“Is she here, too?”
“No. She stayed talking to some customers who left a little late.” Angel pushed herself off the bed and walked over to place an oversized purse on the desk. “Her room is downstairs, the room Cody had built on to the original structure. Down the hall, beyond a study and bath. Cody always said a downstairs room was easier to get into and out of without being seen. Tía will probably come in and go straight to sleep. Don’t count on seeing her for breakfast, Esme. Anything else?”
Esme cast a final glance at the picture of her aunt with Cody and Rafael Benton. “Just … were they married?” she asked, indicating the picture with a gesture.
“Married? Heavens no, child! Rafael is—was—Cody’s brother.”
Stunned, Esme said goodnight and went back to her own room.
Chapter Four
The aroma of coffee percolated through the house, and Esmeralda’s eyes, heavy-lidded and unwilling, fought slowly open. Sighing, she pushed herself up on one elbow and glanced at the clock, surprised that she was up before nine after yesterday’s trials.
She wondered if Angel took care of her aunt’s needs in the morning, too. Apparently the woman was something more than an employee but less than a respected companion. She forced herself into action, determined not to slouch around if her aunt were actually up and busy so early.
Twenty minutes later she hurried downstairs, invigorated by a shower, her hair still damp, but caught up neatly in a ponytail. Maybe she could bring her visit up to her aunt and be sure she was welcome here, not just a relative who had to be taken in.
When she got to the kitchen however, Andy, not Angel, turned from the stove and nodded curtly.
“Your aunt said I should feed you,” he told her with hostility, shoveling eggs and sausage links onto a plate, then picking up a biscuit with his fingers and putting it on the side. “Sit down.”
“Andy, you clearly don’t want to feed me. After today, don’t bother. Today, I’ll eat this to save you and my aunt from any unpleasantness.” She walked over and snatched the plate away, leaving him gaping and scuffing the toe of his boot against the tiled floor as she sat down at the table, facing him.
“Andy, how dare you?” Tina’s voice crackled into the silence, and Andy straightened so quickly he backed into the stove. Esme dropped her forkful of eggs back to the plate.
“I expect courtesy to my guests, Andy. You understand that, right?”
The older man mumbled and left the room, and Esmeralda pushed her chair and stood up to greet her aunt.
“I really didn’t mind. He probably isn’t used to fixing breakfast for strangers.” Hesitantly, Esme kissed her aunt on the cheek, the greeting her mother would expect. She wasn’t sure Tina would appreciate it. She bit back a sigh, feeling more unsure than she had in years. But she accepted responsibility for the awkwardness, aware that she should have called. Surprises weren’t always the best options for family reunions.
Tina accepted the kiss without comment, and moved toward the stove, but Esme stopped her.
“I’ll get your plate, Tía,” she offered, carefully using the name she’d been told to use. “Juice or coffee?” she asked, as she spooned food onto the plate and set it in front of her aunt.
“Andy can’t make coffee. Just juice, and I’ll pick up coffee in town.”
Once Esme sat down again, Tina reached over suddenly and patted her wrist. “Might not be so bad having you here.”
“Tía, I don’t have to stay here. I can rent a place until I decide what my plans are,” Esme offered, again feeling that she wasn’t truly wanted as a houseguest. “We’ve spent so little time together. We can visit, if you want. I have a horse, and I want to figure out if I’m staying or not before I move her again.”
They ate in silence a few minutes. The ornate clock on the kitchen wall ticked off the day in loud increments.
Finally, her aunt lowered her fork and impaled Esme with a hard gaze. “Girl, are you running from something? From someone?”
“No!” Esme set her coffee cup down so hard some of the coffee sloshed over. She wiped it up with her napkin and frowned at her aunt. “Why would you think that?”
Her aunt shrugged and gave Esme a half smile. “I ran a lot. Almost always from bill collectors or men.” Her smile faded completely. “Usually I’d wind up at your mother’s, and I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised I was never welcome.”
“You can’t think …” Esme struggled to defend her mother, but as always, found it a difficult task. “You two are sisters. She might not have always approved of you, but … she loves you.”
