Smooth-Talking Texan

by Candace Camp

  “What do people do around here?” she blurted out, then realized a little guiltily that her words were rather tactless.

  Benny glanced at her, then chuckled. “Talk about everybody else, mostly. Turn right at the next street.”

  He straightened a little, and Lisa could see him tense as they drove down the street. He pointed to a small blue frame house, and Lisa pulled up to the curb in front of it. The front door opened, and a short Hispanic woman bustled out of the front door. Lisa had been picturing Benny’s grandmother as a traditional-looking abuelita, with graying hair in a bun and wearing a cotton housedress, so she was a little surprised to see that while his grandmother’s thick black hair was streaked with gray, it was cropped short, and her rather squat body was encased in blue pants and a flowered top.

  Benny groaned and cast a glance at Lisa. “You’ll have to meet her. I’m sorry.”

  “I would like to meet your grandmother,” Lisa assured him and stepped out of the car.

  Señora Fuentes was crying and talking at great length in Spanish, and she did not pause in either activity when she threw her arms around her grandson and squeezed him to her. Finally she released him and stepped back, looking up at him.

  “What are you doing home so quick?” she asked, planting her hands on her hips and gazing at him sternly. Lisa, listening, had the feeling that maybe Sheriff Sutton had been telling the truth, after all. Benny’s grandmother, after her initial greeting, did not seem to be too pleased at having him home.

  Benny, who had been grinning and looking faintly embarrassed a moment earlier, adopted his former blank expression. He shrugged. “He didn’t have anything on me. He was messing with me.”

  “Messing with you?” the old woman repeated, contempt tinging her voice. “I think it’s the other way, you messin’ with the law.” She launched forth into another spate of Spanish, this one by the look and sound of it, a stern lecture on Benny’s troublesome ways.

  Benny crossed his arms and gazed down at the ground as the old woman went on and on, and with every sentence, Lisa could see his jaw tighten. Finally, flinging his arms up, he shot back a short sentence in the same language and turned away, striding off down the sidewalk away from the house.

  His grandmother looked after him for a moment, then swung around to face Lisa. She started to speak in Spanish again, and Lisa held up her hands to stop the rapid flow of words.

  “Señora, no, please, no comprendo. Yo no hablo español.”

  Señora Fuentes stopped, a puzzled frown settling on her face. “Oh. I’m sorry. I thought—you are not Latina?”

  “Yes, I am,” Lisa protested quickly, feeling the familiar embarrassment and faint sense of being different. “At least on my father’s side. It’s just—I’m afraid I don’t speak Spanish.” The old woman continued to look at her, as though trying to understand how this could be. Lisa hurried on, “My name is Lisa Mendoza, Señora Fuentes. I am your grandson Benny’s attorney. I got him released from jail.”

  “You did?” Señora Fuentes looked her up and down. “But you are a girl.”

  Lisa struggled to suppress her irritation, reminding herself that this woman was old and unused to seeing women, especially Hispanic women, in positions of strength. Patiently, she said, “Yes, I am a woman. I am also an attorney.”

  Señora shook her head, disappointment stamping her face. “I never thought the sheriff would give in to a bit of a girl.”

  Lisa straightened, her eyes flashing. “Señora Fuentes, I am not ‘a bit of a girl.’ I am a grown woman and a lawyer, and Sheriff Sutton did not ‘give in’ to me. He had no reason to hold your grandson. He knew he could not continue to keep him in jail once an attorney was representing him. I would think you would be glad to know that Benny’s cousin went to the trouble and expense of getting him an attorney instead of letting him rot in jail!”

  “Cousin?” Señora Fuentes’s brows drew together darkly. “He doesn’t have any cousins old enough to—you don’t mean Julio!”

  “No. His name was Enrique Garza.”

  “I don’t know this man,” Señora Fuentes said pugnaciously. “Who is this Garza? There is no cousin named Garza.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Lisa looked at her blankly.

  “Benny has no cousin named Enrique Garza.” Señora Fuentes looked at her suspiciously.

  Lisa simply gazed back at her, nonplussed. “But I—he came into my office and said he was Benny’s cousin. He explained Benny’s situation to me and said he wanted to help him.”

