The food smelled wonderful, though. It took her a minute to find Rafael, who had claimed a booth at the back of the second room, and waded through diners heading to the salad bar to meet her.
“Thought you might have stood me up,” he greeted her, taking her arm to guide her to their place. “Beautiful change, by the way.”
“Thanks.” She slid into the booth, and watched as he did the same. A very young waitress hurried up, introduced herself as Jenny, and provided them with water, menus, and silverware, promising to come back for their orders soon.
“So, Esme,” Rafael said, leaning forward so he could be heard without raising his voice. “You gave me your application. Have you had any second thoughts? Are you ready to accept my job offer?”
“Yes,” she said, without hesitation, memories of her aunt’s hysteria still vivid.
“And when you answered that you were available immediately, you meant that?”
She laughed. “Yes, but I don’t see a justice of the peace or preacher anywhere around. Tonight may be a little too immediate.”
“No, I don’t think so.” He reached across the table, catching her hand. “Esmeralda, will you marry me?”
• • •
The words shouldn’t have surprised her. Her breath shouldn’t have caught in her throat, making it impossible for her to speak. Then she reminded herself that it was just a job offer, a formality. He’d caught her off guard, but shouldn’t have. He’d made it clear earlier that he wanted the marriage to look real.
“Yes. Yes, I’ll marry you,” she managed, just as Jenny returned carrying the drinks.
“OMG! OMG! How romantic!” Jenny squealed, almost dropping Esmeralda’s tea. “Folks, they just got engaged!”
Diners looked their way and clapped or called out congratulations.
“This is worse than those birthday songs when friends out you at a restaurant,” Rafael murmured and Esme nodded, unwilling to admit she’d never had a birthday surrounded by friends.
She found herself feeling even more uncomfortable when diners would spontaneously get up and come over to kiss her cheek and shake Rafael’s hand. By the fifth or sixth well-wisher, apprehension over the whole affair had begun building again. When their food arrived, she wondered if she’d be able to eat it at all, as constricted as her chest felt.
“What’s wrong?” Rafael whispered as soon as Jenny scampered away. “You look pale. Or as if something hurts.”
“This hurts,” she mouthed, keeping her voice as low as she could so no one could hear. “This is the biggest lie I’ve ever told. I can’t—”
“Did I hear someone’s gone and gotten engaged?” Lillie Mae appeared suddenly at their table, wearing yet another fringed shirt, and jeans that sparkled with rhinestones. “Well, congratulations!” Both Rafael and Esme stood, and Lillie Mae hugged Rafael first, kissing him on the cheek, then turning to embrace her.
“You did good,” the matriarch announced in her ear, but loudly enough that everyone in the room could undoubtedly hear her words. “Got yourself a king of a man, and you’re doing a good thing.”
Lillie Mae knew about the lie and didn’t care. She sounded as sincere as if the wedding would be one between childhood lovers, and her stamp of approval made Esme feel a little better.
“So, did you bring Babe?” Rafael asked, when Lillie Mae waved them back into their seats.
“No, not this time. I’m here in my pickup truck, since Hondo didn’t mind drivin’ it tonight.” She patted Rafael on the shoulder. “You treat this woman right. Treat her like she’s doing you a huge favor, marrying you.”
Was Lillie Mae about to ruin everything? Rafael looked concerned, too, Esme thought, and placed his hand over hers.
“’Cause the truth is . . . when someone marries an ugly ol’ dog like you, well that’s a testament to love and it’s one Texas-sized favor to boot!” And then she broke into her distinctive laughter, and suddenly everyone around them was laughing, too.
“See y’all. Let me know when you have a date set.” And she turned and left, hugging and patting her way to her seat in the front room.
“She’s something else.” Rafael grinned. “But you passed the first test with flying colors, Esme. Lillie loves you!”
“Hmm.” Esme couldn’t really answer, because the first bite of the restaurant’s famed enchiladas reminded her that she was starving. They concentrated on the food and for a long time, neither spoke.
