Burn for Me: A Rancho Del Cielo Romance

by Dee Tenorio

  She could feel his eyes on her. She hated being watched, but she especially hated being under his particular speculation. How could he, of all people, ever take her seriously?

  Chloe finally gave in, stomping up the stairs hard enough to make a herd of elephants jealous. Her bedroom door slammed predictably, the small chimes on the knob ringing and rattling for several seconds afterward.

  Satisfied, Pen grabbed the poker from the hearth and used it to close the heating vents as well. Chloe wasn’t remotely above eavesdropping—thus the chimes. This wasn’t the kind of story she wanted floating up the vents. Task done, she turned to Raul before putting the poker back in its stand. She peeled off her lightweight beige overcoat and moved past where he stood at the very edge of the living room to hang it on the wooden tree by the front door.

  Grabbing a final deep breath, she invited him out of the tiled foyer and into the not terribly imaginative living room. Big couch in front of the window, a pretty standard blue sectional, the fireplace with its high hearth on the far wall. The couch faced a coffee table and a TV, and behind them a half wall with a white rail separated the living room from the raised dining area. The kitchen, dark now, lay just beyond the breakfast bar counter.

  “Nice place,” he said finally. “Cozy.”

  She glanced around, trying to figure if he meant it. His sister’s house was cozy. More color, someone always coming or going, the furniture always in use. In comparison, her house probably seemed cold and unloved.

  “Can I get you anything? Something to drink? Eat?”

  “No, I’m fine.”

  “You’re sure?” Food she could do. Truth…God only knew.

  He fixed her with a sideways glance before reaching out to take hold of her hand. At first, his warmth startled her. Then it tempted her, which was so much worse. She pulled away too fast to be anything but insulting, but she couldn’t help it. She took the needed steps to the couch and sat at one end, turning her back to the arm, her folded knee creating a wide berth on the cushions so there was no question of him sitting close.

  He sighed, bowing his head for a second, hands on his hips. When he fixed his dark gaze on her again, she knew there wasn’t any getting away from telling him. He wasn’t angry, but he was at the end of his patience. “Who is Chloe’s father?”

  She opened her mouth to try to explain, but the words wouldn’t come out. The truth was so…humiliating.

  “It’s a simple question, Pen.”

  Funny, she couldn’t talk, but she could still laugh, in a strangled kind of way. “You’d think, wouldn’t you?”

  “Penelope—”

  “I don’t know, okay?” Had she shouted? She hoped not. She might as well have, given the stunned look on his face. “There was no way to tell for sure.”

  He blinked. Twice. Then, “How the hell can you not know?”

  She flinched, waiting for a piece of the ceiling to fall. Nothing did, but probably only because it was held up by his thunderous expression. “Why not just invite Chloe downstairs, Raul? Or better yet, the entire neighborhood?”

  He didn’t look even slightly repentant.

  “Can’t you just sit and listen? This is hard enough without you standing there like judge, jury and executioner.” She wasn’t sure he’d move at first, but he finally folded his long body into the couch, his back so straight the cushiony seat might well have been a stone church pew. When she was reasonably sure he wouldn’t jump up and start hollering the place down, she flexed her fingers and started again. “Do you remember anything about Trisha’s wedding reception?”

  He frowned, then shook his head. Great. She’d been hoping for some help, but no luck. “Just that I had the hangover from hell the next morning.”

  “Yeah.” She forced herself not to roll her eyes. “Tell me about it.”

  “Are you going to keep throwing those little cracks in or are you going to tell me what happened?”

  Fine. “Well, I only really remember the beginning. I was dressed up and excited that you made it since you missed the wedding. I thought, like most girls do at a wedding, that you’d finally notice me as a woman.” This time, there was no avoiding a cringe. “You, on the other hand, couldn’t seem to stop telling me how excited you were about leaving RDC behind and never coming back. How moving away couldn’t happen soon enough.”

  He squinted his eye. “I said that to you?”

