by Janet Dailey
“I’ll keep hold of his hand all the time so he won’t get lost,” Missy inserted anxiously.
“I’m sure you would be very careful, Missy, but —” Natalie began her denial. She glanced unwillingly at the emotionless, masculine face above the two children seated at the counter. “I think Ricky should stay here with me. It’s very crowded tonight.”
“Oh, Daddy!” Missy turned her anxious pleading face to Colter Langston, who viewed it without a flicker of interest. “Please make Mrs. Crane understand that we would take care of him.”
Natalie squirmed inwardly, knowing what a difficult position Missy was placing both of them in. She didn’t have to hear him speak to know that the last thing Colter Langston wanted to do was squire her nephew around. His aloof gaze swung to her and Natalie steeled herself to meet it.
“The boy will be quite safe with us. We’ll bring him directly back here once we’ve made the tour, Mrs. Crane,” he stated with a trace of mocking inflection on the word “Mrs.”
“It’s Miss Crane. Ricky is my nephew.” The brief arching of his brow made Natalie regret that she had corrected him. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to work.”
“We’ll bring Ricky back in an hour,” Colter responded smoothly.
“I didn’t say he could go!” Natalie turned back in astonishment.
“The child has little else to do while you’re working. What’s the harm?” he challenged.
Resentment flared unchecked in her gaze, but it made little impression on him. She couldn’t stand there and argue the point, especially in front of the two children watching the exchange so closely. Indecision hovered in her mind until she met the pair of pleading brown eyes, so loving and full of mischief. It would serve Colter Langston right to take Ricky.
“All right,” she sighed agreement. “I’ll expect Ricky back in an hour.”
Afterwards she wondered if she had been insane to agree. Colter Langston and his daughter were virtual strangers, regardless of how respectable they appeared on the surface. “Respectable” — it was hardly an adjective that could be applied to him, not with any degree of certainty.
Yet there was the unshakeable impression that Colter Langston had been selfishly indulging the whim of his daughter, using Ricky to entertain her so he wouldn’t have to. The more Natalie thought about that the more positive she became that it had been his only motive.
As the hour neared its end, Natalie kept searching the crowd, now grown to such proportions that they were elbow to elbow as they jostled their way to the various ethnic booths. The sky had darkened to a purpling black and La Villita was illuminated by strings of brightly coloured lights strung across squares and alleys and atop the booths. The time for her fifteen-minute break was approaching, precious minutes that she wanted to devote to Ricky.
Then, through the mob of people young and old, Natalie saw him perched again on Colter’s arm as the three wound their way to the stand. Colter’s hand firmly kept Missy directly in front of him. Ricky’s brown eyes were round and wondering at all the things he had seen. She knew he would talk non-stop for an hour to share his tour with her. Even Missy’s face was unusually animated and happy.
Ricky almost leaped into her outstretched arms. “Did you have a good time?” Natalie smiled.
“Terrific!” he breathed, and would have launched into a full account then and there, but Missy broke in.
“We brought him back safely,” she offered earnestly.
“Yes, you did.” Her gaze flickered automatically from the girl to her father, her smile turning a little more reserved under his lazy, yet piercing look. “Thank you.”
Natalie stood Ricky up on an empty corner of the counter bench, tucking his shirt tail back into his trousers. “You should have seen the pretty eggs,” he told her excitedly.
“‘Cascarones’,” Missy added, more fully identifying the confetti-filled eggshells for Natalie’s benefit.
“You break them over people’s heads!” His dark, bright eyes rounded still more as Ricky passed on that startling discovery to Natalie. She couldn’t help laughing at his amazed expression, the laughter erasing the lines of concern.
Missy reached into the small straw purse she was carrying and took out a red and a blue “cascarone”. “You can take these home with you, if you like, Ricky,” she offered.
Natalie’s hand was resting lightly on Ricky’s back. She felt him stiffen slightly, drawing himself more erect. She glanced curiously at his solemn expression as he stared at the brightly coloured eggshells in Missy’s hand.
