What Madeline Wants

by Linda Style

  Brushing off the dust with her fingers, she smiled with delight. The chairs were a lovely Eastlake style, just like some of her mother’s antiques.

  She went into the closet again, hoping for another big find—maybe a table. Peering through the maze, she saw the corner of a trunk covered in cobwebs. She grabbed an old rake that stood against the wall and took a well-placed swipe at it, shuddering as she did.

  Just the thought of spiders made her cringe. Especially those indigenous to Arizona—black widows and tarantulas and scorpions, though she didn’t know if a scorpion was technically a spider or not. She’d read about the local flora and fauna before she’d come, and she’d done all she could do to keep her imagination from running wild.

  But again, that was the old Maddy—not the new warrior woman, fearless and getting more so by the day. She’d made more progress in the past two days than she had in the last year at home.

  Feeling the power of her small successes, she made a decision, grabbed the leather handle and pulled out the trunk. She stood for a moment studying it, trying to decide whether she could use it as a table or something.

  Using the rake handle, Maddy lifted the cover and let it drop open. The trunk was full and on the top was something wrapped in opaque blue tissue paper. She edged closer, then gently lifted the paper. Inside was a white satin dress. Fascinated, she plucked the garment and shook it out. The dress was ankle length, bias cut with thin spaghetti straps—like something from an old Jean Harlow movie. An evening dress out here in the wilds? A wedding dress, maybe?

  She pressed it against her chest, swaying to the music on her CD. Transported to another time, Maddy swirled around and around until, in the middle of a swirl, she stopped abruptly, startled by a long shadow thrown from behind her.

  She spun and came face-to-face with the scowling countenance of J.D. Rivera.

  “Hi,” Maddy said, feeling her cheeks redden, “I was just trying to clean up, to make the place more…uh, conducive to learning. Carlos told me I could find some chairs in there and I found this old trunk—”

  Rivera snatched the dress from her, the white fragile satin like neon against his bronze hands. He slowly folded the garment, and the care with which he did so conflicted sharply with the anger she saw in his face.

  Then he placed the dress inside the trunk and slammed the lid.

  “I thought the trunk could be used as a table, and I wanted to make sure it wasn’t full of spiders or…whatever.”

  He said nothing, then after a moment he pushed the trunk back into the closet, pulled out two more chairs and dropped them next to the others. Hands on his hips, he said, “Anything else you need?”

  She bit her lower lip, unsure if she should press her luck. But what the hell? He’d asked—and she might not get the opportunity again.

  “Well, now that you mention it, I could use a table—and an easel and a light of some kind. If we’re working in the evening, it’ll get dark in here.”

  “Anything else?”

  “I could use a car.”

  He did a double take. “A car? You want me to get you a car?”

  “Well, I do need some way to get around.”

  When he just stood there, she added, “I need to go into Los Rios to buy some clothes.” She pointed to her shorts. “This is all I have because everything else is…well, not suitable. And since your aunt told me I could use her car, I thought that would still apply.”

  “Well, she’s not here and neither is her car.”

  “Oh.” The woman had had one, Maddy knew, or she wouldn’t have offered it to her. What had Rivera done with it? “Maybe you could rent one for me?”

  “Sure. No problem. I’ll just take the money out of your salary?”

  She laughed. “There wouldn’t be much left after that, would there?” Ms. D. had been wealthy, that much Maddy knew. And if she’d left Rivera the ranch, she must’ve left him money as well.

  “Okay, if that’s not an option, maybe I could use yours—or you could take me with you the next time you go into town.”

  “Lady, I can guarantee that you’re not going to find what you want in Los Rios.”

  “They don’t sell clothes in Los Rios?”

  His gaze scrutinized her. “Not the kind you wear.”

  He was doing it again—making judgments about her with no information whatsoever. Hands on her hips, she faced him. “It’s not like I need an evening gown to teach in a shed. It doesn’t have to be Versace, but I do need something cooler to wear than what I have.”

