Burn for Me: A Rancho Del Cielo Romance

by Dee Tenorio

  “Can’t I go with Dad by myself?” Chloe had adopted the “Dad” with virtual effortlessness. Raul, the few times Penelope had been in speaking distance to him, hadn’t batted an eye. Quite a change from nearly fainting at the sound of being called Daddy.

  “No.” Unequivocally. Thomas might have given his word, but Penelope would rip off her own limbs before she allowed Chloe into Ophelia’s sphere without her protection.

  Her perusal of bacon packages was interrupted by the rabid snapping of a rubber band. Penelope turned to look at the grumbling eleven-year-old at her side. Hat pulled down low over her eyes, Chloe was yanking on the thick red rubber band at her wrist. Yet another idea of Raul’s, this one to curb Chloe’s language. Apparently, it had been his trick for learning to stop getting smacked in the back of the head by his father for the same offense.

  Given that the man still swore as if it were a dying tongue only he could preserve, Penelope didn’t have a lot of faith in it, but at least Chloe had stopped coming home from school with notes from her teacher. Pen still hadn’t decided if she was upset about how much Chloe was snapping it or the fact that it was working.

  “Don’t you have any other words you can use?”

  “None that feel as good.”

  Pen glanced at the bright red skin on the inside of Chloe’s wrist. “Yeah, ’cause that looks like it feels great.”

  “Dad says I should use it when I’m thinking things I shouldn’t say either, so I don’t accidentally say them.”

  Perfect. Not only would she end up amputating her hand, the child would end up mute. Penelope put the bacon down and crossed her arms. “What are you thinking then?”

  “Nothing.” Snap. Not that Pen needed the giveaway sound to tell Chloe was upset. Chloe was glaring down because she wasn’t allowed to challenge her mother with a fit and she knew it.

  “Look at me.”

  Chloe shook her head.

  “Chloe.” The hissed whisper bothered Penelope, but it was out and she couldn’t pull it back. Her neck ached; she had been tired, stressed and irritated long before she ever reached the grocery store. She felt like she’d been that way for weeks and she didn’t need Chloe playing games on top of it.

  She had enough on her hands dealing with Raul’s games.

  For a month now, he’d been respecting her wishes, with his own special twist. He’d stopped pushing her boundaries, which would have made her happy if he didn’t make it a point to watch her with those dark eyes of his smoldering so hot that it was all she could do to keep breathing normally. He made not the slightest effort to hide how much he wanted her, which had her staff swooning and half the town thinking she was insane for avoiding him.

  Which was another thing that bothered her. After his little stunt at the local watering hole, he had the gossips eating out of his hand. Suddenly, instead of being regarded as the joke of a crush gone wrong, they were being regarded as some kind of town love story. Oh how sad, poor Penelope’s afraid to trust the man she loves… If it was what he’d hoped for, it backfired on him because when people asked her when she planned to put him out of his misery, she generally asked if she should take him out behind the shed.

  Worse, he’d started leaving notes for her at her front desk—in sealed envelopes so Cara couldn’t get away with opening them—that held messages about the most mundane things. That he’d bought Chloe some school supplies or asking if there were any allergies he should be aware of. Sometimes just an itinerary of what his schedule would be for the week. Nothing personal, nothing that warranted so much privacy. She’d checked each message, sometimes up to three times, but there was never anything and the disappointment she felt made her angrier each time she looked. As if he were trying to get her angry at him. She outright refused to give him the satisfaction.

  Now, facing her child, Pen wondered if there were satisfaction to be had at all. Especially when the hat brim rose and she was treated to the militant stare of her loving daughter.

  “What were you thinking?”

  The small chin jutted out, her bottom lip rising in the middle. After a darting glance around, Chloe switched languages. “Je pense que t’es jalouse.”

  Penelope reared back with a gasp, forcing herself not to look around and see who might be listening to their exchange. Someone Chloe didn’t want to understand what she’d said. Part of her demanded she heed the concern, because if Chloe was worried, it was probably for a good reason, but the part of her that had gotten louder and louder since Raul had shown up in her office six weeks ago just about blew its top. “Of what am I supposed to be jealous?”

