by Marin Thomas
Cruz pressed the key fob and unlocked the truck. He slid behind the wheel, then remembered he didn’t have a valid driver’s license. He’d have to remedy that sooner rather than later. He rummaged through the glove compartment and discovered the truck’s title—it was in Fitzgerald’s name. Cruz assumed Fitzgerald was paying the insurance on the vehicle. He shut the glove box then started the engine. The needle on the gas gauge registered a full tank—enough fuel to get him the hell away from this place by the end of the day.
He turned on the air conditioning and adjusted the vents toward his face. Freedom was feeling more real every second. When he buckled his seat belt, he noticed the envelope sitting on the passenger seat with his name scrawled on the front. He tore open the seal and removed the handwritten note.
If yer reading this, son, then I must be ten feet under in the boot yard. I was hoping I’d be there to greet ya when ya got out of the slammer but the ol ticker must have quit ticking.
Cruz’s eyes watered. Damn Shorty for dying.
What the hell, man? Did you think life wouldn’t go on for others while you were in prison?
Yes. No. Shit.
I ain’t never spent time in prison, but I had a friend who did and it took a while fer him to get used to being free. Ya gotta stay out of trouble, son. The best place fer ya is the circuit. Ya keep riding just like ya did in prison and before ya know it, yer pent-up anger n pain’ll disappear.
Cruz rubbed his eyes, ignoring the moisture that leaked onto his fingertips.
I made sure Fitzgerald set ya up proper-like fer the next go-round. Do me proud, son. That’s all I ask. See ya on the other side—but not too soon, ya hear?
Shorty.
Cruz glanced into the backseat. A Stetson sat next to brand-new rodeo gear, including a saddle for bronc riding. Next to the gear rested a duffel bag. He unzipped the canvas. Several pairs of jeans, shirts, underwear and socks were packed inside along with a Ziploc bag of toiletries. A belt and pair of cowboy boots rested on the floor. Had Shorty paid for all this?
A sharp stab of guilt pricked Cruz. Each year he’d rodeoed for the prison, he’d given the warden a list of people he wanted to deny entrance to—Fitzgerald and his wife, Maria, and Shorty—because he’d let them down and he didn’t have the guts to face them. And his two best friends, Alonso and Vic. Alonso because he couldn’t bear to see the sympathy in his eyes, and Vic because he should have been the one sitting in prison—not Cruz.
Included in the envelope was a list of summer rodeos. Shorty had backed Cruz into a corner. The last thing he wanted to do was ride another bronc, but out of respect for the old man, he’d rodeo until he figured out what to do with his life.
First things first. He needed a job. The fifty dollars in his pocket wouldn’t last long. His best bet was to look for work in a city like Las Cruces. Instead, he drove west, hoping to find temporary employment on a ranch or a farm. As soon as he earned enough money to keep the gas tank filled and pay a handful of entry fees, he’d hit the circuit.
Cruz drove over two hours before giving in to the gnawing hunger in his gut. When he whizzed past a billboard displaying a faded and tattered advertisement for Sofia’s Mexican Cantina in Papago Springs, he took the exit and drove the frontage road for a mile before arriving in the one-horse town.
The two-block map dot consisted of abandoned mobile homes and bankrupt businesses. The gas station’s single pump was missing its hose and the attached convenience store was packed from floor to ceiling with junk. Behind the station an antiques shop and Cut & Dry Hair Salon sat vacant.
The only two places that appeared open for business were The Pony Soldier—a bar with a life-size plaster horse spinning on a pole attached to the roof—and Sofia’s Mexican Cantina, which was located inside an adobe house. Next to the restaurant sat a corral with two donkeys and a horse, a lean-to, a barn and a rusted, windowless single-wide trailer. A newer SUV was parked alongside a battered pickup in front of the home.
He’d dreamed of his first meal as a free man taking place at a Waffle House. His mouth watered when he thought of how long it had been since he’d eaten homemade biscuits and gravy. But it appeared he was destined—at least for today—to eat what he’d eaten in prison, more bland refried beans and rice. He parked next to the SUV and noticed a Help Wanted sign in the window of the restaurant.
He knocked but no one answered. When he tested the knob, the door opened. The smell of chorizo and fry bread assaulted his nose and he forgot all about biscuits and gravy. The front room had been converted into a waiting area. He tapped the bell on the counter to announce his presence. A beautiful blonde with blue eyes and an engaging smile appeared out of nowhere.
“Hello.” Her feminine voice sounded foreign to Cruz and he thought for a moment that he’d imagined it. “Welcome to Sofia’s Mexican Cantina.” She peered behind him. “Are you dining alone?”
Temporarily speechless, he nodded.
“Right this way.”
The subtle sway of her feminine hips mesmerized him as he followed her into another room. She ushered him to the table by the window, which looked out at the donkeys and the lone horse. He cleared his throat. “Thank you.”
She held out a laminated menu. “My name is Sara Mendez.”
Her smile and twinkling blue eyes shot his concentration to smithereens. It had been a long time since he’d been this close to a pretty woman.
