by Tara Rose
Mateo eyed the sofa, and although it looked comfortable, he’d never been one to sit still for long when he was worried about something. Instead he walked around the room, admiring everything. He smelled Carma’s perfume before he turned to see her standing in the doorway, looking vulnerable and lost. It was obvious she’d been crying, and hard. Mateo fought a strong urge to hug her. “Carma, did Rowena tell you I spoke to Van?”
She nodded.
“I wanted to come over and see if there was anything I could do to help.”
The relief flooding her face was surprising. Why did she think he was here? “Thanks, Mateo. I’m sorry about breaking our—”
“Don’t be.” He cut off her words. “I’m not here about that. I’m only here to make sure you’re okay.”
He watched the emotions cross her face, from surprise, through uncertainty, then back to surprise again, and this time he simply went with his gut. He crossed the room in two strides and pulled her into a tight embrace. She didn’t pull away or hug him in that “I like you as a friend but not as a boyfriend” way he’d experienced a few times. Instead, she immediately relaxed into his embrace and molded her body against his. He stroked her back softly, wishing his damn hard-on wasn’t so obvious, but knowing there was nothing he could do about it. If she minded, she gave no indication.
Even under these circumstances, holding Carma was more enticing than he’d ever imagined it would be. She fit into his arms as if she’d been made for them. Her hair was soft as he gently brushed his fingers over it, and the curves of her body teased him into a frenzy. He wanted to find her cousin, Michael, and beat the shit out of him ten times over for making her feel like this.
“What can I do to help?” he asked quietly.
“You’re doing it,” she whispered. “Just hold me.”
His heart soared. This was better than sitting in a crowded restaurant, eating a meal that would never taste homemade, and trying to make awkward small talk. His instincts had never failed him before, and he was grateful he’d listened to them today.
She raised her head and met his gaze with eyes that were no longer filled with uncertainty. “Mateo, this might seem like an odd request right now, but can we get out of here and do something? Anything. Go for a drive, take a walk, anything.”
“Of course. But will they be okay with that?”
“I have to get out of this house for a while. They want me to call the police. They want me to notify the damn FBI, for God’s sake. Michael is out of the country, at least, as far as anyone knows. Even if I could find him, there’s nothing I want to say to him.”
“You have to do what makes you comfortable, Carma, not them.” He still wasn’t entirely sure what had happened, but he hoped she’d tell him when she was ready to. “What do you want to do?”
“I want to forget it happened. I can’t deal with this right now, but I know I have to. But I want to do that in my own way. I want to get it all out in the open, and then put it behind me and live my life.”
Fat tears spilled over her lower eyelids and onto her cheeks. He brushed them away. “Then let’s get out of here. You talk, and I’ll just listen.”
She nodded several times as the corners of her mouth turned up. “Thank you. That’s exactly what I need. Just let me tell Annalise and Rowena that I’m leaving.”
Chapter Seven
Carma sat back against the passenger seat in Mateo’s Ford F-350 truck and breathed in the smell of leather. She glanced at him and realized his clothes were covered in dried mud. “Do you want to go home and change clothes?”
He glanced down with a surprised grin, as though he hadn’t realized he was still dressed in dirty jeans and boots. “I guess I should. Do you mind?”
She shook her head. Just being out of Rowena’s house was enough right now. Carma had told her, Annalise, Chad, and Dustin the entire story, and now she was simply drained. She couldn’t handle anything else today. Rowena had already called Tommy Farley, a detective on the Passion Peak police force, who told them there was nothing he could do, and since no crime had been committed, the police in Chicago probably couldn't do anything either. Carma had already figured that out, but Rowena was fit to be tied. She’d actually hung up on Tommy.
Annalise had called Nadine and read her the riot act for not doing something about it. Nadine had sworn she hadn’t known, but Annalise wasn’t convinced. While Carma was grateful for their concern, and she knew they only had her best interests at heart, she couldn’t do this right now. It was too much in one day to take in.