Rafael finished first. “Could you come over to Witches Haven on Friday? We have some plans we need to put into place.”
“Why not tomorrow?” she asked, draining her iced tea and waving the glass at Jenny, who came rushing over with a pitcher.
“I’m not going to be here. I—”
“That’s true. You’re going to Laredo.”
He nodded, but didn’t invite her. She shifted in her seat, remembering Marie’s observation about how valuable their time together could be in implementing his plan. She tapped her foot restlessly on the floor, waiting for him to invite her. He did just propose marriage, even if it was make-believe. But when he merely sat there and continued to eat, she gave up. “I’d like to go, if it’s all right.”
He put the potato he’d been about to eat down and looked at her in surprise. “Well, I usually don’t take anyone.”
She smiled. “But I’m your fiancée.”
He sighed. “I’m doomed, aren’t I? Never a free minute again in my life?”
“In your life for eight weeks,” she reminded him. “In August, when it’s a hundred thirteen in the shade, you can go by yourself.”
“It’s June, and it’s a hundred nine. I can go by myself.”
She leaned across the table and placed her palm on his cheek. “But why would you want to?”
“Look, the thing is . . . ”
An idea occurred to her, not a good idea since she shouldn’t have her hand on his cheek. Their relationship was hands-off. She jerked her hand back, hoping it looked more like outrage than sudden wariness about the physical hunger burning inside her when she watched him.
“Headed to Boys Town?” she crooned sweetly.
Mention of the infamous zone of prostitution in Nuevo Laredo made him widen his eyes and straighten in his chair. “No!” He shook his head.
She stretched her leg and her foot bumped his.
“Look, you can go.”
“Why don’t you want me to?” she asked curiously.
He didn’t answer at first, just finished his food and pushed his plate away as Jenny came hurrying up.
“Drinks? Coffee? Desert?” she asked breathlessly.
Esme felt sorry for the young woman. The place was still packed, the noise level rising and falling as people received their orders and began eating, or newcomers went around greeting friends and then sat down and tried to talk over the other conversations going on around them. Surprisingly, no one here seemed glued to a phone, and everyone knew everyone. She’d seldom eaten at the one diner in Rose Creek, preferring the short drive into San Antonio, but she liked the hominess all around her.
“I don’t want anything, thank you,” Esme told her, and watched as she gave the bill to Rafael.
“I’ll pay at the register,” he told her, and grinned at Jenny as someone in the front yelled her name impatiently. “Save you a trip.”
She nodded at him and headed toward the annoyed party almost at a run.
“I do not know how people survive waiting tables,” Esme murmured. “I did it once and the tips were fine, but I quit a week and a half after I started.” He put a tip on the table and they stood.
“Thanks, Jenny,” they both chorused as she rushed past en route to somewhere else.
“Have a great night,” she called, not stopping. “Oh, and congratulations again!”
Getting to the cash register seemed to take forever. Rafael knew almost everyone, and introduced her to diners she didn’t know. She thought Rose Creek residents were close to each other, b
ut clearly Truth could outdo them without a second thought. She waited while he paid, then they stepped out onto the sidewalk. Daylight was dimming, but hadn’t gone, and looking across the street at the trio of bars with their lights already on seemed a little strange.
“Something wrong?” Rafael asked behind her.
“You could get a beer in Rose Creek, but we didn’t have three bars that opened before the sun went down. About the closest it got was Bob’s Garage, where folks would go to drink and watch sports together. I guess I’m just amazed three bars can survive here.”
“Couldn’t without the tourist trade, and it’s way down.”
“It’s just the dude ranches around here, right? I really don’t know the Hill Country very well.”
“Mainly the dude ranches. There are also golf courses, lakes, exotic game ranches—which are mostly pay-to-hunt—and a few well-known restaurants, although most of those are a little farther north. I hear the roads around here are popular for motorcycle clubs.”