“If you’re not in a hurry, José will cook anything you want.”
Oh, man, he was so not in a hurry.
“His specialty is pork tamales and chicken enchiladas.”
Hopefully anything José cooked would be better than the prison slop he’d consumed. “I’ll take a tamale and an enchilada.”
“You won’t be disappointed.” She hurried off, her long ponytail swinging behind her.
Left alone he stared out the window, watching the animals in the corral. He’d thought a lot about the day he’d finally be free from prison and none of the scenarios he’d imagined had been anywhere close to this.
And today wasn’t over with.
His ears caught the sound of shoes scuffing against the floor and he spotted a miniature shadow ducking out of sight behind the doorway. Sara returned with a basket of chips, homemade salsa and a glass of water.
“I apologize for not taking your drink order.” Her cheeks turned pink, and he wondered if he made her nervous—and not in a good way. Could people tell he’d just been released from prison?
“I’ll take a beer—” He’d better not drink alcohol in case he got pulled over by the highway patrol. “Make that a Coke.”
“Coming right up.” As soon as she left, the tiny shadow darted from the doorway and hid behind a chair. He munched on a chip, waiting for the little spy to show herself. He didn’t wait long before she popped up next to him. The sprite had dark pigtails and brown eyes.
“My name is Dani. What’s yours?”
“Cruz.”
“Cruz?” She pulled out the chair next to him and climbed onto the seat. “That’s a funny name. I’m five years old. How old are you?”
“Thirty-one.”
“That’s really old. Do you know my grandpa?”
“No, I don’t.” The child was pure innocence, reminding Cruz not to get too close.
“My papa’s a good cook.”
Cruz pushed the basket of chips toward Dani. “Help yourself.”
She grabbed a chip and took tiny bites with her tiny teeth. “My daddy died.”
Shocked at her blunt statement, Cruz fumbled for something to say. “I’m sorry.”
“Mama wants Papa to come live with us.”
Pity for the child and her mother filled Cruz, surprising him. He hadn’t believed he had any compassion left in him, but the little girl’s sweetness tugged at a pla
ce deep inside him—a place he’d shut the door on as soon as he’d been locked up inside the prison walls.
“Dani.” The blonde returned. “I’m sorry. My daughter is a chatterbox and we don’t get many customers.” She set the meal and drink on the table then brushed a strand of hair from Dani’s face. “You miss your friends back home, don’t you?”
Cruz wanted to ask where home was but didn’t.
Dani pointed. “Cruz can be my friend.”
Sara quirked an eyebrow and he felt as if he’d just been reprimanded. He held out his hand. “Cruz Rivera.” She shook his hand and the calluses on her palm surprised him.
“Nice to meet you.” Sara switched her attention to her daughter. “Go into the kitchen and help Papa with the dishes.” Sara grabbed her daughter’s hand and helped her from the chair, then they left him to eat in peace.
Cruz savored his first bite of real food, letting the spices soak into his tongue before chewing. A lump formed in his throat as he swallowed. Once the first bite hit his stomach, he devoured the meal.
“Oh, my,” Sara said when she returned with a water pitcher and gaped at his empty plate. “You must have been starving.”
“It was real good.”
“I’ll make sure to tell my father-in-law.”
Without asking a single question Cruz knew more about the lives of three strangers than he knew about himself anymore. Sara set the bill down and walked off.
He left a twenty on the table, then stood. He didn’t want to wait for his change—a hefty tip would be his first good deed since leaving prison. He snuck out of the house, hopped into Shorty’s truck, then started the engine and flipped on the AC. Then he sat and stared at the damned donkeys.
After five minutes he shut off the truck and entered the restaurant where he found Sara clearing his table. Their gazes met across the room. Man, her eyes were pretty.
You’re asking for trouble.
“You forgot your change,” she said.
He shook his head. “I was wondering about the Help Wanted sign in the window.”
“Are you interested?”
The excitement in her voice startled him. “What kind of help do you need?”
Sara glanced toward the kitchen doors, then closed the distance between them. “Let’s talk outside.” She hustled him out the door and he barely registered the electric shock that skittered across his flesh when she brushed against him.
“I need someone to clean up and make a few repairs so we can list the property.”
“You’re leaving?”
“I’m trying to convince my father-in-law to move to Albuquerque with me and Dani but this place will never sell in its current condition.”
“I could do that.”
“José doesn’t want to sell. He won’t be much help to you,” she warned him. “I can pay ten dollars an hour. I know that’s not much but you can stay in the trailer and use the shower in the house. Meals are free.”
She hadn’t even asked for a reference. Lucky for you.
Cruz figured he could spruce up the place and be back on the road in less than a week with a few hundred dollars in his pocket. “That’s fine.”
Her smile widened but then she suddenly frowned. “You don’t carry a gun, do you?”
Unless he wanted to violate his parole and land back in prison, he didn’t dare possess a weapon. “No, ma’am. You’re welcome to search my truck and my personal belongings.”
“I trust you.”
She shouldn’t.
