by Linda Style
A deep male voice said, “She won’t bite. She’s harmless.”
Maddy’s heart thundered, and gasping for breath, she slowly peered from under the covers. Rivera was standing a few feet away from her, clutching a wiry-haired mongrel in his arms.
Oh, dear God! Her heart pummeled her ribs. She gulped air. He’d never said he had a dog. Ms. Devereaux hadn’t mentioned… She’d never imagined…
Rivera’s expression hardened. “What the hell were you screaming about?”
The words penetrated Maddy’s horror-stricken brain. She pulled to a sitting position again, and realizing she was wearing only her underwear, yanked up the spread for cover. “I—I was asleep and I guess it…your d-dog startled me.” Yes, that was it. She’d just been surprised. That’s all.
That had to be all, because if it wasn’t, all her therapy had been for naught. She bit her bottom lip, willing herself to calm down.
The look in Rivera’s eyes went from angry to dubious. “I hope that’s all, because this dog is easily traumatized. And if she’s traumatized, she won’t eat.”
Maddy’s mouth dropped open. She’d been scared spitless, and he was worried the dog might not eat?
“I—I didn’t know you had a dog. I didn’t see her before.”
“She was outside in her house. I brought her in a while ago.” Still holding the wiry-haired mutt, he plopped down on the edge of the bed next to her.
The acrid tang of fear burned in the back of her throat. Rivera’s mouth was moving and he was saying something, but all she heard was her pulse drumming in her ears.
She swallowed and her ears cleared.
“Yeah,” he said, looking directly at Maddy. “She might forgive you scaring her if you show her you like her. Just scratch a little right here.”
Pure white terror shot through Maddy. Unable to move, she quickly invoked her therapist’s words. You can do it. You can do anything—if you want it enough.
She wanted it. Desperately. And if she did as he asked, he wouldn’t even know she had a problem.
She glanced at her fingers. What was the worst that could happen? What was one little finger compared to the rest of her life?
Steeling herself, she reached out, hoping Rivera didn’t notice her hand was trembling.
The dog’s pink tongue snaked out and slurped at her fingers. She yanked her hand back, a reflex action she had no control over. The animal’s tail swished from side to side.
“Hey, how about that?” J.D. sounded genuinely surprised. “Zelda doesn’t like too many people, but she seems to like you. That’s amazing.”
Maddy gave a wan smile, trying her best to hide her qualms. He didn’t know anything about her problems, and she didn’t want him to. This was her chance to start fresh among people who didn’t know her. “Amazing,” she whispered.
“Right here,” he said. “She likes to be scratched right behind the ear. Try it.” He took Maddy’s hand and drew it closer.
“Wait—” She pushed her heels against the mattress, scooting back against the headboard. “I—I feel a bit sick, and—” She flapped a hand in front of her face. Lord, she might actually puke. “And, well, the dog startled me when I wasn’t fully awake.”
Her voice sounded wobbly, and no wonder, she was about to spew the peanut-butter crackers she’d eaten earlier into her new employer’s lap.
“Yeah. I can see that.”
She fanned herself with one hand. “Probably just a reaction to the sun. I was outside for quite a while and I’m really not used to this heat. I’ll be fine. No need for you to worry.”
Frowning, and still cradling the dog, he stood up. He didn’t look as if he believed her at all. “You might want to make it cooler in here.” He pointed to the air conditioner in the window.
Just then, Maddy saw a dark-haired woman peering around the doorway. Rivera motioned for her to enter.
“This is Juana. Juana Macario. Juana, Madeline Ing—”
“Inglewood. Maddy Inglewood.”
The woman rattled off something under her breath in Spanish and, with hands flying, shoved Rivera out of the room.
“What can I do?” Juana asked Maddy in broken English. She walked over to the window, reached up and fiddled with the knobs on the cooler.
Maddy shook her head and answered in Spanish. “Nothing, thank you. I’m okay. Really.”