“You don’t even say it like you mean it,” Tina countered dryly. “But that’s not what I want, empty assurances from you. Adriana and I can hash out our own differences.” She reached across the table and caught Esme’s wrist unexpectedly. “So, there’s no husband? No boyfriend? No lover in your life right now?”
None of your business. The questions rankled—they sounded too much like an inquisition from her mother or brother. Or assorted acquaintances who called themselves friends and tried to dig up whatever dirt might lurk hidden under the surface of a very routine life. “No, no one.”
Her aunt’s fingers tightened slightly. “You’re sure? Because I just had this brilliant idea, but it only works if it doesn’t cause either of us any grief.”
She took a deep breath. “So, what’s up?”
Instead of answering, Tina released her wrist and shoved her chair away from the table and walked over to the sink to peer out the window. When she turned back, her eyes glittered with unshed tears.
“I might lose the club,” she said. “So long I wanted something to call my own, I had visions of just what I wanted to offer. But between the downturn in tourism here and the competition from that new bar, I’m not making it. Just a little sales boost and I could hold on until things pick up again.”
Esme stood up, too, hugging herself, wanting to reach out to her aunt, but feeling too awkward and unsure of what her aunt wanted. What she expected. “How can I help you?” she asked.
Tina rubbed one hand across her face, and lifted her chin. “Do you still sing?”
The question came out of left field, so totally not what she expected that she gaped and didn’t answer immediately. A request for a loan, a suggestion that she find somewhere else to live made sense, but this?
She tilted her head? “Sing, Tía? I don’t sing, except with the radio.”
“Nonsense!” Tina walked over to her, this time catching both Esme’s hands and swinging them. “One of the times I was there, you won that singing contest, remember? And you could sing anything you wanted to. Your mom kept scolding you for making anyone who came to the house listen to you.” She arched her eyebrows. “In fact, didn’t you tell me you wanted to be a singer when you grew up?”
“I have a degree in child psychology, Tía. I never really considered music.”
“Probably just on account of your mother,” Tina muttered, letting her hands go and cupping her chin. “Come sing karaoke tonight. Tomorrow, too, if it goes well tonight.”
“How would that help you?”
Again, Tina shrugged emphatically. “The main thing is, how could it hurt? Do you know who Cody Benton was?”
“Of course.” To her annoyance, Esme felt goose bumps pebble her arms, and she forced herself not to shiver. “I loved her music. Too bad she’s gone, Tía, but …”
“You should have seen my place when she dropped in,” her aunt continued, her gaze losing focus as she looked at something over Esme’s head. “She’d do karaoke or sing with some of the local musicians. Stay all night. No one could touch us when she’d drop in. She was golden.” Her eyes refocused on Esme, losing their far-off expression. “You can be golden.”
What? Singing karaoke? Esme shook her head. “Look, Tía, I wouldn’t mind singing if others were, but … it’s a stretch to think I can generate business.”
“You can be a hostess,” Tina
went on, ignoring her protests. She grinned wickedly. “Fresh meat—the lifeline of any small town bar. Or small town, for that matter.”
Tina’s proposition seemed more bizarre by the minute. Esme frowned. She’d never considered herself either an introvert or a prude. But something about her aunt’s tone of voice made her uneasy. Why on earth would Tina expect her to be much help one way or another, if the club was really in trouble? Coupled with the questions about her love life, in fact, her aunt’s tone was almost offensive.
“I couldn’t pay you of course,” Tina added. “But you have a roof over your head and food on the table. And if folks come in—”
“Just what kind of hostess do you want me to be?” Esme asked slowly. “You seemed to think it was important that I wasn’t dating or involved with anyone.”
Tía waved a hand. “Just be my niece,” she scoffed. “I’m the real hostess. You’d just smile, look pretty, and sing a couple songs. Just for a night or two. Customers come in, you get ’em moving around, dancing a little—they drink more, have fun—that’s really good for the bottom line.”
