His Temporary Wife Read online

  “Lillie Mae had her horse here after she fell,” he added. “Six months. Wintered here. I closed up two sides of the shed and he was just fine.”

  “Yes,” she said gently. “I spoke to Ms. Wilson, remember? You sent me her name as a reference?”

  He looked puzzled. “Lillie Mae complained about me?”

  “No. She told me you’d been wonderful, taking care of her horse for free after she broke her hip. “But—” She shrugged and waved a hand at the small area. “My mare just wouldn’t have enough room or shelter here.”

  “Well, then, good luck to you, Miss Salinas.” He scratched his chin and looked thoughtfully at the trailer. “Might find a place over at the Double Block Ranch. Not a lot of places would board a horse around here. Unless—” The sun-browned face brightened. “If you have kin—”

  “I do,” she acknowledged. “But my aunt Tina wouldn’t have a place for a horse, I don’t think.”

  His brow knotted. “Tina? Small town, and we know pretty much everyone here, but I don’t remember …”

  “Most everyone calls her Tía, I think.”

  His puzzlement disappeared. “Oh, that’d be Tía Cervantes. Nice lady. But we never heard about you.” He shrugged a little. “Well, if you want the truth be told, she’s kind of standoffish to some of us. But I’m sure she’s a nice lady anyhow.”

  He turned at the sound of an old sedan laboring its way along the drive, and his whole face lit up. “Connie’s come home,” he explained. “My wife works down at the Longhorn Bait and Wait store over at the lake.”

  Connie came toward them, her frame thin like her husband’s, her steps a little slow, but a huge smile of welcome on her face. “Hi, there,” she greeted, walking right up to Esme, pecking her cheek, and hugging her. “Y’all’d be the lady bringing the horse to stay. Emerald—” She stopped herself. “No, that’s not right. It’s Spanish, right? For the same thing?”

  Esmeralda smiled, liking this couple who were already more accepting of her than many folks in Rose Creek had ever been. “Don’t worry. It means the same thing. If you’d like, you can call me Esme.”

  “So, are you about to take your horse out?” Connie asked hopefully. “I love horses, but can’t ride anymore. Even if we could afford to, I couldn’t. Hurt my back last year, and I’m not real well.”

  “Ma, Esme don’t want to hear all our troubles. She’s changed her mind—wanted a little better place for her horse.”

  Connie’s face fell, but she gave Esme a brave smile. “Sorry to hear that dear, but of course you want the best for your horse.”

  Esmeralda looked around slowly. The place wasn’t luxurious, but seemed safe. Besides, if for some reason she didn’t stay here … she breathed a little prayer under her breath that this wouldn’t be a mistake. “Actually, Mr. Peterson—”

  “Irving, ma’am. Call me Irving. We don’t stand on formality.”

  “Irving, if you don’t mind, I think I’ll leave her until I get settled. You did hold the place for me.”

  Irving’s face broke into a wide smile. “Well, you won’t regret it. If you move her later, that’s fine. And if you want her to stay, I could fix up the shed. Build up the walls so she’d be nice and warm.”

  “Let’s wait on that, though,” Esmeralda encouraged. “I need to see what my long-term plans are. I’ll let her out now, if you don’t mind.”

  “Can’t wait to see her!” Connie walked over to a spot by the small corral and waited, her face full of expectation.

  Esmeralda drew the pin on the trailer and let the ramp down, then eased in beside the mare and backed her out, hearing the gasps of admiration from the Petersons.

  “She’s beautiful! Never seen a prettier Appaloosa,” Connie declared, clasping her hands together almost in applause.

  Esme smiled. This must be how parents felt when their babies were complimented. Domatrix did attract attention with her stocky conformation, glossy blood bay coat, and rump-covering blanket of white, with its explosion of bay and black spots.

  After unclipping the mare’s lead and rubbing her ears, she watched as Domatrix inspected her new surroundings, then returned to head butt her affectionately. Connie came over, her hand held out.

  “Okay if I make friends with her?” she asked, and the mare turned around and head butted her, too, then snuffed at the stranger’s cheek.

  “Looks like she’s fine with it.” Esmeralda grinned.

  “What’s her name?”

