by Brenda Novak
“You are offering work for me?” she clarified.
The hope in her face put a guilty knot in his stomach. Even when his mother was primarily raising him and Brent on her own, with their father making life a lot more difficult than it needed to be, he’d never lacked the necessities. “Yes. In exchange for food and shelter.”
“I clean. You will see no one speck of dirt,” she assured him.
He managed a smile. He had no doubt she’d take as much pride in her work as everything else. “Great. That’s what I’m looking for. Do we have a deal?”
When her gaze strayed to the diner down the street, he felt a fresh pang of remorse for not giving her a bite to eat at the cabin. “Sí. A deal,” she said. Then she thrust out her hand to shake on it.
CHAPTER FOUR
TWO WOMEN WHO ARRIVED after they were seated kept staring at the three of them while they ate, but Cierra didn’t care. She was too hungry to be distracted. She’d never had a meal, not in America, that tasted better than the meat loaf and mashed potatoes she’d been served. And just when she’d finished everything on her plate, Ken decided he couldn’t eat all his steak. He’d said it would go to waste if she couldn’t eat it for him, so she’d polished that off, too.
His actions proved how spoiled he was. Who ordered an expensive entrée and ate only a few bites of it? Brent had no trouble downing his lasagna. Like her, he seemed to be hungry.
But she didn’t mind saving Ken’s meal from the trash. She could’ve eaten five steaks. Or…maybe not five. By the time she’d swallowed the last bite, she actually felt full, but was able to make room for the banana cream pie Ken ordered for dessert.
It wasn’t until Cierra had scraped every delicious crumb off her plate that she realized she’d eaten her pie even faster than Brent had eaten his. Self-conscious again, she lifted her gaze to find Ken watching her, his fork dangling halfway between his mouth and his plate, only a small portion of his pie gone.
“What? It is no good for you?” she said to cover her breach in etiquette. Throughout dinner she’d been careful to eat slowly and calmly, as a lady should, but when the pie arrived she’d grown sleepy and relaxed and wound up embarrassing herself.
“No.” He pushed it toward her. “Go ahead.”
She picked up her fork—then imagined how she must’ve looked shoveling that pie into her mouth a moment earlier. “I am…satisfied. Thank you.” Pushing it away, she put her fork back on the table with a determined clink.
“It’ll go to waste if you don’t eat it,” he threatened.
He said that about everything, and she was beginning to understand why. “Like the steak?”
“Like the steak.”
“And the coat?”
He shrugged.
“Do you always throw away good clothes and food?”
“Easy come, easy go,” he mumbled.
She probably would’ve given in, despite her fear of looking like a pig, but Brent spoke up before she could respond. “I’ll eat it,” he said, then yelped. Cierra guessed his brother had just kicked him under the table.
“Or…actually, no,” he said. “I’m stuffed. You have it.”
Cierra studied Ken, then Brent. Brent reminded her of the dog she’d had as a child. He was big and kindhearted, but a little goofy and oblivious to nuance. He had nothing to fear, no reason to be wary, because the world had always been a safe place for him. That was probably true of Ken, too, and yet…Ken noticed things. He’d given her his coat because she needed it, just as he’d had her eat his meal because he knew she was still hungry.
She’d have to be careful around him, watch her every word, every move, or he’d soon know far too much about her business.
“Please, let him eat,” she said, deferring to Brent.
“Fine,” Ken responded, and she smiled as she moved the pie over to Brent, who ate it with the same gusto with which he’d eaten everything else. Meanwhile, Ken took a plastic card from his wallet and reached for the bill.
“How much?” Cierra asked.
His eyebrows slid up in question.
“Dinero?” She held one hand to her chest. “For me?”
“Doesn’t matter. You’ll work it off, remember? I’ve got it.”
“I just…need to know.” How could she make sure she kept her end of the bargain if she didn’t know how much she owed him?
He waved away her concern. “Don’t worry about it.”
