Marie knocked on the door instead of using the intercom, which he would have preferred. “She’s not at her aunt’s house, which is where she’s living, according to the man who answered the phone there. He thought she might have gone to Tía’s, or maybe she stopped at Irving Peterson’s to see her horse.”
“Thanks, Marie.”
“My pleasure,” she murmured. “Anything else you want, boss?”
He shook his head. “No. You may go.”
She shrugged and slid out, closing the door a little loudly between them.
He picked up his keys and his phone and headed out to find Esmeralda Salinas.
• • •
She wasn’t dressed for visiting Domatrix. The Petersons’ car and truck weren’t in the drive, but they’d told her she could just go down to see her horse anytime she wanted. She trekked carefully across the uneven ground, a little afraid of stumbling on a rock and twisting an ankle. Heels weren’t a good idea over Hill Country terrain, unless they were shorter and stubbier and on a pair of boots. She stopped halfway and glanced at the truck, parked back near the house. Maybe she’d just go home and change.
But she couldn’t, because Domatrix suddenly appeared from behind the wall of her shelter and whinnied pitifully. And loudly. Then she trotted back and forth along the fence line in desperation, stopping again after a moment to stomp the ground and whinny again.
Laughing, Esme discarded any idea of leaving and went to pet the mare.
“You big baby,” she scolded. “I dropped by yesterday. And Connie told me she gives you home-baked cookies every day, which you’ve never gotten in your life. In fact, my friend, at your age you should be careful of sweets.” She stroked a hand down the sleek neck, glad that there were few signs of the mare’s seventeen years. Constant care and gentle use worked wonders for horses, apparently.
Domatrix snorted and snuffed, reaching out to blow against her cheek.
“Look, let me go change and I’ll come back and ride you. How’s that?”
Domatrix’s head went up suddenly and her ears pricked.
Clearly she wasn’t alone any longer. Careful not to dig a heel into the rocky ground and trip herself, she turned to find Rafael there, even though she hadn’t heard him pull in.
The man who’d offered to buy her had followed her here? She frowned, anger flaring through her.
“Stalking me, Mr. Benton? I believe I refused your kind ‘job’ offer!”
He stopped where he was, and held out his arms, palms outward, as if to reassure her. Or fight her off if she lunged at him, which she was sorely tempted to do. The click of a heel against a rock stopped her, though, so she just glared at him, her hands knotting into fists again as she fought her own temper.
“I didn’t follow you here. I’m not a stalker.”
She snorted. “You just showed up at this shed in a mud field by chance? Please! How stupid do you think I am? Wait—don’t answer. You mistook me for a whore, so you’re pretty stupid!”
He looked … shocked. Appalled, maybe. His mouth opened slightly, wordlessly, and then he pressed his lips together, ignored her, and walked over to the fence.
“Hey, pretty girl,” he crooned, and the usually finicky mare went right up to him.
Traitor. First Connie, and now you’re in love with this … this. “Do you have some reason to be here?” She kept her tone neutral this time, though, not willing to show how furious—and uneasy—his coming here made her.
He half-turned toward her, leaning on the fence, and Domatrix leaned her head over his shoulder, looking like she, too, was waiting for his answer.
“You need to know that I was—am—offering someone a very legitimate position, Esmeralda.” He gently pushed the mare’s head away and stepped a little closer. “Look—I spoke stupidly. Agreed. But it wasn’t how I meant to say it, and …” He shrugged. “I’d love to go some place you choose and explain myself.”
“We don’t need to go anywhere. I got the gist—you’re offering me money to go to bed with you. Does calling it a ‘temporary marriage’ make it any cleaner or more proper than calling it ‘hooking up’ or ‘shacking up’ or …”
“You’re the one who brought up sex,” he pointed out. “Makes me wonder …” He shook his head, chasing away whatever he was apparently thinking. “I offered marriage.” He waggled his bare ring finger at her. “Gold ring, pre-nuptial agreement, license in the courthouse, marriage at church if you want … marriage.”
“And just why would you be doing that, Mr. Benton? And how is that not paying for sex?”