Stealing her aunt’s gesture, Esme shrugged. “Okay. Tell me the time and where to sign up.”
“Eight’s kind of early, but it’s about right for what I need,” Tina said, then beamed at Esme. “Eight’ll let word get out before …”
“Before what?”
Tía’s smile broadened. “Truth is just where you need to be this weekend, girl. You’ll help me for an hour or two now and then, and I’ll help you.”
“Help me?” Esme prodded, interested. “By giving me an unpaid job singing in a club to cowboy wannabes?” She tossed the words out lightly, though, careful to make sure her aunt wouldn’t be offended.
“Oh, yes. Help you.” Tía’s wicked grin reappeared, and her eyes sparked dark fire. “There’s a job opening in town and it’s got real specific requirements. Unreal money for a temporary position—set you up for a long time. But to apply, you have to be single. Uninvolved.”
“Wow.” Esme fell silent for a minute, thinking, then shook off the surprise. “But those are pretty weird qualifications, aren’t they? Besides, I have a job—or at least, I have a career. I planned on looking for counseling positions …”
“Hmph.” Tina snorted dismissively. “You can open your own clinic with what you’d make in six or seven weeks.”
“I’d be lying if I said that doesn’t sound interesting,” Esme admitted, and her aunt chuckled, and then gave her a wink.
“The money’s not the best part, either.”
“Really? What’s the best part, then?” Esme asked.
“You’d be working for the devil, but most women in Truth wouldn’t mind that a bit. El diablo tiene las suyas—he has his own charms, and his own followers.”
“I thought we were talking about a job offer. Now you’re suggesting I take up devil worship?” Esme challenged, her words tinged with sarcasm. “Who is this irresistible devil you want me to work for?”
“Rafael Benton,” Tina answered. “Of course.”
• • •
Esmeralda stood in a corner of the small stage, half-hidden by a huge television and a small jumble of mismatched stools and chairs, and tried to catch her breath. The crush of people, the catcalls and applause when she sang, her aunt’s broad smile and encouragement sent her spirits rocketing. If being helpful to Tina Cervantes was this much fun, she could do it forever.
Although, clearly, her relatively quiet life of late wasn’t keeping her fit enough for line dancing to Alan Jackson’s “Good Time,” belting out a little Reba, and helping the waitresses deliver a few rounds of beers at one particularly chaotic point when she was “on break.”
“You know everyone’s looking for you, right?” Tía asked in her ear, startling her.
“I’m just breathing,” Esme assured her, shooting her a teasing glance. “I do get to breathe, don’t I?”
“Can you do it while you sing?” her aunt retorted. “Knew you’d be something else if you’d sing a couple songs for me! I’ve got an eye for talent, you know. Just look at Cody …”
Hearing the singer’s name tempered Esme’s exhilaration. Almost involuntarily, her eyes glanced at the picture across from where she stood. Again she felt the slight irritation she’d felt when she drove into Truth and found the town claiming Cody as its own. Her aunt seemed to imply that she herself had figured into Cody’s success, but she’d always heard the woman was a product of Nashville.
She shook aside the irritation. “I’m hardly Cody Benton, but I’m having a lot of fun. Besides, men can’t paw me if I’m up here singing.”
“One drunk and you’re complaining. Really!” Tía looked at her watch and shook her head. “You have time for one more before you call it a night, girl. Just one!”
“But if you don’t close until two …”
“Just one more,” Tía repeated, looking around the room almost apprehensively.
“You’re the boss,” Esme conceded.
A couple passing by noticed her. “Hey, you’re great,” the woman shouted, and her partner nodded. “And pants-dropping gorgeous,” he added, laughing when the woman elbowed him and pretended to drag him away.
Esme watched them go, feeling successful. And sexy. How long had she been ignored and avoided in Rose Creek when she let herself feel like this?
“Hey, Tom,” she said as the bartender fiddled with the karaoke machine. “You got Carrie Underwood’s “Cowboy Casanova”?”
Tom’s eyebrow with its decorative skull ring shot up and he grinned slowly. “Oh, yeah,” he told her.