  Oh yeah. “Why do you think I started drinking?” Young, desperately thinking she was in love, and the object of her affection was gleefully informing her how much he’d enjoy getting away from her. Her breaking heart had gotten a little easier to handle with every glass of bubbly champagne. Until all the noise and voices and white linens went fuzzy.

  “I don’t really remember much of what actually happened. Flashes of…you. Being in a storage closet.” Brief, almost smeared in her mind. Fumbling hands in the unlit closet, only the crack of light peeking through the door. Rough breathing, rough touches that at the time had been exciting. She’d been talking the whole time, unable to stop rambling, especially when he lifted her fluffy skirt and rained funny little kisses all over her belly, tugging away her underwear with a casualness that only appalled her the next day. As if the man in the closet with her took panties off women with rubbery legs everywhere he went.

  The next part she figured she only remembered because she’d almost sobered up for it. Being turned, pressed into the shelves, her head pillowed against folded towels, her hips guided backward against his body and the stinging pain of being filled too fast, with too much. She’d tried to pull away, her unsteady limbs not conveying her discomfort or distress. Seconds later, it seemed, it was over and she felt a kiss on her nape, a final thank you, she’d guessed, before he walked out.

  Penelope shook off the vague, uncomfortable memories. “At least, I thought it was you. After the champagne and the mortification wore off, I worried, you know, that maybe I just wanted it to be you so badly that I made myself fill in the blanks. That it could have been anyone.”

  And that’s what killed her. Anyone. Someone from Michael Arbourdale’s side, a friend who’d come along. God, someone on the wait staff. She’d made herself sick for days, unable to believe she’d been so incredibly stupid, but having the stains on her dress to prove it.

  “You were gone two days later. Not so much as a goodbye.” Even if it hadn’t been him in the closet, she wasn’t sure she’d ever forgiven him for just leaving that way. He knew how she felt. Knew his leaving would destroy her. Sober, he’d done nothing to soften the blow.

  “I was a real shit back then, Pen,” Raul said quietly. He shook his head, regretful. “All I was thinking about was getting out on my own and living my life for myself. I didn’t care about anybody’s feelings but my own.” He pierced her with a dark gaze. “I know it probably doesn’t mean shit now, but I am sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” she replied automatically, shrugging.

  The lines at the corners of his eyes deepened. “Don’t do that.”

  “Do what?”

  “Pretend. You always do that. Act like everything is fine when it’s not.”

  What else was she supposed to do? “I’m fine, Raul. It’s water under the bridge. I was a dumb kid with a bad crush. I’m not the first person to survive it, I won’t be the last. Eventually, I got over it.” Sort of.

  “So what happened after I left? Why not track me down when you came up pregnant, just to check if it was me like you thought?”

  “Because I hadn’t finished being stupid.” Her cheeks heated. “I went back to school after you left. There wasn’t much point in staying with my mother. I was so angry at you, I found the first guy I could find who looked as little like you as humanly possible and threw myself at him.”

  “Lucky guy,” Raul said, but his expression was stony.

  “I doubt he thought so,” she murmured. She’d cried the whole time. It had been a disaster from the get-go. “When it was over, he left and I hardly sa
w him again. Just here and there on campus, but he never wanted to talk to me again.”

  “Bastard.”

  She hadn’t thought so until later. She’d been so busy being embarrassed. “Then I found out I was pregnant and I had no idea who the father could have been. I didn’t know what I was supposed to do. Track you down in Washington and say, ‘Hey, I know you ran for your life to get away from me, but do you know if you slept with me before you left?’ It was bad enough when Jason flat-out said he wanted nothing to do with a baby and I should get rid of it.”

  “That was his name, Jason?”

  She nodded. Jason Litten. Blond hair so pale it was practically white, lean and long limbed, almost as pretty as a girl. Nothing like the rough and rugged masculinity of Raul. He was a plastic surgeon these days, specializing in dermatology. Probably still drove the girls wild. “I’m pretty sure Chloe isn’t his. She’s not remotely like him in looks or temperament.”

  “But that still didn’t prove she was mine.”