  Right. Her name. There were times she wished she’d chosen a tamer name, that Toby, her fiancé, hadn’t goaded her to choose the name she’d given her. “Domatrix.”

  The couple’s face didn’t change. “What a pretty name,” Connie crooned. “I bet you call her Trixie for short, right?”

  “Ummm … I usually use her whole name, but I don’t mind if you call her that,” Esme offered. She looked around. “I’ll unload the food and get her watered. Then I need to go into town. I’ll be out first thing in the morning.”

  The Petersons nodded absently, both busy fussing over her mare, who seemed to like the couple far more than she did most strangers.

  A few minutes later, Esmeralda pulled open the door of the truck, wishing it were the Corvette she’d sold before packing up and leaving Rose Creek. At least she could leave the trailer for the moment and the sun was still high in the summer sky. Surely she’d have an easier trip back.

  She hoisted a leg to swing up when she suddenly remembered the words Rafael Benton had hissed at Angela. “I’ll kill her.” Why the words returned so abruptly she didn’t know, but she shivered slightly. Maybe she’d misheard him. And “her” could be anyone, couldn’t it?

  “Mr.—Irving, do you and Connie know someone named Rafael Benton?” she asked curiously.

  “Hmph! Can’t say I know him, but I know about him,” Irving answered, face full of displeasure. “One of those rich city bigwigs come here to ruin the town.”

  “Irving Peterson, shame on you! Judging a man on nothing but rumors and gossip,” Connie said.

  “Well, he lives at Witches Haven,” Irving snorted. “Can’t be a godly man alive who would live there.”

  “Witches Haven?”

  “Now don’t you pay no mind to that,” Connie ordered. “Just a name someone gave this house on a hill, cause it’s built so secretive and so dark.”

  “Looks like the devil’s place,” Irving put in.

  “Sounds weird,” Esmeralda noted, climbing in and fastening her seatbelt.

  “Surprised you didn’t see it,” Irving continued. “You drove right by it about a mile from here. It’ll be on your left on the hill as you go around Death’s Curve.”

  “Colorful,” she muttered, then nodded at the Petersons and backed out.

  She’d left Rose Creek after a kidnapping and fire had ended a dog-fighting ring—something she would never have expected to find in such a small town.

  Yet here she was in Truth, hearing a muttered death threat from a man who lived in a place called Witches Haven. On Death Curve. Yeah, right. The irony amused her most of the way back to Truth, and by the time she remembered to be on the lookout for the sinister-sounding place, she’d driven right by. She shook her head and turned the radio up a little louder, blocking out everything except the music that always sustained her.

  • • •

  I’m crazy. Rafael Benton slouched in a plush chair in Tía’s private upstairs office, and methodically closed and opened his fingers, a habit he’d had since he’d run wild on the streets of Laredo, a child without a home or hope. Sometimes he’d used those fists, often to his own disadvantage. Small and undernourished as a child, he knew he was a lot more intimidating now than he’d been then. He didn’t mind; there was protection in strength, real or perceived.

  But he’d been stupid, telling Angela that he’d kill Tía. He didn’t mean it; he would never hurt a woman. Probably not anyone else, either; his parents had brought him up to be persistent, but not ruthless. Protecti
ve, but not violent. He smiled, seeing images of his adoptive mother and father in his mind. Good people, enormously successful. A little stubborn and set in their ways. Incredibly loved.

  And he’d let them down. Irritated, he shoved himself from the chair and paced across the small, polished wood floor, his stomach churning. From up here, he could still see her life-size photo on the far wall of the club, a single candle burning there always. Cody Benton. The baby sister he’d adored. The woman he’d let die. Bile rose in his throat, and he swallowed hard. He’d had help letting her destroy herself. Tía had been chief among all those “friends,” with their endless demands, pleasures, and false smiles. For every move he’d made to increase the security around his sister, Tía had managed to help Cody circumvent it.

  He wouldn’t hurt Tía, though, and the fact that Angela trusted him here in her boss’s sanctuary proved that she knew he wasn’t a threat. At least not physically. If he could cause the collapse of this damn bar around Tina Cervantes’s ears, he would. She deserved to lose something; his sister had lost everything. And the destruction had started down on that stage tucked into a front corner of the bar.

