RIO GRANDE WEDDING

by Ruth Wind

  "Ah, no. You should not cut such hair." He reached out, paused. "May I touch it?"

  "Oh. Sure." She leaned a little closer and he took a thick hank into his grip, then let it spill through his fingers, admiring the glitter of it against his dark fingers. It was almost weightless, and very soft, and he liked it very much.

  When it nearly fell away, he caught it again, with the other hand, and spread a handful over his open palm. "It makes me think of honeycomb, all these different colors in it." He raised his eyes. "I like it."

  A guarded expression warned him away. "Thank you," she said, almost stiffly.

  Alejandro, vaguely disappointed, let her hair fall, and shifted his gaze to the fields stretching beyond the gardens. Empty fields, overgrown with gray-green sage and walking stick cactus with hard knots of dark red fruit at the tips. "Is this your land?"

  "Some of it." She pointed. "From the bluff over there, to the cottonwood. Then some more in front of the house."

  He narrowed his eyes, nodding. "How much land?"

  "Close to a hundred acres."

  So much! If he owned land, he would not leave it fallow this way. "It is good land here," he said. "You do not plant it?"

  "My husband had made plans to," she said slowly. "I wouldn't have the faintest idea where to start."

  "Ah." He nodded. Still, "You should do something with it."

  She looked over her shoulder. "Like what?"

  Alejandro inclined his head. "A henhouse, over there, for eggs. And a rooster to make more chickens—" he grinned "—and to wake up the morning. Some goats, for their milk, and some sheep, for the wool." He pursed his lips. "And then the fields … chiles and beans and maybe some pimentos, no? Enough for you, and some to take to market."

  She had a faint smile on her face. "Anything else?"

  He raised an eyebrow, aware she was teasing him. "Yes. Bees." He gestured to the bluff. "They would feed on the peach trees, and the honey would be very good."

  "I'm afraid of bees."

  "You would learn," he replied confidently. "And with those things, you would not have to work. You would have everything here."

  This time she chuckled. "But I like working. I'm a much better nurse than I am a farmer."

  The sound of a car engine made them both turn toward the road. Dust kicked up behind a truck, still quite distant but unmistakably headed their way.

  "Damn." Molly leaped to her feet. "That's my brother. We have to get you inside. Fast." Worry made her eyes dark gray. "He's a deputy sheriff, and he won't be happy when he finds out I've done this."

  He started to rise at the same instant she did, and their foreheads cracked together painfully. Molly made a soft noise, and reeled backward, put off balance. Alejandro, blinking against the sharp rap himself, reached out to keep her from falling. He snared her upper arm and yanked, and she tilted forward, a hand coming down on his shoulder. "Sorry," she said. "Are you okay?"

  She was close. But for once, she was not beneath him or beside him. She was not washing him or tending him or feeding him. She faced him, her mouth only inches from his own, her breasts at a level with his hands, and he wanted very much to kiss her, to lift his hands to that inviting weight and gauge her fit to his palms. The wish swelled through him, quick and hot.

  As if his thoughts showed on his face, she … softened. It was the only word. The slope of her shoulders eased, and her hand opened wider on his shoulder, as if she'd like to slide her fingers beneath his collar. Her eyelids flickered, sweeping down to hide the direction of her gaze, which he felt on his mouth.

  He saw her catch her breath, and for a long second, Alejandro thought she would sway closer and press her mouth to his. He found himself ready, lifting his head, ready to touch her if she gave leave.

  Instead, her hand clenched and she gripped him, looking over her shoulder. "Now, Alejandro. I'm not kidding. He'll arrest you."

  * * *

  Molly heard her brother's truck on the gravel outside just as she closed her back bedroom door. Alejandro put his fingers to his lips to show her he understood, and she rushed down the hallway, smoothing her hair, trying to breathe normally.

  Going out on the front porch, she crossed her arms. "Hey there," she said jauntily as Josh climbed out. Still dressed in his uniform, he looked weary and rumpled and impossibly young. "What brings you out here?"

  "Just checking on you. They said you called in sick this morning. You sick?"