  She saw a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “Well, you’ll just have to improvise.” He turned and left.

  “Ohhhh,” she said through gritted teeth when he was out of earshot. She’d improvise all right. And she wasn’t going to worry over what he might think about it, either.

  Still, the man puzzled her. How could someone so concerned about an old dress be so obtuse about everything else. And why had he reacted so strongly over her touching the dress? It wasn’t as if she’d been using it to mop the floor.

  Well, the last thing she needed was to get involved in J.D. Rivera’s problems. She had enough of her own to deal with; taking care of Zelda, teaching for the first time—and getting through the next few weeks without committing an act of homicide.

  When she finished cleaning up and was about to leave, she was surprised to see Rivera and Carlos heading her way with a long table between them. She stepped aside as they came in and placed it in the space she’d cleared.

  “Carlos will bring a Coleman lamp for tonight,” Rivera said. “The electricity will be connected tomorrow.”

  “That’s wonderful,” she exuded, unable to contain her excitement. “Thank you so much,” she said to Rivera, then turned to Carlos. “Gracias.”

  “De nada.” Carlos smiled and motioned to Rivera. “He asked me to help bring the table.”

  “Really?” Maddy said, smiling at her boss. Maybe he wasn’t such a curmudgeon after all.

  As if he knew they were talking about him, Rivera frowned at Carlos and Maddy. On his way out, he motioned to Carlos. “C’mon. There’s work to do.”

  Maddy spent the rest of the afternoon going over her lesson plans. She was confident in her language skills, but she wanted to be sure that her teaching methods would work with Carlos and Juana.

  First, she had to assess her students’ level of understanding in both English and Spanish. Both knew a scattered assortment of English words and even some short phrases. But what they understood was probably more than they could speak. She also didn’t know where they fell on the literacy scale. How knowledgeable were they in their own language? From what she’d seen so far, it looked as if she’d be teaching little more than survival English.

  When it was nearly time for dinner, she went back to the house and made a quick call to Kayla, only to hear that Mr. Martin had gone to Europe on business and wouldn’t be back for two weeks. She made Kayla promise to ask her father to call Maddy the next time she spoke with him.

  After her conversation with her friend, Maddy went out to check Zelda’s water and to make sure the dog had eaten. She remembered Rivera saying the animal wouldn’t eat if she was traumatized. He hadn’t, however, explained how a dog could get traumatized or what one would do in that situation.

  After a five minute lecture to boost her courage, Maddy was standing at the gate to the dog compound again, staring at the bowl near the back fence. The water was full and the food bowl was empty. Clearly, it was only Rivera who had been upset by her outburst the other day—not the dog. Gathering her courage hadn’t even been necessary since she didn’t need to go inside the kennel.

  Zelda pranced over to the fence where Maddy stood. On reflex, Maddy took a step back. Silly, she realized. There was a fence between them. Besides, how would she ever get over her cynophobia if she kept putting off the inevitable? How would she ever get through the list of duties?

  But talking to herself didn’t seem to help either. Within second
s, she felt clammy and sweaty and her pulse rate launched into rocket speed.

  Zelda didn’t seem to notice and bounced up and down in front of Maddy, her tail swishing from side to side. Then the dog sat on her haunches, her big brown eyes gazing up at Maddy, begging for a morsel of attention. Even through her fear, Maddy’s heart melted. It must be horrible to be cooped up in a pen all day long, no matter how nice the surroundings—sort of like living in Epiphany all her life.

  Looking at the dog’s appealing face, Maddy was reminded of a small dog on an old television show. Zelda had the same shaggy hair, the same soft soulful eyes, the same black button nose and pink tongue. Her heart told her she should pet the little animal, but her insides quaked at the thought.

  If you want something badly enough…

  She did. She wanted desperately to live a normal life without trembling every time she encountered a dog. That was the reason she’d started seeing a therapist in the first place, and after a few months, they’d both been pleased with her progress.

  So what was the big deal now? Was it the fact that she had to do this alone? Had she only been okay when Dr. Sheridan had been there to hold her hand?