  He swallowed hard, trying to chase the sour taste out of his mouth. He’d been a fool to involve her in his desperate plan to provide stability and safety for Cody’s now motherless son. She couldn’t be trusted not to talk, though she’d sworn she could. He’d thought he could buy her silence, if not loyalty, but he wasn’t sure he even had that. If she talked, his parents would find out and be crushed. And he’d endanger the only solution he’d come up with to assure his nephew’s future.

  His phone vibrated, and he pulled it out. The wallpaper showed a smiling little boy, chubby-cheeked with wheat colored hair and blinding blue eyes. His nephew, Justin.

  The number belonged to his friend and former partner, Marc Dryer. Marc still worked out of Rafael’s father’s Dallas office, chasing around the globe to investigate problems within the oil company, assess threats, evaluate investments—the go-to man. A job they’d done together, before Cody launched a music career.

  Wearily he clicked the phone on.

  “Marc, what’s up?”

  “Nothing, man. Just called to see how you’re doing.”

  “I’m good.”

  “Hmph. Look, you’re punishing yourself. Tell your dad you want to come back to Houston. I may be flying out to the Middle East next month. I’ll need you with me.”

  “I have some loose ends to tie up here, Marc.”

  They talked briefly, and then Marc said into a sudden lull, “So are you still going to do it?”

  “Yes, and don’t lecture me. I am.”

  “Man, you’ve got rocks in your head. Cotton brains. A …”

  “Save it,” Rafael snapped. “I’d do anything to make up for what I couldn’t do for Cody, and you know it. Do you think I don’t know how I let Mom and Dad down? And my nephew doesn’t have a mother. How do I fix that?”

  Marc didn’t answer at first, but then he sighed heavily. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “But dude … I’m almost sure hiring a wife won’t work.”

  Chapter Three

  When the front door of the club swung open at four and a petite woman bustled in, Esmeralda straightened in her chair and peered at the newcomer doubtfully. If this was her aunt, her memories were faulty. The high-piled raven hair glinted under the soft lighting, and elaborate gold earrings fell almost to her shoulders. The woman wore a long, flowered skirt that stopped high enough off the ground to show delicate feet accented by the lace up heels. Esmeralda didn’t remember her aunt being so petite. Even in heels, this woman was short.

  The tight, low-cut top exposing a wealth of cleavage … well, she wouldn’t have noticed that about her aunt on those brief moments she’d visited with her as a child, would she? When she looked carefully at Tía’s face, she knew. Tía bore little resemblance to her sister Adriana; the eyes and the nose were completely different. The broad lips, though … their mouths would have been identical if Adriana had smiled more. In Esme’s memories, Tía always smiled. Now, though, the woman who had come in looked serious and unhappy, and the sullen mouth clearly identified her.

  Drawing a deep breath, Esmeralda rose to her feet and walked towards her aunt. “Tía Tina—TT!” The double initials were a nickname that Esme and her brother used for their aunt, apparently because at some point Beto had been unable to pronounce his aunt’s formal name.

  Tina stopped, utter shock freezing her face. Seconds ticked past and Esmeralda felt nerves clench in her stomach. Suddenly the faint aroma of the menudo oozing in from the kitchen made her nauseous.

  Then Tina crossed over to her, and placed hands on her arms, then her face. “Esme? Esmeralda Salinas, is this really you … all …. all ….” She wrapped Esmeralda in an enormous hug. “Where’s everyone? Did Angel feed you? Has anyone given you something to drink? Angel!”

  “I’m fine,” Esmeralda assured her. “It’s so good to see you, TT.”

  “It’s … I can’t believe you’re here, girl! And looking like you just stepped out of one of them fashion magazines!” She pinched Esme’s cheek with silver nails that sparkled. “And I don’t mean beautiful, I mean you look starved!” She chortled a little. “Well, okay, you’re gorgeous, too, but you seriously need to eat!”

  “I’m fine,” Esme repeated. “I had a late lunch.” And menudo would make me puke right now.

  Angel hurried in just then. “¿Me hablaste?”

  Annoyance came and went in Tina’s face. “You know I called you, and you know I don’t want you to use Spanish unless there’s a reason to. Did you feed my niece?”