  “No, it didn’t. And when you came home for visits, you didn’t seem even the tiniest bit curious about her, so I thought that said it all.”

  “Oh, I was curious.” Something sharp in his gaze made her feel like a deer in the headlights. “But I didn’t have any right to ask. I told myself you got over me, the way you were supposed to. Figured you’d finally found someone good enough for you.”

  “Yeah.” She choked on the sarcasm. “’Cause I’m just so great.”

  “You always were, Pen. Always knew the right thing to say, always did the right thing, never a step out of line. The only times you ever got in trouble were when you were following me around. I wasn’t any good for you. I figured if I got out of your life, you’d finally see that.”

  She almost laughed. “Boy, and all this time I thought I was the one with pedestal problems.”

  He gave her a half smile, an amused harrumph escaping him.

  “Seriously, I’ve been in trouble all my life. My mother just had a rule about not yelling in public. Following you and the other guys around was about the only fun I ever had.”

  Back then, Raul and his friends Burke, Selvyn, Josh, and Danny had been the town terrors. They spent most of their teen years riding motorcycles and driving fast cars, skipping school to fool around with blissfully happy girls. As many of them as they could find. Lucky for them, there were a lot of girls interested in becoming happy. In the last twelve years, three of those troublemakers had gotten married and one had died. Only Raul was left single.

  Then again, even among his buddies Raul had always been different. Gleamed with a darker fire. Maybe that had been her infatuation. Maybe not, because she could still see it in him without her childish illusions. See all his coiled energy, waiting to spring.

  When she was young, she’d ached to be the one to unlock his secrets.

  Now, she might wonder but she was smart enough to keep her hands to herself. She had too much to lose and she’d given enough of herself away to this man. There just wasn’t anything left to spare.

  They sat in a strange, suspended silence, looking at anything but each other. Finally, there was only one thing left to say.

  Penelope cleared her throat. “So, what do you want to do now?”

  Chapter Three

  “You’re leaving?” Chloe’s voice from the top of the stairs interrupted Penelope as she was ushering Raul to the front door.

  He smiled up at her, a real smile thankfully. Pen wasn’t sure what she’d have done to him if he’d put on his patient look. “Gotta hit the road, kid.”

  Raul’s stare seemed to be devouring each small feature of Chloe’s exposed face, memorizing it. Her hair was still wet, streaming down her back, but she was wearing a fresh set of pajamas, light blue cotton pants and a matching short-sleeved shirt. When it was wet, her hair darkened until it was almost black, putting her golden skin in sharp relief. Her narrow gaze swept over to Penelope, no doubt searching for something to blame her for.

  The silent moment tightened the knot in Penelope’s stomach. The one that had the weight and spikes of guilt. As if she’d stolen something precious from him.

  Raul shifted, nodding at Pen before he slipped quietly out the front door. Not so much as a snick of the knob as he closed it behind himself. She sighed to herself. Would the man ever make a sound as he walked away from her?

  “Am I allowed to eat?” Chloe finally asked, still at the top of the stairs. “Or am I grounded from food, too?”

  “You should be.” Pen gestured for her to follow. Together, they headed into the kitchen. Chloe hit the switch on the wall, heading straight to the fridge while Pen opened the cabinet without much optimism.

  “Cereal?” Chloe asked, apparently not finding much where she was looking.

  Penelope shook her head. “You’re growing like a weed. You need more than that or you’ll wake up in the night, starving.” Plus, they’d killed off the not-so-Lucky Charms last night.

  “One of us has got to learn to cook,” Chloe grumbled. Though it might have been her belly.

  “I could make some burgers.” She had patties in the freezer.

  “Loco Moco?”

  Yeah, that would work. The Hawaiian dish they’d discovered out in Pacific Beach was within her skill set. Burgers over rice, with brown gravy and fried eggs. “You make the instant rice, I’ll get the burgers.”