  Chloe shook her head, lowering her glare again. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “It matters to me.” Because Penelope had the dark worry that Chloe might be right and she hated that. She hated a lot of things these days, mostly how out of control she felt. Her life had once been ordered. Not thrilling by any means, but she’d known day in and day out what was coming. Now all she seemed to think about were the things she didn’t allow herself. The things she’d never tried, the possibilities she’d never given herself permission to consider. A night out with her friends. Clothes that were flirty instead of professional. One more night with Raul. Yelling at her disobedient child in the middle of a grocery store.

  “Fine,” Chloe burst out, her cheeks flaming. “You’re jealous of me and Dad! You hate that he’s my friend now. That I have anyone to talk to other than you!”

  “I’m not jealous.” She forced herself to say the words calmly even though part of her was calling herself a liar. “I’m glad you and Raul are getting along. You deserve to get to know each other.”

  “So why don’t you talk to him, then? Why do you always leave when he’s around? And then you won’t let me spend time with my family, like you don’t like them or something. Like you’re better and you’re not. You’re acting just like her and I hate it.”

  No need to ask who “her” was.

  Lorna.

  When the hell did you lose what made you special?

  It wasn’t the same question, but it might as well have been. Losing Raul—no, giving up Raul—was horrible, but losing Chloe…that couldn’t be what she’d been doing. But one glance at the angry little girl in front of her, the one who had lost all patience with a mother who had somehow become more and more distant, and Penelope knew it was happening. Chloe wouldn’t stay where she didn’t feel loved. How long before she was running away from home instead of just her grandmother’s house? How long before Pen pushed her own child into another family’s arms?

  Reeling inside, Penelope couldn’t move. She almost couldn’t breathe. She must have swayed because Chloe’s face blanched and she reached out to grab Penelope’s arm.

  “Mom?”

  It was too much to process. She felt as if parts of her inside were crumbling and she couldn’t put them back together fast enough. Couldn’t even understand why she was so desperate to.

  A hand settled on her shoulder. “Penelope?”

  She turned, surprised to see Julia Ruiz there. The woman smiled, a smile that Pen finally realized was just like her younger brother’s. So that’s why Chloe had switched to French. She should have realized, since Chloe had all but sworn off the language to irritate her grandmother, but not a lot was registering the way it should.

  Julia tucked her thick black hair behind her ear, the end forming a single round arc back toward her cheek. Her smooth brown face seemed tinged with worry. “Are you all right?”

  The question was soft, probably to draw as little attention as possible. Belatedly, Penelope realized the meat department had several other shoppers, a few pointedly inspecting their purchases, one or two watching as if this were the latest episode of a soap. She just barely bit back a moan of horror.

  “I’m fine,” she said, her voice hoarse. She wasn’t, but she would be as soon as she was out of the store and… Hands starting to shake, she wasn’t sure when she’d be fine again.

  “There’
s a flu bug going around, you think you picked it up from your patients?” Julia’s tone was a little louder and she brought her hand up to Pen’s forehead, which was probably clammy. “You do feel a little warm.”

  Blistering humiliation had that effect. “I’ll be okay.”

  Julia’s smile was a touch brittle. Great, she’d overheard. Then again, who hadn’t? But she was still trying to give Penelope an excuse.

  Embarrassed, Pen tried to find the words. “We’re just…just…” No, no words were coming to mind.

  “You’re just trying to get through a difficult situation the best you can.” Julia reached out to Chloe, cupping the back of her head affectionately. “We’re having movie night over at the house. The boys have picked some kind of action movie I just know is going to make me deaf. Why don’t you two come over, get away from it all for a while.”