  “He is one of them,” Benny’s grandmother said flatly, her lips drawing into a thin line.

  “Who?”

  “The bad men. The ones he goes to see. Cholos. Vatos.” Her lips twisted bitterly, and tears sprang into her black eyes. “I will lose him. Like I lost Pablo.”

  “Señora Fuentes…” Lisa reached out to touch the woman’s arm, sympathy springing up in her at the woman’s evident sorrow. “Can I help you?”

  But the other woman twisted away. “No.” She cast Lisa a dark glance. “Go away from here. You have done enough.”

  She turned and walked back into the house. Lisa watched her go, feeling vaguely guilty. Finally, with a sigh, she turned and went back to her car. She got in and turned the car around, driving back the way she had come. There was no reason for her to feel guilty, she told herself. She had gotten her client out of jail; she had protected his rights. The sheriff had had no business taking him in in the first place.

  But logic had a hard time standing up against the look of suffering in the old woman’s eyes. Lisa kept thinking about it, wishing that she could have made Benny’s grandmother understand that she had helped Benny.

  A few blocks down the street, she saw Benny walking along, hands jammed in his pockets, head down. She pulled her car to a stop beside him and pushed the button to roll down the window. “Benny? Do you need a ride?”

  He looked over at her and started to shake his head, but in the next instant, he stopped, then said, “Hey, yeah.” He walked over to the car and leaned down, looking into the window. “You could drop me off at the café, if you don’t mind.”

  “No, it’s okay. Where is it?”

  It didn’t take long to reach the café. It was on the same main street of Angel Eye that they had driven along when they’d left the courthouse, but farther out, almost on the edge of town. It was a small, plain building set back from the road, with a modest sign at the front of the parking lot proclaiming it to be Moonstone Café.

  “Moonstone Café? That’s an odd name.” Lisa said as she turned into the parking lot. She had thought that an eating place in this little town would be named something like Earl’s Diner or Martha’s.

  “Yeah. Lady owns it is from Dallas,” Benny said, as if that fact would explain all peculiarity. “It’s good. You should try it.”

  “Maybe I will.”

  “Well…thanks.” Benny got out of the car and gave her an awkward wave, then walked into the restaurant.

  Lisa watched him go. It occurred to her that she was hungry. And it was the end of the day; everyone would have left the office by the time she got there. Perhaps she should give this oddly named restaurant a try. The mere fact that its owner was from Dallas gave it some appeal to her.

  She parked her car and followed her client through the front door of the restaurant. A slim woman with thick curling dark hair turned from the cash register and smiled at her.

  “One for dinner?” she asked. Lisa nodded, and the woman led her toward a booth in front of one of the windows.

  Lisa glanced around the restaurant as she followed the woman. It was a neat, clean place, nothing fancy, just wooden tables and comfortable chairs and booths, but it was obviously popular. Even as early as it was, several of the tables were occupied. There was a smell of fresh-baked bread in the air, mingling enticingly with garlic and spices.

  She noticed that her client was standing near the kitchen door, talking with a pretty, slender Hispanic girl. Ben
ny’s face was more animated than it had been the entire time she had been around him, and the way he stood before the girl, bending down toward her in a tender, even protective way, spoke volumes about what he felt for her. And, given the glow on the young girl’s face as she looked back at him, it appeared that she returned the feeling.

  The woman who had seated her followed her gaze, and she smiled. “Ah, young love.” She handed a menu to Lisa. “Don’t worry. Teresa will be over here in a minute. She’s a good waitress. You new around here?”

  “I live in Hammond,” Lisa replied. “But I’m new there. I’m from Dallas.”

  “Yeah?” The other woman smiled. “Me, too. I’m Elizabeth Morgan. I own the Moonstone.”

  “Lisa Mendoza. Nice to meet you. So you moved here from Dallas?”

  Elizabeth Morgan laughed at the tone of amazement that crept into Lisa’s voice as she asked the question. “I wanted to get far away from Dallas.”

  “Well, you certainly achieved that.”

