by Hebby Roman
“We could have hired a nanny, but Cathy was ‘hands on’ from the beginning. I buried myself in ranch work, and she immersed herself in our daughters. She wanted them to stay in town and attend public school. Wanted them to have a normal upbringing, go out for sports, cheerleading, all that stuff.” He paused and twirled his beer between his hands.
“We didn’t see each other much, except weekends and holidays. Summers, we’d take one family vacation, and then we sent the girls to camp.”
He stopped twirling the bottle and knotted his hands around the Lone Star. “When the girls went away to camp, we said it was our time, but as the years rolled by, we grew more and more apart. Didn’t have much in common. We’d go to some swanky Mexican resort for our vacation and beyond talking about the girls, we didn’t have much to say to each other.”
“What about your ranches?”
“Cathy loved some aspects of ranching, but after she became a mother, the ranches weren’t important. She lost interest.”
He took another drink from his beer. “That’s my sad story, Leticia.”
“But it’s been ten years, why haven’t y’all divorced?”
“I’m afraid that’s my fault, too. Cathy wants a divorce, but we’ve consolidated the ranches, and they’re all I’ve got. Except for my grandsons for a few weeks each summer. I hate to split the land up now. In this day and age, the larger the ranch, the more efficient and profitable.”
“I see. But kind of tough on Cathy. Don’t you think?”
“You think I’m being selfish?”
But he really didn’t want her to answer. Instead, he reached out and took her hand. “Enough about me.” He tried to smile and failed. “You’ve worn me out, making me talk about stuff I’d rather not revisit.”
She let him hold her hand for a moment, but then pulled her hand free. Looking him directly in the eye, she snapped her fingers. “So, I’m supposed to forgive you for all the wrongs in the past? Just like that?”
His lowered his gaze. “I hope I’ve grown up since then. Gotten over being an arrogant sonofabitch. I know I’ve tried.”
“Then you should give Cathy her divorce. I’m assuming she’s moved on.”
He ran his hand over his chin. “Good Lord, Leticia, when did you get so tough?”
“When I lost Eduardo before his time.”
He took a long swallow of beer. “Can’t say as I blame you.” He set the beer down. “And yes, Cathy has moved on. She lives mostly in San Antonio now, kinda equidistant to visit the girls, and she dates a retired Air Force Colonel.”
“Let her go, John Clay. Don’t make the same old mistakes.”
He huffed. “I didn’t know you’d get preachy on me.”
Then he wanted to bite his tongue in two. He needed to take her criticism and not get defensive. He lifted one shoulder and lowered his voice, wanting to smooth over his knee-jerk reaction. “Besides, this is about business. Undoing the ranches won’t be easy.”
She lifted one eyebrow. “You haven’t changed. Have you? And is it really about business or something else?”
His heart lurched, and he held up his hands, palms out. That was the last thing he wanted her to think—that he hadn’t changed. And to be fair, she had a point. Maybe he was being selfish, feeling like the ranches were all he had left to give his life meaning.
“Okay, okay, I’ll think about it.”
“Then, I’ll think about forgiving you.”
He wanted to bury his head in his hands, wondering if she’d ever get over the hurt he’d caused her. Wanting her to believe he had changed—that his failures had cost him.
He couldn’t keep the note of despair from his voice when he said, “What do you want me to do, Leticia? Get on my knees and grovel? I will, you know. I want your forgiveness.” He dropped his hands and fisted them on the table. “For all my high-handed ways and arrogant mistakes.”
“Okay, fine, John Clay. You’re forgiven.” She raised her glass and finished her margarita. “It’s been an interesting evening.” She glanced at her wristwatch. “But it’s getting late. I’ve got an early day tomorrow.”
“But you promised to tell me about Camila. How is she doing? And why did she give up barrel racing?”
“Camila is fine. And yes, she was on the rodeo circuit for about four years, and she was very talented.”
“In the top three, I thought someone told me.”