By the time they arrived at Mateo’s ranch, all she really wanted to do was sit and do nothing for the rest of the day. Would he be upset if she didn’t want to go out to dinner as they had planned?
She gawked at the sheer size of the property. She’d lived here her entire life and had never been beyond the archway with Mystic Ridge Enterprises stenciled above it in bold, black letters. As they drove toward the main house, Mateo pointed out the various pastures and barns, but Carma knew she’d never remember half of what he said. The amount of work and manpower needed to run an operation this size must be enormous. “You run all this yourself?”
He smiled as though she’d just suggested he was Superman. “No. Not even close. My brother Pedro and I split the duties.”
“How many people do you employ?”
“A lot of them are seasonal, so it’s hard to say. At any given time we have over one hundred workers on hand. The office and administrative staff number an even dozen. They’re here all the time, and live in those bungalows over there. The main office where they work is that larger two-story building in the courtyard.”
She followed his gaze toward a cluster of pretty brick homes set among pine trees and stone walkways. Clusters of sunflowers, mountain thistle, fireweed, and bluebells surrounded the office. Carma could almost smell the combined fragrances from here. How convenient would that be? Walk out of your house and cross a beautiful courtyard to your job every morning?
Carma had been keeping her eye on the lofts above the businesses on Juniper Street, but either she couldn’t afford the ones that came up for rent, or they were snatched up before she could even make an appointment to see them.
Mateo pulled around to the back of the main house and parked next to a silver Mercedes. “My brother’s.” His voice sounded almost apologetic.
“I’d have thought he’d drive a truck like you do.”
Mateo chuckled softly. “Pedro likes to flaunt his wealth.”
Unlike Mateo. The few times she spotted him in town, he was dressed exactly as he was right now, except that his jeans were usually clean, not mud-splattered. Even his truck gave the impression it was used for work, not pleasure. Carma watched him sprint around to the passenger side, and waited until he’d opened the door for her. She had to step down carefully. At barely five foot two, climbing in and out of big-ass trucks was a chore.
“Should I get you a stepladder next time?” he asked, reaching for her hand to steady her. His grin forced a delicious tingle through her limbs. The touch of his hand was warm and comforting. “Ha-ha. That’s hysterical, Mateo.” She smiled into his handsome face, and they locked gazes for a few seconds. She’d always loved the color of his eyes, and now, outside in the bright sunshine, they looked even more exotic.
Why couldn’t she have stayed here on the ranch that fateful summer? She would have cleaned out sheep stalls if need be. Anything. Then none of that would have happened, and she wouldn’t feel like her insides were being ripped out right now by meat hooks.
He kept his fingers tangled in hers as he led her toward a set of French doors. Once inside, they ascended a back staircase and Carma admired the sage and pale yellow colors on the walls. The woodwork was a medium color, more on the golden side than red, and it complemented the paint colors perfectly.
“Is this oak?” she asked.
“The woodwork? Maple. I love the texture of it. Most of it was pine, originally, but when our father pa
ssed away, Pedro and I redecorated most of the main house.”
“I didn’t realize your father had died, Mateo. I’m sorry. I don’t remember hearing about it.”
A quick shadow of pain passed across his face, and Carma wondered if she’d imagined it. “Most people didn’t. He wanted it that way. My wing is down this hallway.”
His wing? He opened a set of double doors and Carma stepped across the threshold. The colors inside here were bolder and darker, but they fit Mateo’s personality. Lining the walls were black-and-white photographs of men and women Carma didn’t recognize. Some held saxophones, and many of them were dressed in clothing from the thirties and forties.
“Jazz saxophonists,” he said. “I hung them up for inspiration.”
She scanned the room, glancing past the leather furniture and end tables with legs shaped like ram horns, finally spotting the gleaming brass instrument on a stand in the corner. A music stand stood next to it, and piles of what looked like sheet music were scattered on the floor. “I had no idea you played, Mateo.”