The woman’s eyes lit up, so Maddy continued speaking in the woman’s language. “I was feeling a little queasy, probably from the heat. And then Mr. Rivera’s dog startled me. I’m afraid I overreacted.”
Juana nodded her understanding. “I’m going to get you something to help you relax. Then I’ll bring in your luggage.”
In less than minute, the woman had swooped in and out, and Maddy was grateful for that. Only she’d forgotten to close the door, and Maddy’s chest constricted just thinking the dog could charge back into her room at any time.
She bolted from the bed and shut the door, jiggling the knob to make sure the latch had caught. If she’d done that earlier, this incident would never have happened. If she’d known the dog was here, she could’ve dealt with it. She’d simply been caught off guard, and all she needed was a little time to get her head in the right place again.
Standing with her back flat against the door, she reached up, her fingertips kneading the tiny scar near her ear. Plastic surgery had removed the visible evidence of the dog’s teeth, but not the memory. Not the fear.
She’d only been four at the time, and everyone had said she wouldn’t remember any of it. But she did. As if it was yesterday.
She went into the bathroom and dressed in her dirty clothes again. Crossing the room to open the blinds, she could only imagine what Rivera thought of her reaction to his pet.
But she couldn’t take it back, no matter how embarrassed or how badly she felt about it. And she wasn’t going to explain either. He already wondered if she was capable of handling the job. Any more information would simply validate his already negative opinion of her.
A light knock at the door brought her to attention again. “It’s open.”
Juana floated in wielding a copper tray that held a small blue teapot, a matching cup and a plate of cookies covered with powdered sugar. A soothing herbal scent followed in the woman’s wake. “My special recipe,” she said in Spanish. “You’ll feel much better after you drink the tea.”
“Gracias,” Maddy said, also reverting to Spanish. “But please don’t feel you have to wait on me.”
Juana set the tray on the table next to the chair. “If I do something it’s because I want to, or because it’s my job.” The outer corners of the older woman’s ebony eyes crinkled when she smiled. “I want to do this.”
“Well then, I thank you even more.” A stocky, robust lady, Juana carried herself with confidence. Maddy liked her immediately.
“No need to thank me,” Juana said on her way out of the room. She returned with Maddy’s luggage, and then walked to the door.
“Please wait.” Maddy stopped her. “I have a few questions.”
Juana nodded and took a step back.
“Can you tell me about Ms. Devereaux? I hadn’t heard she’d passed on before I came, and the news was a big shock. Mr. Rivera said she’d had an accident, but that’s all he said.”
The woman’s eyes widened. “You didn’t know?”
Maddy shook her head.
Juana’s surprise quickly shifted to uncertainty. After a long pause, she said, “You better talk to Mr. Rivera about that. I don’t know any more.”
What was the big secret? Maddy’s imagination shifted into overdrive. The woman’s nephew had inherited the ranch, and he looked as if he’d been in a fight—a struggle, perhaps?
But only the old Maddy would imagine the worst and obsess about those kinds of things. The new Maddy put things in perspective and didn’t look for zebras when horses were galloping by.
“Okay. Can you at least tell me where the accident happened and when
?” All the arrangements for the job had been done through Ms. Devereaux’s attorney, Harold Martin, Maddy’s best friend’s father. Why hadn’t he told her about the woman dying?
Juana clamped her mouth shut.
“Did the accident happen here on the ranch?”
“I’m sorry. Mr. Rivera asked me not to talk to anyone about it. You should ask him,” she repeated.
Obviously Juana was a loyal employee, and if she’d been told not to talk about the mishap, she wouldn’t. Maddy respected that. “Okay. I will. I didn’t ask him before because I could see he wasn’t feeling well. Was he in an accident or something?”
Juana nodded. “Before he came back to Los Rios, he was in an accident that injured his leg. Then last night, when he was on his way home from town, someone tried to rob him. They fought and he got hurt.”