She was about to insist he tell her when the two women she’d noticed earlier walked over. One, a blonde at least five inches taller than Cierra, was the prettiest white woman she’d ever seen. The other, a curvy brunette much closer to her own five foot three, was almost as pretty.
“Ken, it’s so great to see you again,” the blonde crooned as they embraced.
“It’s been a long time,” he responded. “How’ve you been, Tiff?”
“Fine. Busy with my new flower shop. And you?”
“I’m in transition right now, but…hanging in.”
Eyes filled with avid curiosity, “Tiff” looked at Cierra, then flashed a brief smile at Brent before returning her attention to Ken. “Are you home for the holidays or…”
“I’m home for good.”
“Really? When did that happen?”
Cierra was so taken with this woman’s light eyes and hair, she didn’t immediately notice that Brent seemed equally impressed with her beauty. He couldn’t stop fidgeting. He put his hands in his pockets, took them out again, shifted his weight from one foot to the other, tugged on the bottom of his shirt….
“Just this week.”
Cierra knew that these women found Ken as attractive as she did. Any woman would. Again, she remembered the feel of his smooth skin against her cold hands, the solidity of his body, and felt an uncharacteristic twinge of jealousy…
“Where’ve you been staying?” she asked.
“My parents’ house.”
A crease marred her otherwise smooth forehead. “Not Russ’s…”
“No, he and Roxanne have split up again. I’ve been at Mom and Gabe’s. But I’m moving into Gabe’s old cabin today.”
She gestured at the snow coming down outside. “If you plan on going up the canyon, I hope you have four-wheel drive.”
This woman was obviously quite familiar with Ken and his family. Was she his girlfriend? She couldn’t be, or she would’ve known he was coming back to town. But they had some history. Cierra could sense it.
“I’ve got a Land Rover,” Ken was saying. “Hopefully, we’ll make it.”
“Tiff” finally bestowed a polite smile on her, but Cierra got the feeling she’d been leading up to her next question the whole time. “And who is this?”
After Ken cleared his throat, he made a formal introduction. “This is Cierra. Cierra, Tiffany Wheeler and Stephanie Jernigan.”
Stephanie nodded and smiled but it was Tiffany who continued to speak. “Cierra what?”
Assuming Ken had forgotten her last name—she didn’t even know his—Cierra filled in the blank. “Romero.” Then, feeling woefully inadequate and homely by comparison to these sparkling creatures, especially in her damp and dirty clothes, she added, “It is a pleasure to meet you,” in formal English, just as she’d rehearsed with her tutor.
The crease in Tiffany’s forehead deepened. Cierra’s response had somehow confused her. “Likewise,” she said. “So…where are you from?”
The question elicited a pang of homesickness, probably because Cierra couldn’t even say her village’s name. She had to call the place where she’d been living with Charlie Spanos home—a sprawling metropolis she considered brown and ugly by comparison. The colorful lights that glittered at night served as its only redeeming feature. She’d liked it when Charlie drove her down what he’d called “the Strip.”
“Las Vegas.”
Tiffany turned to Ken. “Is that where you met?”
Cierra became conscious of the fact that she was wearing Ken’s coat. Because it hung past her
fingers and went down to her knees, and Brent was wearing his own coat, Tiffany would be unlikely to mistake its real owner. Cierra almost removed it and handed it back. She suddenly felt she was in the way of something happening, something she didn’t understand, and didn’t want to be. But it was too late. Returning Ken’s coat would only make wearing it seem more significant.
“No,” Ken said. “I…I have a friend who…recommended her to me, as a housekeeper.”
Cierra wasn’t sure why he’d lied, but she was grateful he hadn’t embarrassed her by telling these women that she’d fainted on his doorstep.
“I see.” Tiffany leaned toward her and lowered her voice conspiratorially. “Well…good luck with that. I hope he picks up after himself better than he did in high school.” Straightening, she gave them all a charming smile. “I’ve got to get back to the shop. Brent, you’re looking good, as always. Ken, call me when you get the chance.”