  Molly had almost forgotten. "I'm feeling better tonight."

  He climbed up to the porch, hat in his hands. "How about pouring me a glass of tea, then?"

  As she led him into the house, for an odd, scared moment, she thought there was something in his manner that was a little off kilter. His mouth was tight as he looked around – carefully, she thought – at the living room. But she looked again and only saw her brother. Paranoia.

  She did not particularly want to lead him into the kitchen – if Alejandro so much as sneezed, Josh would hear it. She directed him to a living-room chair, but he gave her a weird look and followed her into the kitchen, tossing his hat down on the table. "Damn, I'm tired." He flung his lean body into a chair. "You hear anything more about that little girl you were asking about?"

  Molly shook her head. "You, neither, huh?"

  "Sorry." He accepted the glass of tea she offered him and took a long swallow. "Lynette wants to know if you can have dinner with us Saturday night." He lifted an eyebrow. "If you're feeling all right by then."

  He knew something. What? She made a show of looking at her work schedule on the wall. "I'd love to, especially if she makes her green chile. I could live on her chile."

  "She knows. She bought a bushel from Wiley this morning. Said she thought she saw your car up there, but she didn't see you anywhere."

  Uh-oh. Molly decided to stick with the truth as much as possible. "I was checking to see if he might have seen that little girl."

  "For somebody who had to miss work and get some heavy-duty antibiotics, you sure were busy today."

  The pharmacist. Of course. She could just imagine how it had gone, too. "Is there a point to all this, Josh? I feel like a suspect or something."

  "No point." He crossed his ankle on his knee. "You just seemed a little weird last night, kind of nervous or something. Then I hear you've got some bad sore throat, and you don't go to work, and then you're up at Wiley's asking questions, if it's innocent, there's nothing to worry about, is there? If you've got a guilty conscience, it's my business to find out what you're hiding."

  She struggled to keep her features even, but the words made her cold, and she realized she'd underestimated her brother's deep, wide knowledge of her.

  And then, with a cat's superior timing, Leonardo came trotting down the hall with a sock in his mouth. A very large white tube sock with a blue stripe around the top. It trailed between his legs, making it hard for him to walk, and he dropped it once, then picked it up again and headed for the dining room.

  Frozen, Molly couldn't decide whether to ignore her cat or make a production of him. She aimed for something in between. Rolling her eyes, she grimaced. "Who would I be hiding? Some desperado? Some drug dealer?"

  "I don't know. Interesting, though, that you thought immediately of a person. I didn't say who, I said what."

  Damn. She was really not cut out for lying. She forced herself not to look at Leo, who now tossed the incriminating sock up in the air. Unable to think of a single thing to answer her brother with, she shrugged.

  Just then, he let go of the deputy sheriff mask and his whole body eased with the reappearance of Josh-the-brother. "Look, Moll, I know you. You've always got some cause, and don't think I haven't paid attention to your feelings on this whole illegal-immigrant issue. I know we're on opposite sides of the line, and I just keep quiet about it for that reason. But if you've done something you want to tell me about, I'm here as your brother." He picked up his hat. "This time."

  "Okay, Joe Friday. I'll be sure and le
t you know if I see any suspicious characters lurking in my alleys."

  "Moll—"

  She raised a hand. "I'm just kidding. When did you get so damned serious, anyway? I remember the wild child."

  "I grew up fast when Mom and Dad were killed. Didn't seem right to give you the trouble I gave them."

  "Honey, it was real sad, but that was more than a decade ago." She touched his bony shoulder. "You can loosen up now. Have some fun, huh?"

  He nodded noncommittally, and Molly dropped her hand. "Thanks for your concern," she said, walking him to the door. "I'll see you on Saturday night."

  On the porch, he put his hat back on and paused. "Be careful, Molly."

  Molly laughed, hoping it sounded free instead of nervous. "I will."

  He gave the house and surrounding lands one last, sweeping search with his eyes, then lifted a hand in farewell. She forced herself to stand there, ostensibly admiring the view of ragged mountains against a nearly dark sky, until he was out of sight.