“Hmmm.”
“Where are you parked, Esmeralda? I’ll walk you to your truck.”
“No, don’t bother. I’m going to Tía’s for a bit.”
“Are you going to sing?” he asked.
“Probably not.” She thought he looked relieved, even though she hadn’t agreed not to. At least she wouldn’t sing “Cowboy Casanova.” Maybe no Underwood at all—surely that would be safe. He had come in the night she sang “Ode to Billie Joe” and hadn’t seemed upset. “Are you telling me not to?”
“I don’t have a say in whether you do or don’t,” he answered, shrugging. “Yet.”
Yet? Did he think he’d have a say after they signed a marriage license? She thought they’d agreed that wasn’t settled. She straightened a little and nodded curtly. “Goodnight, Rafael.”
He caught her arm before she could leave. “Two things,” he said. “One, I’ll pick you up at eight tomorrow. We’ll be there in time for breakfast, and I’ll have a chance to meet your family.”
He certainly seemed sure of himself suddenly. He wouldn’t meet her family until long after this pretend relationship ended. Not if she could help it.
She didn’t argue the point, though. No point letting him get a head start on manipulating the situation.
“And the second?” she challenged.
“We’re engaged. This is how we say goodnight.”
He drew her close and lowered his lips to hers.
She froze for a moment, surprised, then slid her hands up to cup his face, urging him closer, returning his kiss, trying to stifle a moan as his hands caressed her back and slid down to rest on her hips, holding her against him.
The blare of a car horn and a blast of derisive laughter made them jerk away from each other.
“We’re in trouble if this is hands-off,” she muttered. He started to say something, but she held up a hand. “I’ve signed the contract. We’re going to have to find other ways to lie to this stupid town for two months. Pick me up on time.” She turned and stalked off, not giving him a chance to speak.
Chapter Eleven
Esme didn’t sing. Angel, Tom, and a handful of customers greeted her warmly when she came in, but she asked Tom for a handful of quarters and went to the jukebox. She’d always said you could tell anyone’s life with country songs. She put on a lot of Rascal Flatts, including a song that always made her remember her brief time with Toby. “What Hurts the Most” could still make her cry, but she vowed not to let it affect her tonight. She punched in a number of songs, ending with another Flatts tune. “God Bless the Broken Road”—where had that come from? She’d been following broken roads all life, and none of them had led her anywhere. Certainly not to love, and even if she’d found Truth, she couldn’t say it was much different than any other place she’d stopped. She wanted it to be home, but she just wasn’t feeling that yet.
After filling the jukebox for a selfishly long time, she chose a table by the window and slowly sipped a margarita, occasionally glancing out the window. Night had come on while she tuned everything out and listened to the music, and most of the people walking around arm-in-arm or hurrying by on worn boots with hats pulled low were people she hadn’t met. Apparently the other two bars had far more weeknight traffic than her aunt. She puzzled over that briefly, wondering what could help Tía. Advertising in this tiny town didn’t make sense, and really, neither did the almost nightly karaoke sessions, if there just weren’t any warm bodies to come in.
The Silver Booty and Boots had that horrible, almost sinister descent into the bar, but it was spacious and friendly—nicer, she thought, after meeting Lillie Mae there, than her aunt’s club. That establishment seemed, from the cars she saw parked there and comments she’d heard, to be the most popular of Truth’s watering holes. She hadn’t been in the Silver Dollar. She’d heard it was “old” country—sawdust on the floor, beer being passed around from patrons to the live bands who played there sometimes, and the infamous honky-tonk women. She grinned. They wouldn’t appreciate her thinking of them that way, with the reputation she had in places where people knew her. Her claims were overstated, but she did have a horse misnamed Domatrix. She giggled, not meaning to, but a couple of nearby customers turned and looked at her curiously. She’d have to be careful, or Tom and Angel would be trying to cut off her alcohol, knowing that the route home was full of curves.