The sounds of tires crunching down the drive kept him from answering. The Petersons were pulling up to the house. Connie slid out first, then waited until her husband came around the truck to grasp her arm and pat her shoulder, leaning close to say something that made her nod. Together they walked over, never letting each other go.
Now that’s marriage. Esme smiled as the two reached them, stepping forward to kiss Connie’s cheek.
“Hi. Just dropped in to tell Domatrix I’d come ride a little later. Do you all know Rafael Benton?”
“Phillip Irving,” Connie’s husband introduced himself. “And this …”
“Is Connie, right?” Rafael shook Irving’s hand, but smiled warmly at Connie. “You work over at the Bait and Wait, right? You’ve sold me bait the last couple of times I decided to waste a day on those legendary big mouths in the lake!”
Connie flushed, but looked pleased he knew her name. “There are fish there, but I don’t deny they’re tricky ones. You gotta fish years to catch a good ’un!”
“Is that where the ‘Wait’ part of the name comes in?”
Connie laughed. “That, and the owner’s wife Ellen used to have snit fits every once in a while. Wouldn’t wait on anyone she didn’t cotton to.”
“So … should I ask where Ellen is now?” Rafael asked.
“She’s okay—hasn’t run off or passed, if that’s what you didn’t want to find out,” Connie chortled. “She’s found being a grandma’s more fun than being a worm saleswoman.”
Everyone laughed at Connie’s tale and for a moment, the tension eased. Then lines of worry filled the older woman’s face. “Guess I should say I worked there, Esme, Mr. Benton. They let me go today.”
“Why?”
Irving shook his head and patted his wife’s arm again. “Told my Connie not to worry. Times are hard, and the owner said he can’t afford help—just not many people stopping by and his oldest boy don’t have a job, so he’s fillin’ in for his pa.” He shrugged weary shoulders. “It’s what should be, families helpin’ their own.”
“I don’t begrudge ’em,” Connie added. “They gave an old woman a job when lots of folks wouldn’t. It’ll just take getting used to.” She forced a smile. “Why don’t y’all come have some sweet tea? I’ve got some nice and cold, just waitin’.”
“No, thanks,” Esme and Rafael chorused together, drawing a look of speculation from the elderly couple.
“I’m not dressed … I … had a business appointment,” Esme explained, not looking at Rafael. “I’m going to go home and change, then I’ll come ride, if that’s okay.” She smiled. “I’ll have a glass of tea then, if you’ve still got some.”
“I have to go, too,” Rafael put in, and Esme knew he’d shot her a glance before addressing the Petersons. “Nice to meet you, Irving. Connie. Hope things work out for you both.”
“Ms. Salinas, wait …” She turned as he fished a business card and pen from a pocket and jotted something down. “Here.” He extended the card, and she reluctantly reached out to take it. No point in making the Petersons part of this whole charade.
“That might help you with the questions you had about jobs around here,” he added smoothly, then nodded again to the Petersons and left. When he started backing out, she said goodbye again and walked to her truck, buckling in and checking the rearview mirror before curiosity got the best of her and she glanced at the card again.
<
br /> Lillie Mae. Silver Boot and Booty. Ask her.
Lillie Mae. She’d spoken to the woman weeks ago, when she checked out the Irvings before considering their place to board Domatrix. She’d only been in town a couple of days, but she’d heard the name everywhere. An old woman, from what little she knew, whom everyone in Truth seemed to adore. And she knew the Silver Boot and Booty—the newest bar in town, right next to the traditionally named Silver Dollar, which she supposed had been the first building in town. But why she was supposed to go talk to a strange old lady in some bar that represented a real economic threat to her aunt?
She backed out faster than she should and hit the asphalt with every intention of going home, changing, and coming back. She didn’t know when she changed her mind, but she knew when she passed Cattle Guard Road that she was going into town. And talking to an eighty-year-old woman about Rafael’s proposition. Crazy. She couldn’t think of another description for what she was about to do. The fact that she laughed out loud in the empty cab of her own truck didn’t worry her nearly as much as it should have.