  Color tinted Angel’s cheeks. “She didn’t want anything, Tía. I did ask.”

  “Please don’t scold her, TT. She insisted, but as I told you, I’d just eaten. I really didn’t want food.”

  “Okay. And darling, I have a little favor to ask.” Tina turned to Esme. “Please, please, don’t call me TT. Or Tina.” She smiled, not quite enough to take the emphasis off her order. “Bad for business. No one calls me anything but Tía.”

  “Well, I guess I can do that. I mean, you really are my aunt.” Esmeralda grinned.

  “Exactly. And all my best clients are family, too,” her aunt said. “Make them feel like family and they’ll come here every time. Angel, where’s Tom?”

  “In the back, checking stock. We’ve been watching. If anyone comes in, he’ll be right out.”

  “Good. Can’t have a bar without a bartender, can we? Go tell him it’s time for him to be out here, Angel.” Tía turned back to Esmeralda. “So, darling, exactly what brought you to the exciting town of Truth, Texas?”

  “Two things,” Esmeralda admitted, watching her aunt’s face carefully. She reached out and caught one of Tía’s hands, squeezing it. “I wanted to see you.” She paused, fighting back her nervousness, and managed to smile a little. “And I decided to take you up on your invitation.”

  “My invitation?” Tía withdrew her hand and cocked her head a little, her glance quizzical. “What invitation, querida mía?”

  Her aunt’s endearment puzzled her a little, since she’d just told Angel not to use Spanish. But at least the tone seemed positive.

  “When you were in Chicago, you told me I should just drop by whenever—that I’d always have a home. I … I decided to drop by and see … if you’d still have me.”

  Tía looked like she’d been punched in the gut. All color left her face, and one hand went to her chest, clasping the place over her heart as if she were in danger of falling over.

  Esme wanted to die.

  “Tía, I’m sorry. I wanted to surprise you. I should have called.” She circled her hands in the air helplessly. “I’ll rent a place for a few days. If you have time, we’ll visit—”

  “You didn’t call,” Tía hissed. “Moving in is a big deal, Esmeralda!”

  “Of course it is,” Esme acknowledged, her cheeks flaming. “I’m so sorry … I …”
r />   “Never mind,” Tía ordered, pulling herself together. The tight lines around her mouth eased into the grin Esme remembered so well. “I guess I did that a couple or three times, even to your Mom.”

  “She’s your sister,” Esme reminded Tía. “She …”

  “Tries to love me,” Tía retorted, nodding sarcastically. “And mostly fails.”

  The door opened, and a couple of men walked in, choosing a table near her aunt. They were middle-aged and dressed in ranch clothes—worn shirts and boots, jeans that bore rips from riding through cedar or fighting barbed wire and losing. Not the Rose Creek kind of cowboys. Excitement pricked in Esme. Solid men, cowboys. Not these men, who probably had wives and half-grown children, but maybe she would quit looking for men and find a man. The man. She allowed herself a tiny smile. If the man looked anything like Rafael Benton, she could certainly live with that.

  “Hola, Tía!” one of the men called in Anglicized Spanish. “Got Roy and me some menudo coming out yet?”

  “You betcha, Chuck!” Tía turned to the bar. “Tom, take care of my boys, won’t you?”

  He nodded and headed off to the kitchen.

  “None of my business, but … who’s your friend, Tía?” The cowboy smiled at Esmeralda, “If you don’t mind my asking,” he added.

  Esmeralda would have introduced herself, but Tía wrapped an arm around her, squeezing her. “My niece, Esmeralda. Folks call her Esme.”

  “Your niece!” Both men stood up and walked over, holding out hands. “Well, welcome to Truth! We didn’t know our Tía here had real kin around.”

  Esmeralda shook their hands, returning their smiles. “Just got here a couple of hours ago,” she admitted. “Nice meeting you.”

  Tom and Angela came out with colorfully decorated bowls of menudo and a basket heaped with steaming tortillas.

  “Enjoy,” Angel said, nodding at the pair as she left.

  “Thanks, Angel,” they answered in unison.

  “Excuse us,” Chuck said, nodding. “We have a date with some cow gut soup and cold beer.”