  Maddy inhaled, inched forward a step, then knelt to the dog’s level. With one hand splayed against the fence for support, she poked a couple of fingers through to pet the top of Zelda’s head. No sooner had she touched the surprisingly silky hair, than she yanked her hand back.

  Still, a feeling of accomplishment grew in her. That brief touch on her own was enough to give her confidence to try again. On another day.

  Rising, she gave Zelda a wave and then left to go back into the house. On her way, she saw movement at the window in the kitchen. Juana, maybe? She hoped it was Juana and not Rivera.

  Entering the kitchen, the distinct aroma of Mexican food made her mouth water. Juana was standing at the counter taking containers from the insulated case, and Rivera was standing next to the fridge. “Want something to drink?” he asked.

  “Sure,” she said with a smile. “What are you selling today?”

  “Beer, soda, diet or regular, iced tea and water.”

  “Wow, one of everything. “Any caffeine-free diet soda?”

  He scoffed. “That’s like drinking nothing.”

  “Iced tea is fine.” Maddy faced Juana and asked if she was set for the class tonight.

  The woman’s dark eyes lit up. “Yes, and so is Carlos. Seven o’clock.”

  Juana’s long black hair, pulled back with a barrette at her nape, shone like a sheet of black satin. She wore another long gauzy skirt, this time in a pink floral pattern, and another sleeveless top, also in pink. “I like your skirts, Juana. Very pretty.”

  And very different from Maddy’s makeshift outfit. Late this afternoon after her second shower of the day, she’d hacked off a pair of Donna Karan pants and rolled up the frayed cuffs to make shorts. Then she’d cut the sleeves from one of her blouses and tied the front tails at her midriff. The only flat shoes she had were her jogging sneakers, so she’d put them on without socks.

  Her hair hadn’t been doing anything wonderful in this heat, either, so she’d tried flipping out the ends with her curling iron, but she now looked as if she’d taken an eggbeater to her head. And Rivera was eyeing her strangely, as if he’d just noticed what a mess she was.

  “I feel much cooler this way,” she explained before he had the chance to speak.

  He shrugged. “I didn’t say a word.”

  But now he was staring at her legs. “However, if you plan to go outside like that, you’d better put on some sunscreen.”

  He handed her a glass of tea, took out a Dos Equis and a slice of lime, rubbed the rind around the mouth of the bottle and then shoved the whole peel inside. He went to sit at the table where Juana had made two place settings. Maddy followed, sliding into the chair on his left.

  “Sunscreen is a good idea—and I could get some in Los Rios if I had a way to get there.” She smiled sweetly.

  He took a swig of his beer. “I’ve got work to do.”

  “So, I guess I’ll have to stay inside then.”

  He glanced at her from the corner of an eye. The swelling on his face had gone down, the whites of his eyes were clear, his irises a dark amber with gold flecks, almost the same tawny color as his hair.

  Except for the pale yellow bruises near one eye and a small cut where the lump had been, he looked fairly normal. For the first time, she realized how utterly handsome he was.

  His hair, long and reaching beyond his collar, was thick and shiny and a little wild. Realizing she was staring again, she averted her eyes. “Unless you have some sunscreen I can use?”

  He placed his arm directly next to hers on the table. “Don’t you think it’s a little late for me?”

  Next to his forearm, hers appeared slight and fragile—and anemic. “It couldn’t hurt. I’ve heard ultraviolet rays aren’t good for the skin no matter what the skin tone.”

  Their arms weren’t touching but she felt his heat all the same.

  “You probably heard a lot of stuff I don’t even think about.”

  His tone was matter-of-fact, his words almost perfunctory, as if he didn’t care about much of anything. But she knew differently. She’d seen how much he’d cared about the dress in the trunk.

  So what was he afraid of? Did he believe letting people see he cared would make him seem weak? Or was he afraid that if he cared, he might get hurt?

  Maybe if she could get him to talk…

  “Well, maybe you should think about a lot of things that you don’t.”