“Yeah. I do.”
“Will you play something for me?”
He almost looked embarrassed as he walked over and picked up the tenor sax. After running through a few scales, he ran through a jazz piece she didn’t recognize. The fact that he was playing it from memory didn’t escape her attention. By the time he finished, she had goose bumps over her entire body.
He played so well, and the mellow sounds of the instrument had conjured up images of smoky, dark rooms. She’d easily imagined herself in a café, sitting with Mateo, enjoying the music, drinks and a few laughs. Would her daydreams ever become reality?
He put the sax back on its stand.
“Mateo, that was amazing.”
He shook his head slightly. How could he be so unaware of his talent? “Would you like to know who the people in the photos are?”
“I’d love to.”
He pointed out the names of the musicians in the photographs, but Carma knew she wouldn’t remember them. Just listening to Mateo’s smooth voice helped calm her a bit. Inside these walls, she didn’t have to think about Michael or Aunt Pet. She could watch Mateo, listen to him speak, and absorb the beauty of this majestic home. There were no decisions to make, and no one in here would urge her to notify the proper authorities.
“Why don’t you play professionally?”
Again, he shook his head. “I do it strictly for fun. I’m going to change my clothes. Make yourself at home, okay?”
As she waited for him to return, Carma wandered around the room and then found her way into the kitchen. Everything was clean and organized. It was rare to meet a man who was a neat freak. Maybe he wasn’t home a lot? When he joined her again, he still wore jeans, but now his button-down shirt and the jeans were clean. His feet were bare, which she found so intimate and sexy, that it was suddenly difficult to take a full breath.
She gave him a sheepish grin. “Ah, Mateo, would you be terribly upset if I said I just wanted to hang out here with you instead of going out to dinner?”
His bright smile made her heart flutter. “Not at all. I’d love that, Carma.”
“But I am kind of hungry. Want me to cook something? I know it’s not the same as going to a restaurant, but I suddenly don’t feel like being out in public.”
He surprised her by taking her into his arms again. His body felt hard and strong, and she bit her lip. She couldn’t think about that right now either.
“I think that sounds like a wonderful idea. What are you going to cook?”
“Well, let’s see what you have.” He released her embrace and she moved away to open the refrigerator. Mateo had been the star of her fantasies for so long, she could hardly believe she was here with him right now, and that they had the entire day to themselves. Under better circumstances, this would be the perfect setup for an erotic evening. “You have a lot of food here. Any meat defrosted, by chance?”
He moved next to her and began to dig around in the bottom drawer. His warm scent filled her head, reminding her of all the times she’d inhaled it while styling his hair. What if she and Mateo had gone out in high school? Would things have turned out differently for her? She’d lost so much time, and she could do absolutely nothing to bring it back.
“Will this do?” He held up a package of boneless chicken breasts.
“Perfect.” Carma found shredded mozzarella cheese and plenty of vegetables, and then she asked where he kept his spices. He opened a cabinet above the microwave to reveal them in small jars, all labeled and stacked up neatly in alphabetical order. She couldn’t help but laugh.
“What? You don’t have everything in its place at home?”
She shook her head. “I’m a slob, Mateo. I fully admit it. Although, my sister Coco was far worse than I am now.”
He laughed. “We’re in trouble, then, as you’ve probably noticed.”
“I noticed.” She found the utensils she needed, and then went in search of pots and pans as well as a cutting board. Once she had the sauce simmering, she cut up vegetables. Mateo watched her cook, and Carma was shocked to realize she didn’t feel self-conscious in his presence.
Why was he suddenly so at ease and open with her? This was completely different than the way he usually treated her. Could it be that he’d simply been out of his comfort zone at the salon and that was the reason he never told her anything about his personal life? He wasn’t giving off the vibe he usually did—the one that told her he was enjoying playing a hide-and-seek game with her.