  “Yeah. It’s pretty different. But I like a little town. It’s…cozy, I guess. I was starting over, and it wasn’t as expensive to start a restaurant in a small town.”

  “Don’t you miss Dallas?”

  “Sometimes.” Elizabeth shrugged. “I mean, it’s nice to have a big choice of movies to go see, malls to go shopping at, other restaurants to eat in. But you know, frankly, when you run a restaurant, you’re tied to it. Twenty-four seven. You don’t get out that much to do any of those things, and if I want to, well, San Antonio’s not that far away. The rest of the time, there’s the fact that it takes me five minutes to get to work; there’s very little turnover in employees; and I know most of my customers by name. I like that.”

  They were interrupted at that point by the arrival of the young girl who had been talking to Benny earlier. “I’m sorry,” she said a little breathlessly. “Sorry, Ms. Morgan.”

  Elizabeth smiled and nodded to Lisa. “I’ll get back to my job and let you order now. It was nice chatting with you.”

  She moved away, and the girl went into her spiel. “My name is Teresa, and I’ll be waiting on you this evening. Could I get you a drink while you look over the menu?”

  Lisa ordered and settled back into the booth to relax. Benny, she noticed, had disappeared. She found her thoughts turning to Sheriff Sutton. The man was damnably attractive. She remembered that moment in his office when they had been only inches apart, white-hot anger coursing through her, and mingled with it, feeding off it, had been a pulsing, primitive desire. She had felt it coming off him, too, humming and magnetic.

  It was absurd, of course, Lisa reminded herself. They were, literally, on opposites sides. And she felt certain that they had nothing in common, no real attraction except for that strange, momentary response. A chemical reaction, that’s all. Some animal impulse, spurred by a signal too primal for her to even notice—a scent or a visual stimulus—the line of his leg against his uniform, perhaps, or his long, mobile fingers, thumb hooked into the belt of his uniform, or the well-cut lips…

  Lisa realized with a start that she was sitting staring at the table dreamily, a faint smile curving her mouth. She had started out analyzing her bizarre response to the man, and she had wound up daydreaming about him like a teenager in class!

  She was glad when Teresa brought her salad, giving her something to concentrate on besides the sheriff. The meal, she discovered to her delight, was delicious—the salad crisp and dark green, the barest of balsamic vinaigrette on it, just as she liked it, and the pasta dish light and subtly seasoned.

  “How was your dinner?” Elizabeth Morgan stopped by her table on the way back from seating some more customers.

  “Wonderful,” Lisa replied truthfully. “As good as in Dallas.”

  Elizabeth smiled at the phrasing of her praise. “I take it that you miss Dallas?”

  “Yeah.” Lisa let out a regretful sigh. “Although, I have to admit, not as much after a dinner like this one.”

  Elizabeth lingered by her table for a few minutes, chatting with her about Dallas, and Teresa came to clear the dishes from her table and bring her bill. She had just paid her bill when the door of the café opened and Sheriff Sutton strode in.

  He glanced around, then walked purposefully toward Lisa’s table. What was it, Lisa wondered, that was so utterly sexy about the way a man walked in cowboy boots?

  Beside her, echoing her thoughts, Elizabeth Morgan let out an exaggerated sigh and said, “Sheriffs have got it all over cops, don’t they? There’s just something about boots and a cowboy hat.” She smiled at Sutton as he drew near. “Good evening, Sheriff. You want to see a menu?”

  “No, thanks, Elizabeth. I’m not staying. I just wanted to talk to Ms. Mendoza.”

  “Sure. You want something to drink? Coffee? Iced tea?”

  “Coffee would be great, thanks.”

  Elizabeth moved away as he slid into the booth across from Lisa.

  “Have a seat,” Lisa commented dryly.

  He grinned. “Thanks.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I saw your car outside. Thought I’d drop by and talk to you a little bit.”

  “How do you know my car?” She asked, exasperated.

  “Saw you get into it a while ago.” Again the bone-melting smile flashed as he admitted, “I was watching out my window when you left.”

  “Sheriff…I don’t know what you want, but—”

  “You know, I just got my butt chewed out for about ten minutes by Benny’s grandmother for letting you get Benny away from me. You owe me a few minutes of your time.”