  For twenty minutes, it was just like usual in the kitchen. They didn’t talk much, but it was easy. Chloe manning the microwave, Pen working the sizzling grill in the middle of her stove top. The kitchen was a real cook’s dream, with the wide gas-burning stove and rock-faced backsplash. It was open plan, an island with a sink in the middle. During the day, the glass wall that led to the patio and the pool let in so much light that it leaked into the living room via the tall pass-through. Most of the deluxe features were lost on the two of them—instant food connoisseurs that they were—but that wasn’t the attraction for them in that area of the house anyway.

  The small kitchenette table in the far corner was one of Pen’s favorite places to spend time with Chloe. They ate there, talked there, sat there quietly just being together. She’d do her paperwork or her reading while Chloe did homework. She might not be a good cook, but most of her mothering had happened in this room. It seemed the best place to talk to Chloe now.

  They set their plates and forks down, settling into chairs and sighing before they dug in. As usual, Chloe’s was gone before Pen got halfway through her own. While her daughter toyed with a few grains of rice still in her bowl, Pen knew it was time.

  “So, are you going to tell me what all this was about today or are you going to make me drag it out of you?”

  Chloe kept her eyes on her bowl, shrugging a shoulder.

  So, dragging it is. “You said you wanted to meet your dad.”

  “Yeah.”

  Wonderful. This was going to be more like pulling teeth. “What made you think Raul was your father?”

  “He’s not?” Chloe picked up her head, real worry on her little face.

  Penelope reached out, running her thumb over the only slightly babyish curve of her daughter’s cheek. Everything baby was starting to disappear. Aspects of her child she’d thought were years away were already coming through. Her face lengthening, her chin and jawline becoming just a tiny bit stronger. Her legs and feet had already grown inches in the last several months. In another year, maybe less, adolescence would start making itself known. Conversations like this one would be necessary. But oh, it was hard.

  “I don’t know.” God, how many times was she going to say that tonight? It made her feel worse each time. Penelope lowered her hand, watching the scowl pull Chloe’s brows together. “I made some mistakes before I had you. I was reckless and irresponsible—”

  “You’re always responsible,” Chloe argued.

  Well, at least her daughter thought highly of her, even if she herself sometimes didn’t.

  “Not always. And it cau
ght up with me. That happens sometimes. In my case, I found myself pregnant and didn’t know who the father was. Someday, when you’re older and it doesn’t freak me out so much, I’ll explain better, but for now, that’s really all I’m comfortable with.”

  Chloe’s frown softened. She hated being talked down to. Honesty usually did what cajoling never would. “Does that mean there’s a chance Raul really is my dad?”

  Refusing to remember her faded impressions of his face, a flash of light streaking for a split second across passion-stained features, she blew out a breath and changed the subject. “How did you even start thinking it was him?”

  Pink bloomed on her daughter’s cheeks. “Well, Raul said I didn’t really have any proof. But…”

  Penelope listened, biting her lips to keep them together as Chloe outlined her unlikely connections between a similar birthmark to finding her own old diaries to talking to Julia Montenga Ruiz about when exactly her brother ran away from home. Pen had to agree, with a story that thin, she wouldn’t have believed Chloe either. But Raul had given her enough credence to bring her home. To question Penelope for himself.

  Why? Why would he do that when he said himself that he didn’t remember the wedding reception? Didn’t remember anything ever happening between them? Why had he given Chloe’s story even a second’s credence?

  But he wasn’t there to ask—smart enough to leave before she could ask questions of her own.

  “Why didn’t you tell me you wanted to know about your father?”

  The bright animation left Chloe’s face. She sank into the curved wooden chair. “I tried, a couple times. But you always got this look on your face. I didn’t want to make you mad.”

  Yeah. That was a real concern of hers. “Chlo.”

  “It’s just…Danny and his dad do everything together, you know? Everything. And even if he didn’t, Danny’s got all this family. Cousins everywhere and aunts and uncles he sees almost every day. There’s all these people around him all the time. They go to his games and they throw him birthday parties and he goes to their houses whenever he wants. It’s so different at his house than it is here. We don’t have anyone, Mom. Sometimes, I don’t even get to see you. I’m stuck with Grandma and she hates me—”