He seemed almost anxious right now, like he wasn’t sure what to say or do, and that was an emotion she’d never felt coming from him. She wasn’t sure how to process it, but then she figured it was probably because of everything that had happened this morning. She wanted to tell him the whole story, but not right now. Cooking gave her something to focus on. It was comforting and familiar. “Do you cook, Mateo?”
“Ah…if you count popping something in the microwave as cooking, then I’m a true gourmet. Pedro and I employ a full-time chef, but I’m rarely here in the house to have meals. I usually eat with my ranch hands.”
She smiled. “While I do admire that about you, my Sicilian grandmother is turning in her grave right now at the mention of popping things into microwaves.”
He watched her brush the chicken with the sauce. “I take it you cook a lot, then?”
“It’s practically a given in my family. Would you mind preheating the oven? 350 should do it.”
He did, and then she arranged the chicken and vegetables in a roasting dish. A nice Pinot Grigio would go perfect with this. She glanced at Mateo. “We’ll need wine, of course. White, preferably.”
He walked over to a small fridge she’d missed earlier and opened it. “What kind of white, specifically?”
“Oh, I see. You don’t cook, but you know your wines?”
The grin he gave her sent a thrill racing through her body, but she pushed it away. As fucked up as he now must suspect she was, there was no freaking way he’d be interested in having sex with her. Carma was shocked to realize she could even entertain that thought. What the hell was wrong with her?
“Wine is something I do know.”
“In that case, I’m thinking Pinot Grigio or even a Riesling, if you have it.”
“I have both. Will you allow me to choose?”
Carma smiled. It was such an old-fashioned thing to say, but coming from him it sounded charming and very gentlemanly. “Of course.”
He chose one and opened it, pouring them each a glass. Carma wiped her hands on a dishtowel and tasted it. “Mmmm...perfect. Nice choice. German?”
He nodded. “I’m impressed, Carma. I haven’t met too many women who know wine that well.”
“I’m not an expert, but growing up in my family where we drank wine as often as water with meals, I got to know quite a bit.” She slid the roasting pan in the oven and began to rinse the dishes.
“Let me help.” She was a
bout to refuse, but she really enjoyed having Mateo stand next to her, so she thanked him for the help and watched his hands as he sprayed the cutting board. They moved gracefully, the way a musician or artist’s hands did. It was easy to imagine him working hard alongside his ranch hands as well as he played his saxophone.
“Mateo, when did you start playing the sax?”
“I wanted to be in marching band in high school, but my duties here kept me from it. It’s such a huge time commitment. So my mother compromised by letting me take lessons on an instrument of my choice, and I’d always loved the sound of jazz music, especially the sax.”
“It’s sultry.”
His grin sent another shiver up and down her spine. “I agree. Listening to it played well evokes images of hot, sticky nights, when the smell of flowers fills the air and the sound of coyotes howling up in those hills competes with the song of insects.”
Carma swallowed hard against the sudden lump in her throat. She could actually hear what he was describing. The formerly cool room suddenly felt warm, as though they were outside in the fragrant night together, instead of inside his air-conditioned kitchen.
“Maybe after we eat I’ll play it again.”
“I’d love that, Mateo.” Her voice sounded sexy and breathy, which wasn’t what she’d been going for, so she averted her gaze to clear her head. “Did you major in music?” She knew he’d gone to college, but not where, and she had no idea what he’d studied.
He shook his head. “Not even close. I have a degree in Animal Science from Colorado State University. It always made sense to stay right here and help my father run the business. He didn’t have a degree or any formal training. He learned it from his family, but I wanted to understand the business aspect behind it.”
Carma glanced at the oven and realized they hadn’t set the timer. She did so now, and then they took their wine into the living room. She sat beside him on the caramel-colored leather sofa and kicked off her sandals, hoping he wouldn’t mind.