  Lisa could not help but smile at the image of that short old woman raking Quinn Sutton over the coals. “Sorry. I’ve met the wrath of Señora Fuentes myself.”

  “Look, Ms. Mendoza…” Quinn leaned across the table, looking into Lisa’s eyes. Lisa found it difficult to look away. “I think we got off on the wrong foot. I was thinking that maybe we could start all over again. If you knew me better, you might find out that I’m not such an ogre.”

  “I am sure you are not,” Lisa agreed easily. “However, I see little use in getting to know you, as you say. We are on opposite sides, and—”

  “We’re not so far apart as you think,” he put in quickly. “I realize that you don’t think so, but I have Benny Hernandez’s best interests at heart.”

  Lisa leaned back against the padded seat of the booth, crossing her arms and raising her eyebrows expressively. “You do?”

  “Yes, I do. I don’t know what you’re used to. Obviously you come from the city somewhere. San Antonio? Houston?”

  “Dallas.”

  He nodded. “Well, things are different here. I don’t look on the sheriff’s job as getting criminals so much as protecting the people of the town. People like Señora Fuentes, for instance. And her grandson, little as you would like to believe it. I am trying to help Benny.”

  “I see. So you are sort of the Great White Father of Angel Eye, is that it? Protecting all the poor and ignorant Mexicans, even if it means incarcerating them illegally.”

  Sutton’s jaw tightened. “You know, you’ve got a hell of a chip on your shoulder—especially considering the fact that I can speak Spanish better than you can.”

  Fury spurted up in Lisa at his words. She grabbed her purse and scooted out of the booth, sending a flashing angry glance at him before striding quickly out of the restaurant.

  As she strode across the parking lot, she heard his bootsteps on the pavement behind her, but she ignored him, marching straight to her car. He caught up with her before she reached it, grasping her arm and pulling her to a halt.

  Lisa spun around, jerking her arm from his grasp. Her skin seemed to burn where he had touched it, and her anger was fueled by the fact that his nearness, his touch, made her feel weak in the knees. “Let go of me! What do you think you’re doing?”

  “I’m sorry. Don’t go storming off. I’m trying to explain things to you. I’m trying to make
amends.”

  “You’re doing a really lousy job of it.”

  “I know,” he agreed ruefully. “I seem to have a knack for offending you. Please, ignore what I said. You’re off base in saying that I’m acting out of prejudice, but I understand why you’d feel that way. This isn’t about singling Benny Hernandez out because he’s a Latino. Maybe I’m too paternal in the way I feel about this town, but it isn’t only regarding the Mexican-American community. I have a duty to help the people of this town, to protect them. That’s what I was elected to do. That’s why I haul the kids I catch drinking and driving down to the jail, not because I enjoy hassling drunk teenagers or causing their parents grief, but because I want them to think before they do it next time. I don’t want to have to scrape them up off the road.”

  “No doubt that’s admirable. But we are not talking about a drunken teenager here. We’re talking about a trumped-up charge, and I don’t care if Benny’s grandmother wanted you to teach him a lesson or whatever, you violated that young man’s rights.”

  “It isn’t always that black and white,” he responded tightly. Quinn truthfully had come to apologize and make things right with Lisa. He had been thinking about her ever since she’d left the courthouse this afternoon, and when he had spotted her car in the parking lot of the Moonstone, it had seemed a heaven-sent opportunity to make a fresh start with her. But somehow, as before, he had wound up right back in an argument with her. And, as before, his loins tightened involuntarily at the sight of her, cheeks flushed, eyes bright with fury, her curvaceous body thrumming with tension.

  What was it about this woman that made him respond at the basest level? She filled him with the hot lust to subdue her, to kiss her until she melted beneath him, her fury transforming into passion beneath his touch. He balled his hands into fists and tried to shove down the distinctly erotic images that were flooding his mind.

  “Will you let me explain to you?” he asked, keeping his voice carefully neutral.

  “Please do.” Lisa crossed her arms over her chest and waited, her gaze challenging.