Esme made it downstairs on shaky legs and pride, but she knew she couldn’t drive.
“Everything’s fine,” she lied to all the worried faces around her. “Rafael, could you drive me home? I’m a little light-headed.
He didn’t answer, just put an arm around her shoulder and used the other to shield her from everyone else as he guided her outside. He buckled her in and hurried around to the driver’s side, but by the time she had climbed in, the tears had come and she didn’t try to stop them.
He didn’t press her, just drove, sending occasional glances her way. Without a word, he helped her out as soon as they got there, and escorted her up to his room. He pressed her down on the bed, picked up the phone, asked about Justin, and said to call him if they needed him. Then he came back, sat down beside her, and wrapped his arms around her, rocking her as if she were a baby.
“What in the world did Beto and Tía do?”
She shook her head and turned enough that she could wrap her arms around his chest and cling to his strength. When she thought she could control herself enough to regain some dignity, she answered him. “She’s not my aunt.”
He drew back a little, caught a corner of the sheet, and blotted her tears. “What do you mean? Aren’t she and your mom sisters? Stepsisters—is that it?”
“No. She’s my mother. She had me at fifteen. She gave me up for adoption. She didn’t want me then, and she doesn’t want me now.”
“Damn Beto!” He leaped to his feet. “Why would he tell you . . . you can’t believe him. He’s not right.”
“He told me. And then . . . ” She drew a shaky breath and met his eyes squarely. “And then Tina told me the same thing. She made it clear that I wasn’t Cody—the daughter she never had.”
He collapsed beside her again, stunned. “I—I don’t know what to say. You don’t think it’s just—they’re both drunks.”
“She wasn’t drunk. And it makes sense, really. My parents—I guess I should say my aunt and uncle—took care of me because they thought they had to. I’ve been an imposition all my damn life! And nobody but Toby ever really wanted me, either.”
• • •
I want you. But you wouldn’t believe me right now. Rafael buried his face in her hair, kissing her scalp, rocking her again, and eventually she went limp in his arms. He settled her on the bed, slipped off her heels, and covered her. Then he locked the door, took off his own shoes, and stretched out beside her to watch her.
She slept restlessly, rolling and tossing and occasionally kicking him with a foot. He tried to move when she did so that he wouldn’t wake her up. He didn’t think he could bear to see her face so destroyed by the unexpected news.
Anger percolated through him, the old, killing anger he’d only partially admitted to Esmeralda. He hadn’t wanted to frighten her. As hurt as she was, if she knew what he wished he could do to her brother and mother, she would be terrified. He’d have to remind her tomorrow, though, that Tía wasn’t her mother. She was merely a woman who’d brought a baby into the world and walked away—much like his own birth mother.
He’d have to put it better than that. He’d hurt her if he made it sound as if she shouldn’t let the revelation disturb her. Yes, she’d seen the house he’d lived in, without parents. With friends who were there one day and then gone. She’d had a roof over her head, food, and protection. In some ways, only the labels for kinship had changed.
He thought back to her angry words about Tía’s feelings for Cody. Dammit, how much evil could one person let go on an unsuspecting world? He’d almost lashed out at Esme, for blaming another of Tía’s victims. Almost.
His phone vibrated on the bedside table, the light going on. Alarmed, he saw that the call was from his mother. He looked at the time and realized it was earlier than he thought. Not 10:00 P.M. yet.
She had texted, and he knew he wouldn’t wake Esme if he answered. But when he read the actual message, he couldn’t believe she didn’t hear his yelp of dismay.
“Honey, we’ll be home tomorrow. Someone sent us this. Congratulations!” Attached to the message was a picture. Their wedding picture.
He propped himself on an elbow to look at Esme. She still slept soundly, but the pain had faded away. How could he expect her to be able to function tomorrow, when she was shattered? Then again, if anyone could, Esme Salinas could. Esme Salinas Benton, rather. With a slight smile he turned around and went back to sleep.
• • •
Esme stirred, feeling rested and uncomfortably warm. She was covered, she realized, surprised, and tossed the bedspread aside. She’d fallen asleep in her street clothes—a denim dress she often wore. Why hadn’t she changed? She rolled over, and bumped into the long, hard wall Rafael’s body formed. He cut the bed in half. She didn’t remember—and then she did. His comforting words. Rocking her to sleep. She just didn’t remember the part where he lay down beside her and drifted off.
She slipped out of bed. Rafael continued sleeping, an arm thrown over his face, his cell phone near his hand. She retrieved the phone and put it on the night table, wondering if he usually slept with it. Then she removed her clothes and slid back under the covers.
She was tired of the pain, tired of not having anyone. He hadn’t wanted a physical relationship. She needed one. At least for tonight. Tomorrow they could go back to their hands off relationship.
“Rafael,” she whispered. He stirred, but didn’t wake. She inched closer, snuggled into him. He mumbled and moved a hand. She could see the shock when he woke, feeling her bare skin against his hand. He blinked and would have drawn away, but she shifted, pressing her knee against his legs, leaning forward to kiss him.