“Yes, that’s the sad part. Just as she was getting somewhere, she had a freak accident while competing. Both she and her horse broke their legs.” She pushed the schooner to one side. “Macy, her mare, had to be put down. Camila’s leg healed, but she realized she’d never be strong enough to be a contender at that level—too competitive. So, she enrolled in A & M last fall and has about seven years left to become a vet.”
“What about Rusty Douglas? Are they serious?”
She exhaled. “Yes, they’re serious; they’re engaged. He’s eighteen years older than her. Like you said, he’s closer to my age. It was a problem at first… But I think, they’re suited, despite the age gap. Eduardo was twelve years older than me.”
“Eighteen years is a lot. Was he married before?”
“Briefly, he and his wife evidently didn’t have much in common from the start.”
“Any children?”
“No, Rusty doesn’t have children.”
“When are they planning on getting married?”
She pursed her lips. “Because Camila has at least seven more years of school, they haven’t set a date.” She drummed her fingers on the table. “Now it’s my turn to be envious. I’m jealous about your grandsons.” She sighed. “I wonder if I’ll ever have grandchildren.”
“Oh, I’m sure you will. Don’t worry. Rusty’s a good guy from what I’ve heard, and I’m sure they will have children. ‘Where there’s a will, there’s a way.’ And I know you’ll be great with your grandkids. Probably spoil them rotten.” He grinned and saluted her with his beer bottle. “Wasn’t Rusty your husband’s partner in the ranch?”
“That’s correct, and he’s still my partner. Guess we’ll be keeping our ranch in the family, too. And he’s a petroleum engineer and re-opened the Eagle Ford formation. But right now, he’s got his wells shut down until the price corrects. He’s working on an MBA at A & M so he can be with Camila and building condos there. He owns quite a bit of real estate in Del Rio.”
“Like you?”
“Yes, like me.”
“I’ve been amazed, watching you amass property. And for a long time, you kept a family counseling center going, too, not to mention your charity work. You should be proud. I’m in awe of all you’ve accomplished. Has anyone, since Eduardo, told you how awesome you are?”
She shook her head, and her gaze slid south. “You’re embarrassing me, John Clay. I’ve worked hard and helped where I could … no more, no less.”
“Well, you can’t take my opinion away from me.” He looked at her and wondered if she could see the raw adoration in his eyes. Then he leaned forward and asked what he’d wanted to ask since he’d seen her in Houston at the races.
“That was a good-looking guy with you at the track. He kind of reminded me of Eduardo.”
She lifted her eyes and met his gaze. “He’s not my boyfriend, if that’s what you’re trying to get at.” She shook her head. “He’s my horse trainer. I brought him from México to help train the charro horses.” She smoothed her hair back. “Now he and Chuy are off on this crazy jag, wanting to get into Quarter horse racing. That’s why we were all at the Sam Houston—”
“Quarter horse racing!” His heart lurched again, and his pulse raced. He couldn’t begin to contain his excitement. He thumped the table with his fisted hand. “That’s my latest passion! I’ve got a stable of twenty horses. I enjoy training them and watching them run.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really. I love everything about Quarter horse racing. I follow the circuit when I can. It’s exciting and chall
enging. It’s my latest love since … since I haven’t done so well with women. Safer, too.” He grinned.
“Then you’re just the person to help me. I’m trying to decide what to do with this sorrel gelding Chuy found. He’s very fast, but I don’t have a stable of racing horses and it seems to me—”
“Can I see your new horse? I’d love to help you make up your mind about what to do.”
He leaned over the table, eager to help and excited to have a reason for them to spend time together. It was the perfect opportunity—dropped in his lap. Even if she had forgiven him; he doubted she’d be willing to date. But if he could get close to her by helping her; his prayers would be answered.
“When can I come to your ranch and see him?”
* * *
Leticia opened her hatchback and looked around. The ranch yard was deserted. She raised her voice and called out, “Chuy, are you here? Hello! Señor Ramos, could you come and help with my bag.”
No one answered. Nobody came out of the barn. And the corral was empty. Where was everybody?