Chapter Six
There was a longhorn steer wearing a saddle, tied to the hitching post outside the Silver Boot and Booty. There was a golf cart parked next to the longhorn. And the few people walking along the sidewalks in front of the buildings weren’t even glancing at them. Esme shook her head. Rose Creek had been as small—maybe marginally smaller—than Truth. There had been eccentrics there, too, but nobody rode longhorns and parked golf carts outside saloons. Either she’d fallen into a rabbit hole, the whole town was crazy or—hope flared—someone was shooting a music video. She’d seen lots of weird stuff in country music videos. In fact, hadn’t Cody been photographed somewhere on a longhorn that looked a lot like this one?
Holding on to that fragile hope, Esme grasped the rail running alongside the steep, enclosed stairs and descended into the Silver Boot and Booty, Truth’s newest bar. The rock exterior and deep stairwell were at odds with the garish neon sign, but the interior was as bright and gaudy as the neon. Light gleamed on a polished hardwood floor. The bar took up most of the front of the establishment—high, polished wood that reflected almost as much light as the floor. The tables scattered around were along the sides and towards the back, leaving most of the inside space for dancing. Not as cluttered as her aunt’s place, or as dark.
“Hey, there!” a friendly voice called from behind the bar. A cheerful woman with steel gray hair nodded at her. “We’re really not open, but if I can help you with something …”
“You’re not open?” Esme questioned, waving her hand at a table near the front, but not the one nearest the bar. A man in western garb sat there, a glass of something in front of him, and a half-finished bottle of beer beside him, near a high-crowned cowboy hat.
Before the woman at the bar could answer, an elderly woman came out of the hall beneath the large sign pointing to the restrooms. Western shirt and jeans, boots with ornate embroidery. Hair the color of mountain snow, framing a face that showed age, but was still striking.
Esmeralda had never seen the woman, but she knew. “Lillie Mae. Hi,” she said in greeting. “I’m …”
“Tina’s niece, Esmeralda.” The lady nodded with assurance. Of course you are.” She closed the distance and held her hand out. Fringe dangled down the sleeves of her long-sleeved shirt and tickled Esme’s hand as her own was pumped energetically. She must have flinched away from the spidery-tickling sensation, because Lillie Mae laughed and let her go.
“My Sunday duds are a mite annoying,” she said. “And don’t tell me what day it is, ’cause I know.” She leaned her head forwards and lowered her voice. “I just ain’t washed my workday clothes yet.” She winked and grinned. “Asides which, tourists would rather see the Sunday me.” She waved a hand at the table. “Join me for a bit?”
“But … it’s not open …”
Lillie Mae snorted. “It’s open to me and my guests. Kind of like my office, this place. Come on, sit with me.”
“Sure.” Isn’t that the plan? As the women reached the table, the man stood, removing his hat and holding out a hand.
“Hondo, ma’am. You’d be Tina Cervantes’s little girl?”
“Uh … her niece,” Esme corrected. “I’m sorry … Hondo? Didn’t I drive through Hondo on the way here?”
“Yes ma’am. I’m named after the town, or maybe just the river that runs through it. Didn’t ever ask.” He grinned affably. “Figured one of the reasons I used to get chosen a lot to play extras in cowboy movies was the name.”
“Hondo, would you go check on Babe? Can’t be too careful these days. Someone might just try to lift him, even though everyone in the Hill Country would recognize that worthless old critter on the spot. Almost as famous at the UT longhorn, Babe is.”
He nodded at both of them, then replaced the hat. “Nice to meet you, Miss Esme. Lillie Mae, I think I’ll hitch ol’ Babe on the cart and run by the feed store. He gets a kick out of it ’n’ so do I.”
Lillie Mae didn’t really reply, just watched as he wandered away. “Good man, Hondo,” she said eventually. “Just wish he got it—this boat’s sailed. Buried four husbands and there ain’t gonna be a fifth, but he keeps tryin’. Sit down, girl. I bend a little slow these days.”
Esme sat.
“So, spill it. What brought you here?”
“Didn’t you … isn’t it … part of Rafael Benton’s plan? Didn’t he send you here to meet me?”
