Along the way she also bought things: a bottle of lotion from one stall for Alejandra, a scarf from another for Beatriz. “Mama will love this,” she said, holding up a beaded necklace. “How much?”
After she’d paid for the jewelry, David asked, “Have you bought anything for yourself?”
She smiled at him. “I don’t need anything.” She moved on.
She was fascinating. Whenever he went shopping with his mother and sister, they bought so much — clothes, makeup, jewelry — all for themselves, even though their wardrobes were already overflowing. Was that the difference between growing up rich and growing up poor? You understood the value of an item more when you couldn’t have it.
The next stall had a collection of metal pieces — fob watches, necklaces, all very steam punk. Zita picked up a watch, and ran her thumb over the intricate links in the chain.
“This is beautiful,” she said to the owner.
“Thank you.”
She put it down again with a sigh.
“Do you like it?” David asked.
“I love it,” Zita admitted.
“So why don’t you buy it?” He was curious. She had no problem buying things for everyone else.
“I don’t need it. It’s just a fancy.” She turned to walk away.
He placed a hand on her arm. “Does your mother need the necklace you bought?”
“Well, no.” She bit her lip.
“So why did you buy it?”
“Because she’ll love it.”
“Like you love that watch?”
She looked longingly at it. “Yes.”
He took it off the table and handed it to the stall owner. “I’ll take this, please.”
Zita gasped. “No. Don’t be silly, David.”
He ignored her as he paid and took the package. “For you,” he said, holding it out to Zita.
She put her hands behind her back. “No. I didn’t expect you to buy it for me.”
“I know.” There was no artifice with her. She wasn’t the type to say one thing and mean another. “It’s a gift.”
“David, it’s sweet, but I can’t accept it.”
“Sure you can. I’ve already bought it and it won’t suit me.” He smiled at her, guessing what would convince her. “You don’t want me to have wasted my money, do you?”
She squirmed. “No.”
It fascinated him that she was so reluctant. She was so generous to everyone else.
“I wasn’t giving you a hint.”
His stupid reaction from the other night was working its way into their date. “I know that, Zita. Take the bag.”
She took it and peered inside. “Thank you, David.” She stepped closer and brushed her lips against his cheek.
He resisted the urge to turn his head so her lips met his. It wasn’t why he’d bought it. “You’re most welcome.”
Zita took the watch out. “Will you help me put it on?”
He took it from her, undid the fiddly little clasp, and placed it on her slim wrist before doing it up again.
She ran a finger over the clock face. “It’s gorgeous.”
It was also inexpensive. He didn’t understand why she hadn’t bought it herself.
They walked on, stopping at a stall to buy treats for Zita’s dogs, and then at a stall run by a Hispanic woman who was maybe a couple of years younger than Zita.
“Daniella,” Zita greeted the young woman. “How’s business?”
“It’s a bit slow today. The weather keeps people away.”
“It’s not that cold,” Zita said. “Daniella, this is David.” She turned to him. “Daniella is one of my foster sisters. She lives in one of the little cabins out the back of Casa Flanagan.”
“Nice to meet you,” he said, shaking her hand. The stall contained beautiful ceramic items. “Did you make these?”
Daniella nodded. “It’s a hobby of mine.”
“Daniella is studying political science,” Zita told him. “She hopes to one day go back to Honduras and make a difference.”
It took a lot of bravery to go back to a country she’d fled from. “That’s admirable.”
Daniella shook her head. “I want to stop other girls from going through what I did.”
He didn’t ask what that was. He didn’t want to pry. Instead, he looked at the bowls and chose a medium-sized one. “I’ve wanted a fruit bowl,” he said, handing over the money.
Daniella wrapped the bowl in tissue paper and placed it in a paper bag. “I hope you enjoy it.”
Zita and Daniella chatted for a little longer and then said goodbye.
As they wandered to the next stall, Zita said, “You didn’t need to buy the bowl.”
“I did need a bowl and hers are lovely.”
She squinted at him as if to see whether he was telling the truth.
He smiled at her. “Honest.” Why was she questioning his motives? They walked past a pie van. “Want some pie?”
“Sure.”
He bought them both a slice and they carried it over to a nearby seat. “Do you come here regularly?”
“It’s only on once a month, and I like to stop by to check how Daniella is doing. It can get a little boring being in a stall by yourself.”
“Don’t the other stall owners speak with each other?”
“Yeah, they do, but they’re all busy at different times.”
“How long have you known Daniella?”
“Nine years. She was one of the first foster girls we had,” Zita said. “She was only a couple of years younger than me and yet she’d been through such horrific things. I realized then how lucky I was that Mama got us out of El Salvador.”
“How old were you?”
“Sixteen.”
It must have been a hell of a thing to realize. At sixteen, he was focused on study and girls, not necessarily in that order. His only worry was getting good enough grades to get into college. But Zita had been shown a world where things weren’t so simple.
“Did you ever resent the foster girls?” It had to have been difficult if all the girls had been abused.