  His head snapped up. “All I care about is getting this place done by March first.”

  Whoa. He’d actually revealed something almost personal. “And if you don’t?” she asked, hoping to draw him out.

  “If I don’t finish by then, I lose the ranch.”

  “Lose the ranch? I…I don’t understand. How can you lose something that’s yours?”

  He gave a long sigh. “Believe me, if it’s not done by then, I’m outta here. Aunt Ethel wanted the place renovated and one of the stipulations was that it be done by March first.”

  “Why would she do that? That seems an odd requirement.”

  “Your guess is as good as mine. She was one eccentric lady.”

  No wonder he was upset about not getting his supplies. Every delay would put him further behind.

  “Time to eat,” Juana said in Spanish as she brought over their dinner. Rice and refried beans and green-corn tamales. “I don’t always make Mexican food,” she said. “But this week, that’s what’s on the menu. If you like it hot, use that salsa.” She pointed out a red sauce. “And if you like it not so hot, use that one.” She pointed to a green liquid in another bowl.

  Not wanting to end her talk with Rivera, Maddy thanked Juana and turned back to her boss, “But you couldn’t just leave, could you? What about Zelda and Juana and Carlos? They depend on you.”

  He picked up a fork. “They got along fine before I came, they’ll get along fine when I’m gone.” He started to eat. “Better stick to the mild salsa,” he said, dumping spoonfuls of the hotter sauce on his own.

  “I’m going home,” Juana told Maddy. “But I’ll come back in time to clean up and start the lessons.”

  Maddy relayed the message to Rivera who simply nodded. After that, they ate in silence until the jingle of a telephone broke the quiet. Rivera fished a small cell phone from the back pocket of his jeans.

  “Yeah,” he said, then listened. “Great, tomorrow morning between eight and noon. That’ll work out just fine.” He clicked off, pocketed the phone again and then went back to eating.

  She wanted to know what was happening tomorrow morning between eight and noon but didn’t ask. It wasn’t any of her business. Rivera wasn’t her business either, but she found herself wondering more and more about him—what secrets lay behind that stoic facade. What had happened to make him so self-contained—so afraid to show his feelings.
>
  Out of the blue, he said, “That was the Tucson lumberyard. They’ll be here in the morning with my supplies.”

  “I thought you’d ordered from the store in Los Rios?”

  “I canceled that order.” Frowning, he asked, “You know how to drive a stick shift?”

  “Why?”

  “Well, if you do, you can take my truck into Los Rios in the morning to get your sunscreen, and some other stuff I need.”

  Dumbstruck, she felt her nerves tingle with excitement.

  “So can you drive a manual transmission?”

  “Sure. I might be a little rusty, though. It’s been a while.” More than rusty. Her father had taught her when she was sixteen. If she could remember which way the shift went…

  “Okay, that’s settled,” he said, glancing at his watch. “And you’ve got a class to give.”

  “You’re right. It wouldn’t be good if the teacher was late on the very first day.”

  Hurrying, she went to her room for her books and papers and then headed toward the bunkhouse. Anticipation mixed with trepidation; she wanted to do this right—to show everyone that she could do the job. To prove it to herself.

  That Rivera trusted her enough to let her drive his car warmed her insides. That he’d made sure she had the table and other things she needed, surprised her—adding another dimension to an already complicated man.

  But she needed to remember that just because he’d been accommodating a couple of times didn’t mean he’d turned into Mr. Nice Guy. It didn’t mean he thought differently about her. He might be the most handsome man she’d ever met, but that didn’t change his personality.

  When she reached the door, she was glad it was still light enough to see inside. She’d have to keep the Coleman lantern near the door if the electricity wasn’t connected by tomorrow.

  Crossing to the table, she saw a large white rectangle on the wall in front of the table. A white board with several washable felt-tip pens on the ledge. Who…? Had Rivera done this? She’d only mentioned her needs to him once, and she hadn’t really expected anything to come of it.