“How terrible. Did they catch who did it?”
“No. Some people say it was Mexicans. Coyotes, maybe. But Mr. Rivera said he didn’t believe it was them.”
“Coyotes?”
“People smugglers. The coyotes take money from Mexicans to bring them into the U.S. illegally. They take the money and leave the people in the desert.”
“They could die out there. It’s awful.”
“Yes. Many have died. Others get caught and are sent back to Mexico. It happens all the time.”
“And what happens to the men who brought them into the country? The coyotes… Wouldn’t they be held responsible if someone died?”
The older woman shrugged. “The coyotes don’t get caught, because they bring people over the border and then disappear. The people who get deported don’t tell who they are because they want to come back again and will need the coyotes’ help to do it.”
Maddy knew about the problems with illegal immigration—that it took a long time to get clearance and passports and work permits. Many Mexicans weren’t even eligible if they had no skills or were illiterate. Most of the unskilled worked in the fields as pizcadores. Pickers. Field workers.
She wanted to ask more about Ms. Devereaux, but Juana kept glancing at her watch and edging out the door, obviously uncomfortable with the conversation and anxious to leave.
“I’m sorry for keeping you. Thanks for filling me in. It’s good to have a little background information.” She smiled warmly at Juana. “Maybe when you have more time, we can talk again.”
Juana looked relieved and left the room, saying that dinner would be ready in twenty minutes. Maddy jumped to make sure the door was closed tightly. Then she locked it.
She stood immobile for a moment, feeling suddenly overwhelmed with information—and so out of place, she might as well have been on another planet. A sudden ache of longing filled her, a longing for the warmth and safety of home, a place where she knew what life held for her.
In Epiphany, people didn’t get assaulted and robbed. People didn’t get left in the desert to die. Living in Epiphany meant living in comfort with people who loved and cared about her. Why was she giving all of that up?
So what if her parents were a little overzealous in their love, a little controlling. That was normal, wasn’t it? And wasn’t it her own fault if she let other people direct her life? There were worse things than being loved too much, weren’t there?
Worse things—like living in a place where the owner had died and no one would tell you how or why.
She still couldn’t understand why Mr. Martin hadn’t told her about the woman’s demise before she came all the way out here. The more she thought about it, the more annoyed she got. She should’ve been informed.
She checked the time. Damn. It was three hours later in New York, and it wasn’t likely Mr. Martin would be at his office at 9:00 p.m. Well, she’d call Kayla then…maybe she could call her dad at home and get the information Maddy wanted.
Maddy looked for a phone. There wasn’t one. Fine. She’d just have to call from the living room. She went to the door and peered out. No dog, thank heaven. Taking a deep breath, she slipped out and hurried down the hall, her mind racing for solutions on what to do if Cujo pounced on her again.
Fortunately, all was quiet when she reached the living room. Relieved, she picked up the phone on the table next to the couch, punched in her calling-card number and then Kayla’s number.
She’d feel much better about everything if she simply knew what happened to Ms. Devereaux.
And if the news isn’t good? What then? She heaved a sigh. She’d get the hell out of here, that was what.
All she’d have to do was figure out how to do it without a car.
J.D. PULLED A BOTTLE of ice water from the fridge and guzzled half of it while walking to the old oak table. He put down the water, unrolled a set of blueprints and placed a small plate on each corner to anchor the sheets.
But even as he tried to concentrate on the layout, his thoughts drifted to the woman in the bedroom. Her screams had been like something out of a horror movie.
“It’s okay,” she’d said in her soft cultured voice. “I’m fine. No need for you to worry.”
No need for him to worry? She was the one who’d been screaming. The last thing he needed was a hysterical woman on his hands—a half-naked woman at that.
She hadn’t looked too bad that way, either. In fact, he’d had an urge to rip off the blanket and find out what the rest of her was like without all those expensive clothes.