  Then she let go of a shaky breath and went inside, first going to the corner to retrieve the white tube sock from Leo's stash. He blinked when she wrested the sock from him, and settled on top of the others as if to protect them. "You're one strange cat, Leo."

  She knocked on the back bedroom door. Alejandro called out, and she opened the door to find him sitting on the bed, his boots on beneath the sweats, looking glumly at the combination. "Missing something?" she said, holding the stolen socks.

  "Oh, yes. Thank you."

  "Leonardo – that's my cat – steals socks. He gave me a heart attack just now, dragging this one out in front of my brother."

  "Señora, I am sorry to have caused you so much trouble." With a grunt, he managed to get his right leg into position to take off the boot, and struggled with it.

  Molly knelt and grabbed the heel. "Pull." The boot came off, revealing his naked foot. She was annoyed with herself for liking the strong, long bones across the high arch. "I guess you heard all that, huh?"

  He nodded, and busied himself with putting on the sock. "Your husband – did he have jeans?" One side of his mouth lifted in distaste. "This does not look right."

  "He did." Molly perched in the mama chair, hiding a smile that he could be vain enough to worry about his outfit when he was gun-shot, rib-broke and wanted by the law. "I'm not turning you out, though."

  He raised large black eyes to her face and echoed, "Turning me out?"

  "You don't have to leave."

  He took a breath. "I do. I heard what he said, Molly." His tongue caressed the word, making it longer, lingering: Mol-leee. "He will be very angry when he learns you have hidden me here."

  "If," she corrected calmly. "And yes, he'll be furious, but he'll be furious no matter if you stay a day or three. The damage is done."

  "They might arrest you." His mouth was serious. "Deport me."

  She nodded. Then, without consciously deciding to do it, she leaned over her knees and in a gesture that felt wholly natural, took his loose hands into her own. "Señor Sosa, please listen." She met his eyes earnestly. "My brother worries too much about me."

  "If you were my sister, I, too, would worry. It is only luck that I am not a drug dealer, as you say."

  "Maybe." She lifted a shoulder. "But the fact remains – you aren't. And you feel better tonight, but if you leave now, you'll be sick and cold and weak by morning. You won't be any use to Josefina like that."

  He looked at the clasp of her hands, and suddenly turned his over, enfolding her fingers in his. "You listen, now, señora," he said, and leaned closer still, so their faces were only a foot apart. A soft hitch of desire touched her heart as she looked at his mouth, into his eyes, and she wanted, very much, to simply close that gap and press her mouth to his.

  And as if the same thought crossed his mind, his gaze flickered to her mouth, then away. His jaw tightened. "I am very grateful to you. You have saved my life. And you have taken good care of me. I do not wish to bring trouble on you. Maybe Wiley would take me in, eh? It's not so far, I could walk there."

  A pang stabbed through her. Wiley probably would take him in, but that would mean this stolen time was over. Just another day. Maybe two, that was all she asked. A little space of time that was different from all the other days in her life. "Maybe," she said quietly.

  It was her turn to look at the tangle of their hands. She turned his over to look at the palms, seeing calluses along the tips of his long fingers. She touched the thickened skin lightly. "Do you play guitar?"

  "Yes." For a moment, he allowed her touch, then abruptly drew away. "Molly, will you bring me the jeans from your husband?"

  "Sure." She stood up, pasting a bright, phony smile on her face as she stood up. "I'll be right back."

  Before she turned away, however, he stood and caught her hand. It was the first time she realized how very tall and lean and powerful his body was. She raised her face to meet his liquid gaze, waiting, unable to hide the disappointment she felt, no matter how irrational it was.

  He peered at her, perplexed. "You do not wish for me to leave."

  She hesitated, then shook her head, but that seemed to require that she offer a reason. It would save her trouble in the long run. Why didn't she want him to go?

  A rush of answers whirled in her mind, most of them half-formed – because he was beautiful and she wanted to be near him. Because he had touched something in her that had been dead a long time, and made it alive again. Because—

  "I'll worry," she said simply. "If you get a little more rest, show a little more caution, I won't have to think of you out there in the cold, hurting."