“Nonnie and me, we don’t accept charity.”
A warm flush of embarrassment crept up her cheeks at the almost physical touch of the mocking gaze that was directed at her. It was so obvious that Ricky was repeating an admonition he had heard her say many times. She felt even worse when she saw the hurt look steal over Missy’s face, the sparkle leaving her blue eyes.
“It’s not charity.” Colter’s low voice, calm and unruffled, drew Ricky’s gaze. “It’s a Fiesta gift, just like at Christmas time.”
Barely moving his head, he turned to Natalie for confirmation of Colter’s words. When it had been a simple, inexpensive gift from Missy, Natalie had not minded Ricky accepting the “cascarones”. Now that her father had involved himself, she wanted to refuse. Her denial would not affect Colter Langston, who was only backing up his daughter as she would have done in his place, but it would be one more simple treat that she couldn’t give Ricky. She wished the innocent children did not have to suffer from the actions of an adult.
“That’s right, Ricky,” Natalie agreed grudgingly. “Why don’t you go get your truck and show it to Missy?”
Carefully cradling the “cascarones” in his hand, the little boy took off like a shot for the toy truck placed for safe keeping behind the counter. Apart from that one comment, Colter Langston did not take part again in the three-way conversation of Natalie, Missy and Ricky, but Natalie never lost her awareness of him, her nerve ends tingling whenever she felt his dispassionate gaze directed at her.
Her break was over and she was back working at the grill when Missy said goodbye to Ricky. Natalie doubted that Colter Langston had joined in the farewell. She was certain any courtesy had been extended by Missy.
As she had suspected, Ricky curled up very willingly on the bale of straw to the back of the stand — to watch the people, he said. Shortly after ten o’clock, she saw his head drooping in sleep. A few minutes later, he had shifted into a horizontal position; sleeping away completely unmindful of the din that hadn’t let up since the gates of La Villita had opened up at five-thirty that afternoon.
Officially, the celebration of “A Night in Old San Antonio” ended at ten-thirty each night, but it was closer to eleven-thirty before the grill was cleaned and Natalie was able to leave. The last three days she had spent in an exhaustive search for a new job. That combined with almost six straight hours on her feet over the sapping heat of the grill made her feel too weary to take another step. Time enough to collapse when she reached home, Natalie told herself firmly, and picked up Ricky and his truck and her purse to trudge to the gates of the Alamo Street entrance.
Just as she stepped through them, a tall figure pushed itself away from the stone walls of La Villita. Her tired brain identified Colter Langston a second before he lifted the sleeping child from her unprotesting arms.
“My car is across the street.”
“You don’t have to —” Natalie began feebly.
His head was drawn back slightly, heightening the effect that he was looking down at her. “Would you like a ride home or not? A simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’ will do.” The pitch of his low voice didn’t change, yet there was an underlying harshness to it.
The prospect of the long walk to her apartment looked more daunting than a short ride with Colter Langston. Besides, in her weakened state, she found his strength and vitality intimidated her. Natalie held his cold, expressionless gaze for an instant.
“Missy’s idea, I suppose,” she sighed, unable to acquiesce completely, and he didn’t deny her observation. Wearily she pushed the hair away from her face. “Yes, we will accept your offer.”
“My car is across the street,” Colter repeated.
Natalie had no trouble finding the white El Dorado in the half-empty parking lot. Once she was in the passenger seat, he handed the sleeping Ricky to her and walked around to the driver’s side. As Natalie tried to shift Ricky into a more comfortable position on her lap, his eyes blinked open.
Craning his head around, he looked into the back seat, then at Colter. “Where’s Missy?”
“She’s in bed, asleep.” Colter answered the question as if it had been asked by an adult.
“I’m tired, too,” Ricky agreed, and settled his head against Natalie’s shoulder, dropping off almost instantly to sleep.