  “Oh we couldn’t—” Penelope caught herself at the strained line of Chloe’s mouth. Even Julia had seemed to brace herself for rejection. Julia, who was constantly swooping in and trying to help. Trying to smooth waters. Penelope saw with unflattering clarity that she was always the one who backed away, turned overtures down. It had to change. “But I think Chloe might like that.”

  Both Chloe and Julia’s eyes widened.

  “If you don’t mind me picking her up later, I could use the time to do some…um, errands.” Like what, she didn’t know, but it was clear she needed to do some thinking. Some fixing.

  “You don’t mind?” Chloe asked. Normally, she’d be in trouble for raising her voice, but Pen couldn’t even begin to deal with that yet.

  She shook her head, hoping they couldn’t tell that her eyes were stinging. “No, it’s okay. It’s six-thirty now. How about I come for you around…nine?”

  “It’s Friday night. If you want, she could spend the night, camp out with my girls.” Eight-year-old Marisol and six-year-old Isabel were as girly as girls could get, but Chloe looked so hopeful, Penelope didn’t have the heart to say no.

  “She doesn’t have anything to sleep in.”

  “Oh, don’t worry about that.” Julia dismissed that with a wave of her hand. “I’ve always got my sisters’ kids around, I’m sure there’s something in the clean laundry that’ll fit. She’ll have a great time—Danny’s got a new game, too. About smashing something. She’ll be fine. I promise.”

  Penelope nodded. “Thanks, I think that’ll be fine.”

  “You’re welcome to join us,” Julia offered again, looking hopeful.

  Pain twisted inside her. She’d held the friendly woman at extreme arm’s length because of the part she’d played that afternoon with Ophelia. As if Julia had somehow been complicit when it hadn’t been that way. It wasn’t fair to her. “Next time.”

  Julia seemed to take that as a promise because she smiled, tugged on Chloe’s shoulder and led her away. Penelope watched them go, forcing herself to stay calm, just in case Chloe looked back, but Chloe never did.

  And that was the last straw.

  Abandoning the cart, Penelope took the fastest route through the aisles to the front door, her hands shaking as she dragged her keys out of her purse. The auto-unlock got her in, but it took three tries to lodge the right key into the ignition. She pulled out, rushing onto the open road with a sense of panic she couldn’t tamp down. She drove, no conscious idea where she was going. Home seemed wrong. It’d be cold there, empty. She couldn’t face being empty.

  Her hands shaking harder with each passing minute, she realized where she’d instinctively headed. East of Main, where the apartment complexes filled a block. Gripping the wheel tighter, her heart fluttering, she pressed harder on the accelerator. If she was going to him, she’d go full steam ahead. Maybe if she built up enough speed, she could actually make herself knock on his door. Find a way to say all the things she needed to get off her chest.

  Stop looking at me that way.

  Stop making me want what I can’t have.

  Stop showing me how empty my life has become.

  She pulled up outside the building and parked with a hard crank on the hand break, breathing hard, feeling cold and overheated at the same time.

  She shouldn’t do this. It was a mistake. The safe move was to go home, stand in a boiling shower and soak all the tension away.

  But how long would it last? Ignoring Raul and how much she wanted him, how much she wished things were different between them, wasn’t working. Nothing had ever worked when it came to him.

  Why? Why couldn’t she just make herself forget him? Make herself immune? He hadn’t offered her anything. He hadn’t even actually said he wanted her again, but here she was, getting out of her car and walking across the parking lot, headed like a heat-seeking missile for his front door. Not because she expected him to change anything, she just needed…something. Something only he could give.

  She just hoped she had to courage to take it.

  {{{

  Raul frowned from his spot at his dining room table. No, he was right, that was his doorbell, ringing again. Pushing back his chair, he tossed his pen onto the spread of papers and headed out to the living room. On the third ring, he yanked open the door and stared down at the surprising sight of Penelope standing there under the outdoor light, arms crossed, shaking like a leaf. Which would have scared him, actually, if the absolute misery on her face hadn’t already dropped his heart all the way down to his toes.

  “What is it? Is Chloe okay?”

  She shook her head, a jerky movement. “Can I come in?”

