride, that she’d known few happy marriages. She hadn’t been wildly popular in Rose Creek, and she’d tried to steal a married man and a man in love with someone else. No wonder she hadn’t been invited to many homes to consider the blessings of marriages.
If his proposition was as cut and dried as she’d just made it sound—maybe. She still might not think so, but if she did, she might be able to help her aunt. Her parents were well-established, not wealthy, but she didn’t think they needed anything. A brief pang shot through her at how distant she’d become from them. Maybe she could build a relationship with her aunt, and then work on cutting through all the old anger directed at her parents. As for her brother, there was no room for a relationship with him. In fact, her loathing for Beto probably had much to do with the lack of love her parents showed her. After all, Toby had been gone for a long time now, but they still treated her as if they’d walked into the house and found Toby asleep in her bed. Undoubtedly Beto kept her parents’ contempt for Toby well nurtured.
Rafael wasn’t answering, though, and his smile was gone. Had he changed his mind? He’d told her that he didn’t particularly want her because of his relationship with Tía. He’d said that his parents were coming in a few weeks. Did he plan on being married by then, or marrying when they came? Either way, if he actually went through with the madness, he didn’t have much time to look.
“Rafael?” she prompted, not wanting others to notice—or get close enough to hear their discussion.
“You caught me off guard.” He flexed his arms. “Let me walk you to your truck. I saw it when I came in and it’s way in the back.”
She nodded and waved goodbye to Angel and Tom, who were standing near the bar, talking.
“You don’t have a purse?”
“Didn’t need it. License in the truck, keys in my pocket. I travel light.”
Nashville Nights Page 69