“Would it make me a bad person if I said I did?” Her voice was quiet.
“No, it would make you human.”
She sighed. “There were times when I was having a bad day, or needed help of my own that I resented not having Mama’s full attention. Both Carly and Bridget had moved out before the first foster girl arrived, so they didn’t know what it was like. I mean, how could I complain about a friend being nasty, or a boy not asking me to a dance, when these girls had been abused, had lived in poverty, and had undertaken the dangerous journey to the States by themselves?” She was so matter-of-fact, but there was sadness in her tone as well.
David wrapped an arm around her shoulder and pulled her closer to him. “Your life experience was different from theirs. You had the safety and security to be able to worry about things they may have considered inconsequential. But it doesn’t mean that a friend being mean to you didn’t have an impact in your world.”
“Knowing that didn’t make it a whole lot easier.”
He wasn’t sure what else to say. He would have hated anything that disturbed his perfect world.
Big, fat raindrops started to slowly fall. “It’s about to rain.”
She looked around. “Where’s the nearest shelter?”
Others had already gathered under the stall shelters. “There are denser trees over there,” he said, pointing. “They might give us better cover.”
The rain was coming faster now.
She grabbed his hand. “Let’s go.”
Together, they ran across the grass as the drops got thicker. By the time they reached the shelter of the trees, water was dripping from his hair. His coat was heavy and the occasional drip ran down his top. He dropped her hand and squeezed the water out of his hair.
Zita laughed, carefree and delighted. “We got a bit wet.”
He stared at her. Why was she laughing? “I think you�
��re right.” The bottoms of his jeans were also soaked and uncomfortable.
Zita took off her bright green coat and shook it. Drops flicked off, but there was no significant change in its dampness. She glanced out at the downpour, then turned to him, a mischievous grin on her face. “Have you ever danced in the rain?”
Was she kidding? It was cold, and the moment they stepped out from under the canopy they would get completely drenched. “No.”
She placed her bags at the base of the tree, took off her new watch and put her coat back on. “Want to?” she asked, holding out her hand, her expression gleeful.
She was serious. They were wet and she wanted to get soaked.
Zita beckoned to him playfully.
He couldn’t refuse, not when she was that damn appealing. He put his hand in hers and let himself be pulled out into the rain.
He’d been right. He was drenched in seconds. Zita twirled around, arms outstretched, face up to the sky and laughing in delight. His heart twinged, and suddenly he didn’t care about the rain. She was incredible.
He snagged her hand and pulled her close to him. “May I have this dance?”
“Absolutely, my kind sir.”
They did a rough impression of a waltz, the rain beating down on them and water slipping down his shirt. He laughed with Zita and embraced the moment.
Finally, the rain stopped and they stopped twirling, both breathing heavily.
“It’s fecking freezing,” Zita said, hugging herself.
She was right. The water had seeped into his clothes, down to his underpants and socks. Ugh. “I’ve got hot coffee and dry clothes at my house.”
“Let’s go.” She dashed back to the tree to grab her purchases and then they hurried to where she’d parked her car. Zita put her bags in the trunk and grabbed two clean dry towels. She tossed him one. “This might help.”
“Why do you have towels in your car?”
“They’re for the dogs. They often get mucky on our walks.”
After drying himself the best he could, he got into the front seat. Zita started the car and turned on the heating. Now he was still, the cold was setting in fast. His hands were like ice.
“Damned traffic,” Zita said as they hit a traffic jam. She shivered. “Whose idea was it to dance in the rain?” she grumbled.
He laughed, his teeth chattering a bit. “I believe that was you.”
“Well, next time, tell me I’m an idiot.”
“Never. That’s the first time I’ve ever danced in the rain and I don’t regret a second.” It was incredibly freeing.
“Really?”
“It was fun,” he said.
“No, I meant, was that really your first time dancing in the rain?”
He nodded. “Not something we ever did when we were kids.”
“Why not?”
He shrugged. “It never occurred to me.”
She glanced at him quickly and then back at the road. He couldn’t decipher her look.
As a child, he’d always been conscious of who was around. He represented the Randall family wherever he went and he always behaved.
He’d not considered that a bad thing until now.
Chapter 6
By the time they arrived at David’s apartment, the car’s heating had kicked in, but his clothes were lying wet and uncomfortable against his skin. “Do you want a hot shower?” he asked Zita. “I can loan you some dry clothes to put on.”
“That would be great.”
He switched on the wood-fire-look gas heater and hurried into his bedroom to get some clothes for her. Sweatpants, sweater and T-shirt should be fine. He then grabbed a clean towel and showed her into the guest bathroom.
“Do you want to have the first shower?” she asked.
“I’ve got another bathroom. I’ll take a shower there.”
“All right.” She shut the door.
He tried not to think about her getting naked as he hurried back into the living room. The apartment was still freezing and his movements were stiff as he set up a drying rack in front of the fire and hung her coat over it. By the time he was finished, he was shivering. He showered in record time, not daring to spend too long under the luxuriously hot water, in case Zita was waiting for him when he got out.