Natalie leaned her own head against the rich leather cushions, half-closing her eyes as the powerful car accelerated into the street. The darkness and quietness outside closed around her like a warm cocoon.
“I never realised silence could be so beautiful,” she murmured aloud, “or so peaceful.”
The unceasing din of the crowds took on the aspects of a nightmare that was only barely remembered. Out of the corner of her eye, she studied his profile. The softly firm cushion of the seat relaxed her tired muscles, lessening their ache, and Natalie felt a twinge of conscience that she hadn’t expressed her gratitude for the ride more graciously.
“I do appreciate your taking Ricky and me home, Mr. Langston. I hope your wife doesn’t object.”
The last remark, incuriously offered, twisted the hard line of his mouth into a mirthless smile as he ran an eye over her face. “I doubt it. She’s dead.”
The callous announcement astounded Natalie. “I — I’m sorry,” she said, for want of any other response.
“Are you?” His gaze never left the street. “Why? Because she’s dead or because I can’t pretend to feel any grief over something that happened more than ten years ago?” Colter asked with asperity.
There was no answer Natalie could give to the frank question, so she subsided into an uneasy silence, a silence the taciturn man appeared to endorse. She didn’t need to have a picture drawn to realise that Colter Langston did not indulge in idle conversation. He was brutally frank and straight to the point. Her unconscious probe into his personal life had been reversed as dexterously as an expert swordsman parries the thrust of an amateur.
When they arrived at the house where she lived, again Colter took Ricky from her while she retrieved her key from the scant contents of her purse. The landlady’s hallway door opened a crack for her stern face to peer out, but mercifully she said nothing, letting her presence serve as a reminder of her admonition the night before.
As Natalie hurried up the stairs to her apartment, her tired legs stumbled over a step near the top. Instantly a firm hand was under her elbow, righting her. The hard strength and warm support that it represented was so overwhelming that Natalie wished she could lean against it if only for a moment. She pushed away the impulse and the hand was withdrawn almost immediately.
The door of her apartment opened wider than she intended, allowing an unobstructed view of the sparsely furnished but clean room. In the short time it took to transfer the sleeping child from his arms to hers, Natalie had the feeling that the entire room had been memorised by Colter’s discerning gaze. Her thanks were self-consciously offered and summarily shrugged aside as he turned back down the stairs before she had closed the door.
Each succeeding night of “A Night in Old San Antonio” was a repeat of the first. Colter and Missy arrived at about the same time and Missy spent most of the evening entertaining Ricky while Colter looked on. At closing, he was waiting outside the gates alone to give Natalie a lift home.
Her one offer to pay had been rejected with a derisive glance. After the third night, Natalie had ceased conjecturing that his motive might be more than a way to ease his sensitive daughter’s imagination. Working nights, searching without success for a permanent job during the day, and caring for Ricky did not leave many moments for idle thought.
It was approaching midnight when Colter brought her home on Friday, the last night of the festivities at La Villita and the last night of her job. There was a fleeting thought as she took Ricky from his arms that there was little likelihood that she and Ricky would see Colter or Missy again. Before Natalie could utter any final goodbye, he was reaching around her for the doorknob and she realised that he couldn’t care less that he wouldn’t see her again. That was fine. Neither did she. She had only been thinking that Ricky might miss his daughter. She murmured a sharp “Good night” and stepped into the apartment, adding the weight of her hand to the back of the door he was already pulling shut.
Weak and exhausted, wanting nothing more than to crawl between the covers of the daybed she shared with Ricky, Natalie instead walked to the tiny kitchen alcove and put a kettle of water on the stove to boil. As it heated, she spooned instant coffee into a cup, gathered pencil and paper and the pay envelope from her purse and set them all on the small table. She knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep until she knew the true state of their finances.
Sipping the deliberately strong coffee later, Natalie reworked the figures. It didn’t seem to matter how many things she eliminated as non-essential, there was simply not enough money to carry them through the next week. In the three years Ricky had been with her, the future had never looked as bleak and hopeless as it did at that moment. Burying her face in her hands, she began to cry softly, tired sobs and acid tears that couldn’t ease the pain of despair.