She sighed and lifted her own bag. When would she learn to leave some clothes at the condo she kept in Del Rio, instead, of dragging them back and forth?
A door slammed, and she saw Maria, standing on the front porch, wiping her hands on her apron. “Hola, Señora Leticia, let me help you.” She came down the steps.
“No, I’ve got it. I’m just used to one of the men being around. Where is everybody?”
“Pedro and the other boys are moving some of the cattle,” Maria replied. “Chuy and Señor Ramos have gone to Piedras Negras to bring back Señor Ramos’ son from immigration.”
Maria turned around, climbed the front steps, and held the door open.
She followed Maria back to the kitchen, pulling her roller bag behind her, trying not to catch it on the bright Indian-style throw rugs scattered over the red-tiled floor.
“That was quick for immigration. I didn’t think the paperwork would go through so fast.” Leticia sniffed the air, savoring the yeasty-sweet smell. “You’ve been baking. And I haven’t eaten all day. What did you make?”
“Pan dulce.”
“My favorite. Are they ready? Can I have a couple with some coffee?”
“I thought you didn’t like sweets.” Maria’s tone of voice was just-this-side-of-teasing.
“I don’t, usually, but for your pan dulce, I’ll make a sacrifice.”
Maria sniffed. “You’re way too skinny anyway, Señora.”
“Don’t you know the old saying, Maria? ‘You can never be too rich or too skinny.’”
Maria fisted her hands and plumped them on her ample hips. “No, I’ve never heard of it—it must be a gringo saying.”
“And you’d be right. It is.”
Maria grunted and turned away, pouring her a cup of coffee and fetching some of the flat, round bread, heavily dusted with sugar, from the warming oven. She put the plate and cup on the kitchen island. “Sit, eat, talk.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Leticia left her bag beside the kitchen door and settled into one of the café-sized stools in front of the huge, granite-topped island anchoring the kitchen. “Why don’t you join me?”
Maria grinned, revealing one missing eye tooth. “I’ve already had two of them.” She patted her mid-riff. “I’m the one who should be watching my weight.”
“Well, then get a cup of coffee and keep me company at least.” Leticia bit into the still-warm sweet bread, and the sugary-goodness exploded in her mouth.
Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she felt as if she’d died and gone to heaven. It had been so long since she’d eaten anything sweet—she’d forgotten what a sugar rush was like.
Maria sat at the corner of the island, cradling a mug of coffee in her hand.
“So, the men didn’t need for me to go and pick up Señor Ramos’ son? I wonder about the immigration office.”
“Chuy is an American, born on this side of the border. And you gave him the authority.”
“Yes, I guess I did. And I suppose Señor Ramos went because it’s his son. I sure hope he took his papers with him, though.”
Maria sniffed. “La Migra can have him.”
“Maria! What are you saying? You want immigration to send Señor Ramos back to México?” Leticia asked, wondering where her housekeeper was coming from.
And then a thought occurred to her. “If you know I don’t eat sweets, who did you make the pan dulce for?”
“I made the pan dulce for Chuy. He loves sweets.”
That was interesting. She would file the information away for future reference. Both Maria and Chuy were widowed, and they both lived on the property. Chuy had his cabin and Maria had her own bedroom, sitting room and bath in a separate wing of the rambling ranch house.
Leticia had often wondered why they hadn’t been drawn to each other. Maybe they were. She just hadn’t pulled her head out of the sand long enough to notice. She remembered how long it had taken for her to catch onto Camila’s attraction for Rusty.
“And what is this about La Migra and Señor Ramos?”
Maria widened her eyes, as if she had no idea what Leticia was talking about. “¿Qué?”
“Don’t be coy with me. Why don’t you like Señor Ramos?”
Maria lowered her gaze and sipped her coffee. “It is not my place to say, Señora.”
“Oh, yes, it is. Especially if I ask you.”
She sniffed again and wiped her nose with her apron. “That one, he’s way too pushy. Doesn’t know his place.” She frowned. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you, the way he wants to touch you all the time. It’s not right.” She pushed her mug to one side. “And now, he’s gotten you to bring his son from México.”