Moments later, Esme stood in front of a cheering crowd, belting out the song about a bad boy/cowboy—weren’t those the same? She moved as much as she could without losing track of the music. She felt the song course through her like fever, heat her like a lover’s touch—but hers wasn’t a blue-eyed cowboy, she realized. Darkly intense eyes, broad-shouldered, lean-hipped, whispering threatening words like caresses … she could almost see him on the stage, moving toward her as the music built to its climax.
“Esme! Stop!¡Para!”
She could hear her aunt’s frantic whisper. But she could see the crowd listening, feeling the song—she didn’t want to stop.
So she didn’t, pouring out the last of the music and acknowledging the tumultuous cheers and shouts from the crowd with more satisfaction than embarrassment. She was amazed by the response, although, she reminded herself, her aunt had explained her charm early on. What had she said back at the house when she asked for help? New meat. Better not get too full of herself just yet.
“Esmeralda Salinas, get off the stage,” her aunt hissed, looking around as if worried by something. Or someone.
She waved a final time and headed for the side steps. “What’s wrong?” she whispered, aware that her aunt seemed genuinely upset.
“You idiot!” she spat. “When I say something here at the club, I expect you to do it. I told you to stop! And of all the songs you had to be singing—”
Esmeralda straightened and glared at her aunt. “Don’t you ever, ever insult me again, Aunt Tina,” she whispered. “Because I’m nobody’s idiot.”
Tina’s face flushed with anger, but her tone was level when she answered. “If you lost what you might have gotten, querida—let’s see what you call yourself! You should not have been up on that stage singing that song when Rafael Benton walked in.” She reached out and snared Esme’s wrist, the metallic nails carelessly pressing into her skin. “He hates karaoke. He especially hates that song—and there you were.”
And with those parting words, she stalked away, engulfed immediately by the crowd of people that seemed to materialize around her.
• • •
Rafael sat in his usual chair, nursing a beer and wishing he were somewhere else. This place was poison and had been since Cody died in an upstairs room. Poison or drug; he was addicted to the sadness, apparently. A young woman walked past, showing off her jea
n-sheathed rear, putting a little extra wiggle in and turning her head enough to wink at him. Nice, but no.
He sighed heavily and downed the remainder of the beer in a gulp. No point in hanging around here, listening to music that just kept punching him in the gut. Although … his eyes scanned the crowd, finding her immediately. He’d come in as she finished a pulsing rendition of a Carrie Underwood song Cody used to sing for Harper and he’d more or less eyeballed her ever since. Even though he didn’t want to. Too bad she was Tina Cervantes’s niece. He wouldn’t have minded throwing his hat in the ring with the other yelling, stomping jerks in the room. He could compete for her, and he would win.
He allowed himself the luxury of a smile. Confidence had come easily to him in the past. Even as an unwanted kid shuffled from strangers to shelters to street corners, he’d believed he’d win. He liked to think his confidence—or brashness, depending on who was describing him—was the quality that the Bentons couldn’t resist in a ten-year-old street kid. The quality that compelled the wealthy couple to adopt him and love him as fiercely and unconditionally as any mother and father ever could love their children.
He drew in a breath and stood up. The game warden, Prince Jackson, still in his tan uniform with its wildlife insignia on the sleeve, walked by and paused to shake his hand. He’d learned right from the start that there were good guys and bad guys in Truth, and PJ, his preferred handle, was one of the good guys. Too bad the game warden was just arriving; he was leaving. He’d have enjoyed drinking a beer with the man and chatting about his job protecting the native wildlife—anything but the loss of his sister.
“Leaving so soon?” Tía purred beside him.
He knew that voice, the false honey dripping out of words meant to deceive. “Yes,” he answered curtly, trying to step away from her, but she moved in front of him and shook her head at him.
“You’ve spent four years trying to step around me, Rafa. Why don’t you get it? You and I don’t have to like each other to use each other. To profit from each other.”
“The way you used Cody? The way you profited from her? Look, I don’t need this. I don’t need you—”
His Temporary Wife Page 4