“We weren’t going to do this,” he mumbled, and she shushed him by kissing him again. She trailed her fingers up his arms.
“Don’t make me beg,” Esme whispered.
“Never.” She caught the hem of his tee and began tugging it off. He maneuvered to help her. She started with his jeans, but he gently removed her hands. “We can’t,” he repeated. “You’re reacting to what happened—”
“And you’re reacting to me,” she whispered, moving her hands over him, then replacing her roaming hands with her mouth. He moaned, but caught her hair and tugged her head up.
“I don’t have protection. We agreed that if we knew we didn’t have it, we wouldn’t.”
“I’m good,” she whispered, and lowered her head again. When he called her name hoarsely, she straddled him, crying out as she felt him inside her. Then they both began to move, urgency building until he pinned her hips and thrust higher and harder, and she threw her head back and moaned with her own climax. He pulled her back to him, wrapping her in his arms.
“Esme?”
“Hmm?”
She could hear the smile in his voice. “You’re right. You are good.”
She let her eyes drift shut, trying to remember when she’d said that. When she did, her heart thudded painfully and she went still. She had lied to him, implied that she was using protection when she wasn’t. She couldn’t think beyond giving in to the fire and burning away the pain.
She pretended she’d fallen asleep. Manipulating him one more time, because she couldn’t bear to disappoint him. She loved him too much.
Chapter Eighteen
The smell of coffee woke her up. She turned to see Rafael there, looking apprehensive.
“Time to get up, Esme.”
“Why?” She turned a little and stretched, exposing herself as the sheets fell away.
“Damn, don’t do that!” He grabbed the bedspread and flipped it over her again.
Why didn’t he want . . . ? Fear gripped her. Nobody wanted her. Had she driven Rafael away by disregarding his hands off policy?
“Don’t think I wouldn’t like to, but we need to reevaluate the situation,” he said, sounding like a businessman more than a lover. Like a boss rather than a husband. “Esme, someone sent my parents our wedding photo. They’re in San Antonio on the
way here—maybe half an hour away.”
“You’re kidding, right?” But she was already out of bed, searching for a robe.
“I’ll wait for you in the study,” he murmured, and walked away from her.
• • •
Chris and Alice Benton were nicer than she imagined two people could be, even when she’d heard they were special. They greeted everyone with hugs and kisses, and Mrs. Benton wouldn’t let Esmeralda go.
“Don’t you dare call me Mrs. Anything,” she scolded. “You’re family, so you have a choice. You may call me Alice.”
Rafael’s father shot his wife an amused look. “You only gave her one name, Alice,” he reminded her. “What’s the other choice?”
“Well, on second thought, there’s no other choice.”
Esme laughed and nodded. “I’ll call you Chris,” she said to his dad.
Surprisingly, neither interrogated her. When they found out she was from Laredo, they commented on how much they liked her hometown. When he commented on the color of Esme’s hair, Chris touched his wife’s white hair and said, “Believe it or not, this was red, too.”
The four of them crawled around the floor looking for Justin’s toys when he tossed them, and Chris made a huge fuss over Chief and Luc. “Haven’t seen ’em for what—two years?”
“At least,” Rafael said easily. “Hard to believe I’ve been here in Truth that long already.
“Well, boy, you’ve got a home in Houston when you want it.” He smiled at Esme. “You, too, Mrs. Benton,” he told her, his blue eyes dancing.
“We’re probably staying here, Dad,” Rafael ventured, his tone gentle. “The place grows on you.”
He snorted. “If you say so.”
“Any more problems with claimants?” Rafael asked, and his father shook his head. “No. Things quieted down when the probate news got old. The main concern’s still good old Doug.”
The two elder Bentons excused themselves a short while later, claiming jet lag and old age—a malady, according to Alice , that could cause severe bouts of wanting-to-sleep-itis.
“I have that and I’m not old.” Esme grinned.
On their way out, Alice stopped to hug and kiss Esme. “As sudden as it was, I’m so glad y’all married,” she admitted. “I don’t begrudge anyone their freedom, and I know it’s not what it used to be—but it’s worked for us.”
“And my parents,” Esme concurred, not really lying. They were still together. But then she realized that they weren’t her parents at all, and had to fight to keep from losing her composure again.
Rafael was suddenly there beside her, looping an arm around her shoulder, and squeezing her. “We’ll see you later, then,” he told them. “Go ahead and get some sleep. We’ll have to show you Esme’s horse later. She’s keeping the others good company.”
“Sounds good,” Chris said approvingly, then winked. “And maybe Alice and I can join Esmeralda in a little karaoke. She’s going to be a good influence on you, son. Get you right with country music again.”
Alice chuckled and tugged on his arm. “Old man wasn’t supposed to ask you about that video yet,” she added over her shoulder. “We don’t know who sent it to us, but we loved your version.” Almost as if they’d rehearsed it, the two broke into the chorus of “Achy Breaky Heart” as they disappeared down the hall.
Esmeralda watched them go. “What am I going to do? I can’t deal with all this right now. Your parents, my parents—I can’t deal with any of this.”
“Esme . . . you don’t want to hear this, but what really changed? You have Adriana and Ernesto. You never really had Tía anyway.”