She threw up her hands. “What next? His whole family? Then he can stay and marry his muy rico employer.”
“But Maria, you know how hard it is for me to find good horse trainers.”
Maria snorted again. “So, Ramos says, but you did not do the research on this one, like before.” She puffed out her chest. “Am I not right?”
Hearing how their relationship appeared to Maria, Leticia’s face heated and she ducked her head, making quick work of the first pan dulce.
She stirred some Equal into her coffee and sipped. “Maria, I have no intention of bringing over all of Señor Ramos’ family. You can rest assured of that.” Then she muttered, almost as if to herself, “Even if immigration would let me.”
“And their work visas, you must renew them every year. Yes?” Maria asked.
“That’s correct, but what—”
“Because if Señor Ramos doesn’t plan on staying and wants to return to México, then what can he offer you, Señora?” Maria touched the left side of her chest. “One of those quickie love affairs like in the telenovelas, and then he will break your heart.” Her housekeeper looked her in the eye. “I do not want to see you hurt. Losing Señor Eduardo has been hurt enough.”
Leticia didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. At least, now she understood why Maria didn’t approve of Franco. Thinking about her housekeeper’s over-the-top protectiveness, a giggle gurgled in her throat, but she didn’t want to hurt Maria’s feelings by laughing.
She bit the inside of her mouth and stood, throwing her arms around her housekeeper’s neck. “I didn’t know you cared so much about me.”
“Have I not been here for ten years and more? Watched Camila grow up and move away … twice? Held you in my arms at Señor Eduardo’s service?” She returned the hug and sniffled.
Leticia released her, and then she said, softly, “Gracias, Maria, for all you’ve done for me and my family. You’re right, you’ve been like a mother to me.”
Maria’s head snapped up, and she could see the offended look in her eyes. The woman shook her head. “Madre, no. Por favor, su hermana, sí. We are not so different in age.”
Leticia hugged her again. “You’re right, sisters, mi hermana.”
They pulled apart. “Th
at is why I worry about this Señor Ramos. He has no right to be forcing his attentions on you.”
Leticia gazed at her housekeeper, wondering if she should take Maria’s advice to heart. After all, she was conflicted about starting a relationship with him, despite his persistence. Maybe she should leave well enough alone.
And standing there, she realized her feet hurt. She balanced on one foot and then the other, slipping off her high-heeled, black leather shoes. “Okay, I’ll watch myself. But what about you and Chuy? There’s nothing stopping y’all from—”
“No, no, it is not like that between us. We’re both too old for that silliness.”
Leticia smoothed her hair. “I thought you said you weren’t much older than—”
“But too old for that. Our children would not approve. No, Chuy and I would not suit.” She stuck her nose in the air.
Leticia wondered what that was all about. Did Maria have feelings for Chuy he didn’t return? It would bear watching.
“All right, have it your way.” She grabbed the second piece of sweet bread and said, “I guess I’ll get unpacked.” She grasped the handle of her suitcase and headed for the swinging door. “And thanks for the pan dulce. They’re delicious.”
Maria bobbed her head. “De nada.”
Leticia cocked her elbow to open the swinging door, but then she had a thought, and turned back again. “Oh, and can you cook something special for tomorrow night’s dinner?” She leveled her gaze at Maria. “And I do mean special, not carne guisada or tamales or… How about doing your standing rump roast with gravy and scalloped potatoes?”
“But the men might not be back in time, Señora, you never know how long La Migra will take to process—”
“The dinner isn’t for Chuy and Señor Ramos and his son. It’s for an old friend of mine. A rancher who has a Quarter horse racing stable. He’s going to help me with Stormy Knight.”
Leticia’s cell chirped. She let go of the handle of the suitcase and fished the phone out of her purse. It was Camila.
“Maria, it’s my daughter. I’ll talk in the study.” She inclined her head toward her rolling luggage. “Do you think you could take the suitcase to my room?”