“Now, see, a few years ago, if I’d seen Rafael, I wouldn’t have been talkin’ about any ships sailin’ ’less he was right there on it.” Lillie Mae chortled, and Esme smiled a little in spite of herself. This woman was something else, for sure. But she didn’t know what, or why Rafael Benton—the devil, according to Andy—had sent her here after he propositioned her. Then the mirth left Lillie Mae’s face and she lifted her beer bottle, finished it in a gulp, and pointed it at Esme. “Nobody sends me here. I come sit a spell here every day. Sort of my office, you could say. Now—what you do for a livin’, girl?”
Lillie Mae’s question caught her off guard, and for a moment, she just stared in surprise.
“Come on, girl, that ain’t one of the hard questions.” The older woman giggled, and Esme’s anger started building. This was “dear” Lillie Mae? “Sweet” Lillie Mae? She drew herself up and breathed deeply.
Before she could answer, though, Lillie Mae did. “You’re one of them counselor workers. For a school.”
“I am a counselor,” Esme said coolly. “I have a certificate and might open a clinic, or I might go back to work at a school.”
“So you’re a counselor? You give advice?” Lillie Mae repeated.
“Yes.”
“Then why the hell are you here talkin’ to an old lady you don’t know? Shame on you, girl. You gotta make your own mind up about this job Rafael’s offering.”
Derision crept into Esme’s voice. “Job? What do you suppose the qualifications for a job as a ‘temporary wife’ are?”
Lillie Mae leaned back a little in her chair and narrowed her eyes, then straightened again. “Hey, Freddie!” she called at the woman behind the bar. “Bring me a water and … what would you like, Esmeralda?”
Esmeralda hesitated. She seldom drank so early in the day and she really did want time to ride. But a tiny part of her didn’t want to give Lillie Mae reason to think she didn’t make her own rules. “Got screwdrivers?” she called past Lillie Mae, not letting the older woman order it for her, and got an affirmative nod from the woman behind the bar.
Freddie hustled over with their drinks and Esme smiled at her energy. “Bet you can hold your own when the place is open.”
Freddie laughed. “Well, I don’t usually tend the bar, just haul drinks. But when I’m alone … old habits die hard, I guess. I’ve always worked as a waitress of one kind or other.”
Freddie left them and went back to dusting and arranging barware and bottles, and Esme downed a large portion of
the drink and turned her attention to Lillie Mae again. “So, you were telling me I should make up my mind about Rafael’s ‘job?’ What are the chances he’ll walk in any minute, Lillie Mae?”
The older woman just stared at her for a moment, then snorted, a sound between insult and laughter. “You got some woman cajones,” she noted. “No one in town would’ve asked me that if they’d only known me a couple minutes.” She reached over and patted Esme’s hand, her fringe tickling again. “And that’s fine, if you’re showin’ ’em for the right reason. I’m no enemy, girl. Just someone drawn into a predicament and wantin’ to help.”
Esme considered the words, then shrugged. “What kind of predicament could make a decent man propose marriage—temporary marriage—to a complete stranger?”
Lillie Mae’s eyebrows shot up. “He proposed? So quick?”
So the old lady knew more than she was admitting? No point in getting her dander up if she could get her to talk, though. “He didn’t exactly propose,” Esme admitted neutrally. “He told me he needed to hire someone, that he didn’t like my aunt, and that I was the only person he’d approached.”
Lillie Mae nodded thoughtfully, but didn’t say anything. She fished in her pockets and drew out a bright red cell phone, checking her messages, then placed the device on the table. “I still bring ol’ Babe into town out of habit,” she confided, “but these modern contraptions sure do beat the old ones to heck.” She picked up the phone and waved it at Esme. “’Specially this. But there’s one thing that’s even faster than this in a town like Truth—”
“Gossip?” Esme suggested, remembering Rose Creek, and even her teen years in Laredo, which wasn’t really a small town.
“You got it. And see, that’s what Rafael’s up against—waggin’ tongues. He confided in you, and if you won’t listen and see what he says, I hope you at least don’t talk.”
His Temporary Wife Page 6