He’d given Zita his favorite comfort clothes, so he threw on a pair of black sweats and a green woolen sweater he’d bought on his last skiing trip. When he hurried back to the living room, it was empty. A glance out of the window showed the rain had settled in for the day.
“I feel so much better.” Zita’s voice had him turning around.
She was adorable in his slightly too big clothes and her hair wrapped up in a towel like a turban.
“Do you have a clothes dryer?” she asked. “I squeezed out my clothes, but it might take them a while to dry.”
He wasn’t in any rush for her to go, but he said, “Sure. It’s this way.”
They threw their clothes in together, her underwear landing on top of the pile. He froze. She was going commando. His body stirred at the instant visual his imagination conjured. Clearing his throat, he set the dryer going and accompanied her back to the living room.
“Take a seat by the fire,” he invited. “Do you want a coffee, or hot chocolate with marshmallows?”
“Ooh, hot chocolate please.”
She curled up on the sofa. He appreciated her ability to make herself comfortable wherever she went. She looked like she belonged there. He headed for the kitchen and a few minutes later he returned, handing Zita her drink.
“Thanks.” She took the mug and blew on the top, before taking a careful sip. “Delicious.”
“Are you warm enough?” He sat next to her, relaxing into the soft cushions.
“Just toasty,” she said. “Thanks for lending me some clothes.”
“My pleasure. Thank you for showing me the joys of dancing in the rain.”
“Any time.” She grinned.
Her smile warmed him, making him want more of her. But he was comfortable, relaxed, there was plenty of time for sex later. He’d never sat on a couch wearing dorky clothes and drinking hot chocolate with a woman. It was kind of nice.
“So what else have you never done that you wished you had?” Zita asked.
For a second, he thought she’d read his mind, but then realized she was referring to dancing in the rain. He raised his eyebrows. “I don’t know.” He had the funds to do most things, but saying it aloud would make him sound spoiled. “What about you?”
“I’d like to be able to drop everything and fly somewhere for the weekend — Vegas or Hawaii or Cancun.”
“You’ve never been to any of those places?” he asked.
“No. I haven’t been far from Houston since I arrived. When we were kids there was never the money, and now, I can’t leave Mama alone with all the foster girls. It’s too much work. There’s always someone needing help.”
He frowned. “What about you?”
“What do you mean?”
“When was your last vacation?”
“Carly once paid for us all to go to Lake Conroe for the week. There were about twenty of us.”
“But that was with your family. When did you go away with friends, or by yourself?” He loved his family, but he didn’t want to travel everywhere with them.
“I never have.”
“Never?” He couldn’t believe it.
She set her empty mug on the coffee table and crossed her arms. “No. Mama needs me.”
“Do Bridget or Carly ever help?” She shouldn’t have to do it all.
“They have real jobs.”
He scowled. “But you have a real job.”
***
The familiar frustration welled up inside Zita and she shifted in her seat. “It’s not a job, it’s just something I do. I’ve done a couple of counseling courses, and I follow Mama’s lead.”
“Don’t you think what you do is valuable?”
“All I do is listen to the
girls, help them with their homework, and talk to them in English so they pick it up quickly. It’s not hard.”
“Some people would find it difficult to listen to their stories, considering what those girls have gone through,” David argued. “I know I did.”
“You get used to it.”
“You shouldn’t have to.” He reached over and put his arm around her, pulling her closer to him.
She leaned into him, breathing in his musky scent.
“So what would you do, if you had a choice?” he asked.
No one had ever asked her that. She peered up at him, surprised. His blue eyes looked into hers, no judgment there. His hand was running down her arm, soothing her, warming her. She hadn’t expected this compassion from him. She sat up. “You mean if Mama didn’t need me?”
He nodded.
“I’d go to college,” she said in a rush, the thrill of admitting it quite terrifying.
“What would you study?”
“Law. I want to be an immigration lawyer.” Her heart beat rapidly as she waited for his reaction.
“So why don’t you?”
“I couldn’t take that much time away from Mama and the girls.”
“Have you spoken to Carmen about it?”
“Not yet.”
“Why not?”
“Because she’d tell me to do it. But she’d struggle on her own.” And Zita’s fear of failure was real, like a gaping pit at the tip of her toes. She wasn’t quite ready to confess her dreams to her family yet.
“Could she get other help?”
“It’s not that simple. The girls are too sensitive at the moment. They would have to trust someone new, and I already know all the details of their cases. They need me.” It was a good excuse.
“I’m sure something could be done. You’re allowed to have your own life.”
He was genuinely concerned for her and she didn’t want to mislead him. Taking a deep breath, she told him the truth. “I wasn’t great at school,” she admitted. “Plus the hours are too much and it’s expensive.”
“Wouldn’t Carly help pay?”
She frowned. “I can’t keep running to Carly every time I need money. It’s not fair on her.”
“She’s a billionaire, Zita. She’s got the cash.”
Blaze a Trail (The Flanagan Sisters, #3) Page 7