She looked around, noticing for the first time that Tina wasn’t down here mingling with the clients and playing her role as town aunt. She could be up in the office; the smoked glass wouldn’t let light through, but the blinds were drawn. Esme had never even seen that there were blinds before. Worried, she walked over to where Angel was rearranging some bowls of nuts she’d just filled.
“Hey, Angel, is Tía here?”
“No.” Angel stopped what she was doing and sighed. “She’s been coming in late when she comes. I hope everything’s okay.”
“I hope so, too. Do you think I should go home and check?”
“That’s up to you,” Angel said, “but if it were me, I wouldn’t. She wouldn’t thank you for it, and if she’s drinking she can be really pí—” she broke off the Spanish vulgarity, flushing. “I’m sorry. I forget myself sometimes.”
“Angel, I’ve heard my aunt treat you pretty badly,” Esmeralda admitted, keeping her voice low. “Why do you stay with her?”
“I owe your aunt.” Angel moved away to take and refill a mug from someone Esme recognized as a regular. When she came back, she moved even closer to Esme. “I got in trouble when I was younger. Bad choices.” Emotion clouded her face for a moment. “I had a record. No one else would give me a job.”
“Well, she should still respect you.” She’d felt her aunt’s sharp rebukes several times; they were as bad as her mother’s, worse if being gouged by metallic finger nails counted. “I wish I knew how to help her. She’s not who I remember.”
“You didn’t spend a lot of time with her, though, did you?”
Esme must have shown her surprise, because Angel patted her hand. “I’ve been with her about thirteen years, and she mentioned you once or twice, but you never visited.” The older woman took an order and turned to hand it off to Tom. “So, I guess you didn’t.”
“No. You’re right.” She glanced off toward the windows for a moment. A tall man in a cowboy hat, western garb, and boots passed by slowly. He glanced in, apparently noticed her, and waved a hand. Not a local, probably, Esme decided. She’d found the quaint practice of tipping hats an endearing Truth custom. Waves just weren’t as . . . western. She nodded anyway and turned back to Angel.
“You remind me a little of Tía,” Angel added. “Sometimes.”
“Me? How? I don’t even look like my parents, although my dad’s tall.”
“Not so much the looks, but you’re outspoken. Confident. Those are good things when you don’t become overbearing with them.”
“I guess. Thanks, Angel. I want to know more about my aunt. I used to wis
h she were my mother instead of my aunt. Is that terrible to admit?”
Angel’s thin shoulders shrugged. “It happens.” She paused, then said solemnly, “My only daughter doesn’t claim me. My sister raised her and now . . . we don’t have a future. My fault.”
“Hey, looks like a funeral,” Chuck said, passing by and shooting them a wink. “You should just get up there and sing, Miss Esme!”
“Go leave us be with our girl talk,” Angel told him and he nodded agreeably.
“Go easy on us cowboys,” he called as he continued back to his table of friends.
“I didn’t mean to make you feel bad,” Esme apologized.
“Truth is what it is, and I’m not talking about this town, either!”
“You like Rafael, though?”
Angel’s face lit up. “If I’d had a boy, I’d want him to be Rafael. Or a lot like him.”
“Why?”
“He’s got a good heart,” she answered with absolute conviction. “He’s nobody’s fool, but you can’t make him hurt you unless you’re hurting somebody else.”
“The day I met you, he came in right after me.”
“I remember.”
“As I left him, I heard him say he’d kill someone. Yesterday, he told me he was threatening my aunt.”
“He didn’t mean it. He’s furious that she let some really rotten lowlifes come and go as they wanted. He blames them for his sister’s death, to some extent.”
“Who does he think is most responsible? Does he understand it’s ultimately Cody’s fault?”
“No.” Angel glanced at the picture of the singer and shook her head. When she turned back, she looked more troubled than ever. “He blames himself more than anyone.”
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