  A hint of a smile touched his mouth. "You would spare so much thought on a wanderer? A – how did you say it? – desperado." His tongue put the right accents on the word, and it sounded much more dangerous. A picture rose in her mind of a desert and a man on a horse and a perilous full moon hanging in the endless sky.

  "I would spare that much thought for you," she said.

  The words caused a subtle shift in the air. He did not move, but she suddenly felt him more, felt the warmth of him along her body, sensed the shape of his lean hips and wide shoulders. Felt, too, her breath soften in her chest, as if in readiness.

  He raised his right hand and pressed the backs of his fingers to her cheek, lightly. "Then I will stay."

  * * *

  Josefina was afraid. She was cold. The wind was picking up and she was frightened of the shadows it sent skittering over the land. Even her little dog seemed afraid, because he whined and huddled closer to her, both of them clasped in her stolen blanket.

  At dark, they had gone down to the dairy bar again and she spent almost all of her five-dollar bill on hot dogs and hot chocolate and candy. They each had a hot dog and she found an old milk carton in the trash, which she filled with water for the dog. Josefina put the candy in her pocket for later and they walked back toward the orchard, shivering a little in the wind. It made her cough.

  That scared her. All day, she had been coughing more. And it hurt more. And she didn't feel so good. Once, during the summer, she had been very sick with this cough for many days. She couldn't remember very much of what happened then – it was all jumbled in her head with strange images of fire and rockets. Tío told her it was the Fourth of July when she was sick.

  She was very afraid it was going to be like that again. There was that softness in her brain again, and the world looked funny, sparkly. She was even more afraid when she saw that it was no longer the thin fluid her cough ordinarily brought up, but there was blood, too.

  And tonight, it was cold. She felt the wind cuffing through her shirt like a knife, slicing up her skin like a tomato. She was afraid to sleep in the cold. How could she get a blanket?

  The idea was bad. She knew it even when she thought it up. But on the way to the dairy bar was a washing place. People took in their clothes and put in the money, then went next door to shop, or across the street to the bar.

 
; Josefina wandered in and acted as if she was supposed to be there. Her little dog followed her in, his head down, as if he was afraid somebody would kick him. Nobody said anything. There was only an old lady with her black hair in a bun, putting aprons in a dryer.

  It took a long time, but Josefina had plenty. She looked at old, messed-up magazines and ate a little of her candy. She used the bathroom, happy to have a real toilet, and while she was in there, she washed her face and hands. The world seemed dizzier and dizzier as the evening wore on, but at least it was warm in here.

  At last she had her chance. A man with a belly like a barrel put a bunch of things in washers. Everything. Coats and socks. Blankets. He washed them, then came back after a while, smelling like the workers on Saturday nights, and put everything in the dryers. Josefina sat on her hands, humming a little when she didn't cough, though that was getting harder and harder. She had to get a tissue from the bathroom to cover her mouth with.

  "Where's your mama, girl?" the man asked.

  Josefina gave him her most guileless stare. "No hablo inglés."

  He looked worried for a minute, acted as if he was going to say something else, but Josefina just glared at him, and he shrugged and left.

  She had to wait another half hour, but then the blanket was dry, and the man had not come back. She looked outside, both ways, to be sure, then opened the dryer, grabbed the striped blanket, hot from the air inside, and ran out, her little dog following behind.

  * * *

  Molly and Alejandro ate a simple meal, during which Alejandro seemed to grow more and more restless, his attention on his missing niece. She had heard the weather report, and worried right along with him, but everything that could be done had been, and until morning, she didn't know what else to do.

  "You know," she said finally. "If she doesn't surface by say, noon tomorrow, I'll go to the sheriff."

  He frowned. "But your brother—"

  "He's a deputy." She pressed her mouth together. "If I take it to the sheriff himself, I'm going to have to tell him the truth – that you're worried. Otherwise, they're just going to pat me on the head and send me on my way."