“I don’t like guns.” She hugged herself and stared into space, then shook her head. “I’m afraid the trailer doesn’t have air-conditioning and most of the windows are broken or missing.”
“Not a problem.” He’d rather breathe fresh air at night.
“While you settle in, I’ll break the news to José.” She squared her shoulders. “He won’t like you being here, but he doesn’t have a say in what I do with my money.”
Yet it was José’s property. Cruz kept his mouth shut and watched Sara’s swinging hips disappear inside the house.
That was the dumbest thing he’d done since he’d been released from prison and considering that he’d only been a free man for a few hours, his future looked more uncertain than ever.
* * *
“WE DON’T NEED HELP,” José grumbled.
Sara removed the clean enchilada pan from his hands and dried it. She wasn’t sure what to make of Cruz Rivera showing up out of the blue asking for work, but she wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. “He’s only staying until the property is de-cluttered.”
The guarded expression in the new handyman’s eyes should have scared Sara away, but she was at her wits’ end trying to deal with her stubborn father-in-law. If there was any cause for concern it was her reaction to Cruz—just saying his name in her head made her stomach flutter. He was the first man to have her counting back the months since she’d last had sex—seventeen, to be exact.
Cruz was cowboy and bad boy wrapped together in one sexy, dark, dangerous package. She’d noticed him studying her and the appreciative gleam in his brown eyes had contradicted his distant attitude.
“There’s nothing wrong with this place.” José wasn’t a hoarder but after the death of his son, the sixty-five-year-old had grown depressed and had little energy or enthusiasm for chores. As a result, boxes and empty bulk-food containers had piled up. Papago Springs didn’t have trash service and the handful of residents either burned their garbage or hauled it to the dump. José hadn’t made a trip to the landfill in ages.
When she and Dani had arrived a month ago, she’d had all she could handle cleaning the house, which hadn’t seen a dust rag or mop in forever. She’d taken a leave of absence from her pediatric-nurse position at The Children’s Center at Presbyterian and she had only four weeks left to convince José to move to Albuquerque before the clinic filled her position.
“Cruz will take the garbage to the dump and tackle what needs fixing before we list with a Realtor.”
“I’m not moving.”
“Dani and I miss you.”
Her father-in-law made an angry noise in his throat but held his tongue. She understood his reluctance to leave. Tony had been his only child and had been born in the house. And José’s wife, Sofia, had died here. There were decades of memories within the walls, but that was all that remained—memories. Sara wanted José to make new memories with her and Dani.
Since Tony’s death a year and a half ago, Dani could use the extra attention. And it would be such a relief not to have to pay for after-school care or babysitters when Sara worked overtime and weekend shifts at the clinic. With only her income to cover the rent and bills, money was tight. She had Tony’s life insurance in case of an emergency, but she didn’t want to use any more than she had to, because it was earmarked for Dani’s future college tuition. Education had been important to her husband—he’d been the first member of his family to attend college and he’d wanted his daughter to follow in his footsteps.
“You and Dani could move here,” José said.
They’d had this discussion before. “I’ve got a good job in Albuquerque and Dani loves her school.” Her daughter had been three and a half when her father died, and although she professed to love him, she didn’t really remember him. Tony had spent the majority of his spare time volunteering at the free medical clinic in the barrio. When he’d died, Dani hadn’t felt his loss as sharply as Sara had.
“If I leave, who will run the restaurant?” José asked.
She swallowed her frustration. One, maybe two people a week stopped in to eat at the cantina.
“And I can’t leave the animals behind,” he said.
Animals that other people had asked him to watch while they took vacations but then never returne
d to claim. “We’ll find good homes for the mules and the horse.” When he remained silent, she said, “What can it hurt to give the place a face-lift whether you move or not?”
“It’s a waste of good money.”
“It’s my money. I’ll decide if it’s wasted or not.”
“How come Antonio never mentioned how stubborn you are?” The corner of José’s mouth lifted in a shaky smile.
Sara’s heart ached for the old man and she hugged him. He’d been more of a father to her than her own. Her parents had divorced when she’d been a teenager and she’d had no contact with her father since. When Sara had graduated from high school and entered college, her mother met and married a Frenchman, then moved overseas with him. She only saw her mother and stepfather every few years.
“Things will work out, José. You’ll see.”
José and Dani were all that was left of Sara’s real family and she was determined to keep them together.
Chapter Two
As far as rusted-out single-wide trailers went, this one was a five-star accommodation compared to where Cruz had laid his head last night. The windowless tin box allowed for plenty of airflow and made the mobile home feel less confining. There were no appliances in the kitchen and only a trickle of rusty water ran out of the faucet when he flipped it on.
Still better than a prison cell.
“My mom says you’re gonna help Papa.”
The high-pitched little voice startled Cruz. He spun so fast he lost his balance and crashed his hip against the Formica countertop. Unbelievable. He’d faced down gangbangers and thugs, yet this pip-squeak had managed to sneak up on him.
He took the stack of clean sheets that were weighing down her arms. “Thank you.”