“But I always felt I should have been with her. Always. I just never knew why.”
“Don’t let it weigh on you. You’ve gone through worse.”
“Much.”
“Then?”
“I hate logic. I’m going riding, Rafael.” She didn’t invite him, and he didn’t ask her.
• • •
The evenings were perfect for sitting outside and chatting, but Rafael and Chris went inside early to look online at a property they were interested in purchasing in Louisiana.
“You and Rafael married very quickly,” Alice said, and Esme breathed a little prayer. She didn’t want to say something so wrong that Alice, clearly a smart woman who knew her son, would be suspicious.
“I know. I’ve always been . . . impetuous. At least, I’ve been told that I am.” She hesitated. “Alice, how long did you know Mr. Benton before you knew you were in love with him?”
“Honestly? “
Esme nodded. “Yes. Please.”
“A day.” Alice smiled at her surprise. “And mind you, we had nothing. I worked as a clerk, he worked sweeping an auto mechanic’s yard out. My dad would’ve tanned my hide, so I didn’t tell him, but the day I met Chris, I told my momma I was in love and wanted to marry him. We got married when I turned seventeen, and we’ve been together almost forty years.”
“I . . . I turned Rafael down at first,” Esme admitted, being partially truthful. “But he’s persuasive. We’ll have to hope it turns out as it should.”
“Hope won’t do it, girl. You have to work at it. We all do. But Rafael’s worth a lot of effort, and I’d say so if he weren’t my son.”
“You truly love him as much . . . as much as Cody?” she asked.
Alice flinched.
“I’m sorry,” Esme said softly. “But I recently found out I was adopted. I never knew. I just . . . I guess I just wonder how it should be. When it works.”
“Rafael is my son,” Alice replied without hesitation. “I hurt him when Cody died, and I know it. I said some awful things about him being jealous of Cody. I’ll spend the rest of my life being sure he knows I couldn’t love him more even if I had given birth to him.”
“Thank you.”
Alice stood, yawning. “I’ve got that darned old sleeping disease again.” She grinned. Then she laid a hand on Esme’s head. “Just remember, if someone hurts you with their words, the words might be different tomorrow. Don’t cut yourself off from family. Good night.”
• • •
Rafael paced back and forth in his study. Memories of Esmeralda waking him up to make love teased him. Worry over her emotional state tormented him. What if she regretted making love on the night she found out she was adopted? That was the night she found out that her mother knew her, had always known her, but had never wanted her. What if he couldn’t resist the urge to leave his study and return to her room, this time being the one to tease and touch, to taste . . . He stopped himself. He preferred to be in control. He hadn’t been in control since he and Esme had made love. He couldn’t let all the problems overwhelm him.
His mom and dad had received a certified letter from Doug Harper stating that he intended to sue for custody. His fists clenched. The man who had helped destroy his sister couldn’t take her baby away.
“Are you all right, Rafael?” Esmeralda stood in the doorway, a slight line creasing her forehead. “You’ve been moving around in there like a caged animal.”
“I’m fine,” he muttered. “Okay, maybe not. Harper says he’s going to sue for custody.”
“You’ve got the lawyers and money,” Esme pointed out.
“But what if he’s got the blood?” Then he looked at her. “Are you going out?”
“Yes, I’m going to Beauty In Truth.” She laughed at his blank look. “The beauty salon. It’s right next to the restaurant.”
“I knew that,” he faked, and she winked.
“Sure you did. I’ll be back.”
“I hope so,” he called after her. “Esme.” The name slid out like a plea. He didn’t want the summer to end, but it was flying by. Watching her walk away was scary, and she was just going to a beauty salon. What in the world would he feel when she walked away for good?
She’d never stay. Not when she still thought he’d just hired her to placate his parents. How would he convince her that he loved
her? If she left, he’d be that child without anyone again, angry and scared.
She’d been withdrawn since the night they’d made love. Or maybe the morning after, when he’d announced that his parents were on the way. Which lie worried her more—that they could go back to not wanting each other, or that she loved him?
Either way, they were lies he’d asked her to live—for money he didn’t even think she wanted.
Suddenly he knew what he had to do. He glanced at his watch. His mom and dad were probably in the den downstairs, catching up on news and sharing their morning coffee.
He found them there. Totally predictable. He smiled as they looked up, two loving people who had saved him from self-destruction. He owed them so much. He closed the door and leaned against it.
“There’s something you need to know,” he told them. Pain stabbed him as he added, “I’ve lied to you.”
His parents looked at each other, then at him. After a moment, his mother got out of the overstuffed armchair and walked to the daybed, patting the spot beside her. “Come sit with me,” she invited.
He wanted to stand, hold himself away from their pain and censure, then the forgiveness they always gave, no matter how little he deserved it.
But if his mother asked for something, he’d do it. He walked over and sat down, turning enough that he could face both of them. “It’s about Esme and me,” he said.
Chris set his coffee mug down on the desk and pulled off his reading glasses. “This can’t be another Paulette thing,” he muttered. “You all signed an agreement.”
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