“Sure,” he said. “Nice seeing you.”
They basked in the wake of her perfume for several seconds after she’d left. Then Brent seemed to snap out of his earlier hypnosis. “Man, she’s gorgeous! Are you going to ask her out again or what?”
That flicker of jealousy bothered Cierra again—inexplicably—but Ken didn’t answer. He walked over to the cash register and paid their bill. Then he waved them out ahead of him. But Brent kept talking. “I’m still not sure why you two ever broke up,” he said. “You were so in love with her. Even Mom thought you were perfect for each other.”
Ken pressed some button that unlocked the Land Rover. “I wasn’t ready for marriage, and it didn’t seem right to string her along if we weren’t going to make the big commitment.”
“She’s had plenty of opportunities to get married since then and she hasn’t,” Brent said. “Word is she’s been waiting for you.”
“You’re not the first person to tell me that,” he said. “Get in.”
They were climbing in when a big red truck stopped beside them.
“It’s Gabe,” Brent said.
Ken lowered his window and so did the driver of the truck. Although older, in his fifties, Gabe was a startlingly handsome man. Other than a touch of gray at the temples, he had hair that was even darker than Cierra’s—black—but his eyes were as blue as Tiffany’s.
“What’s up?” Ken had to shout over the wind and the engine noise of both vehicles.
“Your mother sent me to the store,” Gabe hollered back. “She didn’t want to come out in this mess.”
“Sure is ugly,” Ken acknowledged.
Gabe shielded his face with one hand. “I thought you were at the cabin, getting moved in. What are you doing in town?”
“Errands.”
Cierra saw a wheelchair fastened to the side of the truck but was distracted when she realized Gabe had spotted her—and was looking at her curiously.
“Where’s Brent?” he asked.
Ken jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “In back.”
“Here, Gabe,” Brent called, and stuck his arm between the seats to wave.
“Hey.” Gabe waved in response, but the way he used the handholds above him to adjust his position afterward suggested he was crippled, as Cierra had begun to suspect.
“Then, who is…”
Ken leaned back to accommodate his stepfather’s attempt to get a better look at her. “Dad, meet my housekeeper, Cierra Romero.”
Gabe’s eyebrows shot up. “Did you say housekeeper?”
“Yep.”
“I see. But…you’ve never mentioned a housekeeper. She from around here?”
“At this point, we’re not sure where she’s from, how she got here or where she belongs,” he called back.
Cierra hadn’t been expecting that. “I am from Las Vegas,” she piped up, but she doubted Gabe could hear her and Ken didn’t pass the information along.
Slinging an arm over the steering wheel, Ken eyed her skeptically. “Is that right?”
“Sí.” She nodded. “Like I told you.”
He suddenly seemed more interested in her than in Gabe. “And what state is Las Vegas in, Cierra?”
His question took her by surprise. “You…don’t know?”
“I’m wondering if you can tell me.”
No one had ever asked her that before. Everyone knew what she meant when she said Las Vegas. Sometimes they even dropped the “Las.” How did you like Vegas…? There’s no place like Vegas…. What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, huh?
“Ken…” Brent started to say, as if he’d help her, but Ken motioned for him to remain silent. “You know what state means, don’t you?”
“Sí.” States were similar to “departments” in her country, weren’t they? But she’d never heard the city Charlie lived in connected with any other name. So maybe Ken was trying to trick her. “Vegas is in…Vegas,” she said.
“That’s the state as well as the city?”
Her answer sounded plausible, and not too different from Guatemala City, Guatemala, where her sisters were living and waiting for her to send more money. “Yes.”
Rolling his eyes, he turned back to his stepfather. “See what I mean?”
“What did you say?” Gabe shouted. The storm was too loud. He’d missed it all.
“She doesn’t quite have her story straight,” Ken said. “But we’ll figure out where she belongs.”
CHAPTER FIVE
SEE WHAT I MEAN?