  He stepped back, still frowning, as she walked in. What the hell could have happened to her? She wore a coat heavy enough for the mid-November weather, she couldn’t be cold. If he didn’t know better, he’d think she was in some kind of shock. She looked around, but he didn’t think she was taking in the brown leather sectional or simple coffee table where he kept his sports magazines. He closed the door, hit the switch and the reading lamp next to the couch turned on, making her turn, blinking rapidly.

  “You’re scaring me, querida.”

  “Don’t call me that.”

  He straightened at the snap in her voice. “My language, I can use it any way I like.”

  Though her hand shook as she tucked her hair behind her ears, some much-needed color spread over her cheeks. “If that’s the case, you should be prepared for the world of insults I could rain on your head in French.”

  “But I’m not insulting you.” Yet. She was a damn wreck, no way around it. “Tell me what’s wrong. Why are you here?”

  Her pupils were still too wide for his liking, even when she raised her chin in prideful opposition. “You need to stop, Raul.”

  “Stop what?” But he knew. Stop pressuring her.

  She’d set up the rules, however unspoken, the day after he’d made love to her. No touching. No talking. Nothing that might shake her clear decision to lock him out of her life. He’d obeyed, because he knew she’d do a hell of a lot more than back off if he didn’t. But under no circumstance had he given up on her. He couldn’t even think of a situation where he’d consider it.

  His calm seemed to incense her. “Don’t play with me. You had no right to walk into my life after all these years and wreck it. Everything was fine before you came back.”

  Raul slipped his hands into his pockets, tamping down the flare of anger in his belly. “Was it? Really, Pen?”

  “Yes, really.” Her eyes locked onto his angrily and her hands fisted at her sides. She was still flushed, all the way up from under her beige turtleneck sweater that did nothing to highlight the figure he’d been dreaming about more than ever.

  He stepped closer, studying her openly, keeping his hands to himself even as they ached to touch the curve of her face. “Hmm. I was wrong. You could learn to lie. You’re still shitty at it, but if I were anyone else, you would’ve had a good fifty/fifty shot of me believing it.”

  Her sigh was more a bullet of breath escaping her.

  “You weren’t fine, Pen. Chlo
e wasn’t fine.”

  “How do you know?” As if blind, deaf and criminally stupid people couldn’t tell she wasn’t fine.

  “Because Chloe came looking for me.” He almost felt bad when she flinched. But she’d kept him at more than arm’s length for a fucking month, pretending to herself that if she buried her head long enough, what was between them would go away. He was more than hurt at the rejection. He was pissed. “Because if you were fine, your perfect little life would have kept going without missing a beat when I came back. But it didn’t, did it?”

  Her glare melted, those incredible eyes of hers filling with tears that quivered on the veriest brink of falling. She turned, hands rising to slash them away. “I didn’t come here for this.”

  “For what?” Because she’d come for something and he was starting to get an idea what that might be.

  She shook her head, her voice a whisper. “I didn’t want this.”

  “Didn’t want what?” He kept his voice soft, but something in him demanded she at least acknowledge the thing that kept him up at night, thinking of her and aching inside from the incompletion.

  She huddled into herself, her fingers biting into the sleeves of her white trench coat. He’d give her credit, she was stronger than most people thought. Sweet little Penelope had a spine of pure steel and she wouldn’t unbend it, not even for him.

  But he couldn’t stand there and watch her quake, looking fragile enough to snap. She could yell and hit him later if she wanted, but she needed someone to hold her and she’d come here. He knew a sign when he saw one.

  He touched her shoulder, felt her stiffen, but she didn’t pull away. Feeling surer with each second, he moved his arm around her, pulling her backward into his arms, scooping her into his chest and pressing his face into her hair. Her hands clamped around his forearms, he thought to pry him off, but her fingers clung. Grappled for a better grip. A pained sob escaped her, a sound so wounded he had no choice but to tighten his hold on her.

  “Talk to me, honey. What’s wrong?”