Yeah, good move that would’ve been. Taking care of his aunt’s employees was one of the stipulations in the will, but he was pretty sure that didn’t include sex. On the other hand, if he’d followed his instincts, he might’ve shocked the little petunia enough that she’d be gone by now.
And J.D. wouldn’t have violated the conditions of the will, which stated that any employees was free to leave of his or her own accord. In fact, if Miss Manners had left and paid back the retainer as the contract stipulated, he would’ve had extra money to work with until the trust money came through. If she left before she started the job, he wouldn’t have to pay her the rest of the contract money, either.
But she hadn’t taken the bait. And he’d underestimated her. The designer clothes and Jackie Kennedy demeanor had fooled him. He’d seen a wariness in her big eyes—and something that resembled fear. But she’d decided to persevere.
So he was stuck with her. And that meant more time away from his work to get her settled, more time giving instructions on what she was supposed to do, more time answering questions about things that were none of her business. He didn’t need any of it.
He brought his attention back to the blueprints. The house—seven bedrooms, four baths, a parlor, living room, kitchen and what would now be called a family room—and the three bunkhouses, a storage shed and a barn, all needed to be renovated by the deadline. Six short months away.
How his aunt had arrived at that date was a mystery. How he’d get the place fixed up by then was even more of a mystery. But if he failed to make the deadline, everything would be sold and the money given to his aunt’s favorite dog shelter.
Why the hell hadn’t the crazy broad just done that in the first place? Why had she left him anything? Even more bizarre, why leave the ranch to him if she was going to set him up for failure?
Well, whatever game the woman was playing from her grave, he’d be damned if he was going to let her win. The thought had stuck in his craw from day one, and getting the place restored had become a challenge he was determined to meet.
Bottom line was that he had a helluva lot to do in a short time, not enough help or supplies to do it, and now he had the teacher to contend with. She’d better be smart enough to stay out of his way.
He scoffed, remembering what she’d said. Too much sun. The woman didn’t look as if she’d ever seen the sun. She was ghostly pale, her skin was like his grandmother’s fine china, the kind you can see through when you hold it to the light. She wasn’t the type of woman that usually appealed to him, but seeing her half-naked in bed had gotten his blood pumping.
“Please, Kayla. See what you can find out. Your dad was her attorney. I just need to know what’s going on. Something is really weird here.”
Lady, you have no idea. J.D. smiled to himself as he made his way to the kitchen and out the back door.
He stood on the weathered cedar-and-stone veranda that encircled the house and assessed the task ahead of him, just as he had every night since he’d arrived two weeks ago.
It was a huge job, one that would take all his strength. Though the lumps on his head would disappear, the leg injury from the plane crash would never heal completely. He’d always be in pain. Always be a gimp.
As his gaze fell on the dog compound, a monument to his crazy aunt’s eccentricity, the floor squeaked behind him. A fresh female scent wafted past him. He didn’t have to turn around to know it was her. His blood surged.
He gripped the splintered railing, annoyed that he was so aware of her. Glad that she didn’t open the screen door and come out. Relieved when he thought he heard her leave.
Freaking crazy. What was it about this uptight, high-maintenance slip of a woman that had him coming alive again? Hadn’t he learned anything? After his injury, Jenna couldn’t even make love with him. She’d looked at him in disgust and then called off the wedding. He had no job and no future, she’d said. What were they supposed to do, live on his disability checks? That wasn’t the life Jenna had in mind.
And she was right. It wasn’t the life he’d had in mind either. After that, he swore off women and let booze and painkillers deaden all his senses.
Pills and booze. The only way he could forget that he was alive and Eric was dead. His throat closed in anguish and he bit back the tears that suddenly brimmed.
Since his aunt’s attorney had found him and sobered him up, there was no forgetting.
If you think it’s so unpleasant, why are you here? the teacher had asked. Good question.
If he didn’t give a rat’s ass if the place rotted back into the earth, why was he here?