She’d answered wrong, given herself away. The fear that mistake created hung over every move Cierra made for the rest of the evening and the whole of the next day. But she kept a running tally of her debts to her new employer. By midafternoon, she owed Ken Holbrook—he’d finally told her his last name—for three meals, the coat, shelter from the storm and a bed. She also owed him for the toothbrush, toothpaste, shampoo and soap he’d had Brent deliver to her bathroom last night.
It felt so good to have a few simple belongings, to be able to bathe and wash her clothes and brush her teeth. She was deeply grateful and determined to be fair. She’d stay and work, as promised, until he got settled in but no longer. At that point, he wouldn’t have enough chores for her to do. And as soon as he tired of her, he’d call the INS, if only because he didn’t know what else to do, and she’d be sent back to Guatemala, where she and her sisters would be turned in to the street.
Fortunately Cierra managed not to think about that too much, especially since every thought she had seemed to revolve around the way Ken looked or smelled or laughed. She knew she had no chance of attracting him—she was so different from those women they’d met at the diner—but she was equally certain that she was quickly becoming infatuated with him. Stupido! He’d barely acknowledged her today. She needed to be thinking about how she was going to care for Chantico, Nelli and Xoco instead of daydreaming about the minutes she’d been pressed up against him on that bed yesterday. Her problems would not solve themselves. Even her brother hadn’t been able to provide for the family, not until he’d started augmenting his income with drug money. And without a man to work in the fields, there was no going back to Todos Santos. So, legal or not, she had to make her immigration to America succeed, had to earn money wherever it was possible to earn money and send some of her wages to Guatemala. A little went a long way there. If she could stop mooning over this handsome American, get on her feet and find steady work, they should all be able to survive—
“Something wrong?”
She blinked. Ken had come to the door of the kitchen and caught her staring off into space. After the past few weeks of grabbing sleep and food whenever and wherever she could, and often going without one or both, her strength wasn’t what it used to be. But she went back to polishing the hardwood floor so he wouldn’t think she was lazy. “No, nada.”
Wearing a pair of faded jeans that rode low on his hips and a T-shirt that stretched across his broad chest, he seemed even taller than usual from her vantage point on the floor. Although he’d been working for much of the day,
moving boxes around, unpacking, building shelves in the garage, he’d recently showered. Damp tendrils of hair fell against his forehead, and he smelled like the wood he’d used to start a fire. Brent had fixed the furnace, but they’d decided to light a fire for the effect. Cierra liked it, thought it made the place cozier.
“Cierra,” he said as he came toward her.
She rocked back on her haunches. Today, he’d ignored her or had Brent deal with her. Ever since she hadn’t been able to name the state that went with Las Vegas, she’d gotten the impression he didn’t like her. So why was he suddenly showing interest? Did he think she was slacking or doing the floor wrong? “Yes?”
“It’s time to stop.”
“Stop?” She couldn’t stop; she wasn’t finished yet.
“Right. Except for a few hours’ sleep, you’ve been working every minute since we got home last night. This place is coming together in record time. It looks good. That’s enough for one day, okay? Take a break.”
Was he getting impatient for dinner? She’d asked Brent to buy a few things at the store so she could make empanadas, and he’d left for town. But, as far as she knew, he wasn’t back. “Sí. Un momento. I am almost finish.”
When she resumed polishing, he squatted next to her. “Finish tomorrow. Got it?”
“Brent, he is here?” She couldn’t figure out any other reason that letting her continue her work would bother him.
“Not yet.”
“Then…why can I not clean?”
He touched her hand. “Because I want to watch a game, and you’re making me feel guilty. So…go to your room and…relax. Do something else. Get in the Jacuzzi. Read a book. Whatever.”
She set her rag aside, as if she planned to do as he asked, but the moment he walked out and the television went on, she returned to her work. She thought he’d be completely engrossed, that he’d forget about her, the way Charlie used to. But he was back a few minutes later.
“What are you doing?” he demanded.
This time she couldn’t meet his eyes. She’d flagrantly disobeyed his orders, and now he was angry.