The click of the doorknob turning brought her head up sharply in frightened disbelief. The lean masculine form of Colter Langston was framed in the doorway. His keen eyes missed nothing, not the ravages of tears on her face, the small stack of money meticulously counted out, the scribbled figures on the paper, nor the air of defeat in her sagging shoulders.
“What are you doing here?” she breathed.
“You forgot to take the key out of the lock.”
There was the jangle of metal as he tossed her key on to the table. When her stunned gaze turned to it, he took the few steps necessary to reach the table and placed a paper package in the middle.
“W-what’s that?”
“A sandwich.”
“For me?” Natalie stared at the impassive, unyielding face towering above her.
“I had dinner this evening. Did you?” A brow arched inquiringly. “Or did Ricky receive the meal you were entitled to for working at the stand?” Her sharply averted head was the only answer he needed. “I thought as much.”
The derisive tone brought an immediate surge of pride. “I’m not hungry,” Natalie asserted, trying to ignore the tantalizing aroma that set her stomach gnawing at her backbone.
There was a short exhalation of his breath that bespoke Colter’s contempt of her refusal. “Please spare me your little speech about charity. From the boy it was cute. From you, it would be ridiculous!”
Tanned fingers tore open the paper to reveal the two sliced halves of French bread mounded in the middle with barbecued beef. He slid it in front of her, disregarding the neat stacks of money he toppled.
“Eat it,” commanded Colter.
The glittering harshness of his gaze told her that he would shove it down her throat if she refused again. Torn between the desire to throw it in his face before he had a chance and to appease the hunger sapping her strength, Natalie stared into the bronze mask.
“What do I owe for your generosity?” she demanded.
An uncomfortable heat warmed her blood as his gaze travelled suggestively over her, insolently noting the feminine curves that her recent loss of weight had only accented. The corners of his hard mouth quirked with dry cynicism at the corners when his gaze returned to her face. Her cheeks still glistened from the tears she had shed, but gold sparks were flashing defia
ntly from her eyes.
“At least you’ve learned nothing is for free,” he commented. “But all I want for the present is a few minutes to discuss something with you once you’ve eaten.”
“That’s all?” Natalie challenged, wary of that vague qualification he had made.
“For the present,” Colter repeated, smiling coldly at the indignant flush that was appearing under his pinning gaze. “The eventual outcome of our discussion will be strictly your decision. Does that satisfy you?”
Natalie flinched under his cutting mockery. “Not really.” Her eyes unwillingly were drawn to the tempting sandwich.
“Eat. I have no intention of raping you.”
His bluntness stole some of her appetite but not a sufficient amount to lessen the hunger pangs. Strangely Natalie believed that he wouldn’t attempt to molest her despite the vague feeling that she would be wiser not to hear what he wanted to discuss. At her first bite into the sandwich, Colter moved away from the table.
“What are you doing?” Natalie swallowed the bite quickly, turning in her chair as he walked behind her towards the kitchen alcove.
“Getting myself a cup of coffee.”
“I’ll do that,” she said, quickly setting her sandwich down to push herself away from the table.
But his deceptively effortless strides had already taken him into the small cooking area. “Why, Mother Hubbard? Because your cupboards are bare,” he answered drily. “I’d already guessed that.”
As proof he opened the top door beside the sink to reveal the nearly empty shelves. Her pale complexion flamed as she watched him take a cup and spoon in the instant coffee. The kettle heated up again speedily and he poured the scalding water into the cup. As the sun-bleached head turned towards her, Natalie subsided quickly in her chair.
When he wandered back to the table, there was only a faint hint of pink in her cheeks. She studiously avoided looking directly at him as he reclined his lean frame in the straight chair opposite her, relaxing with negligent ease. Eating under his perceptively watchful eye did not aid her digestive abilities.
