More than a Maid

by Reeni Austin

  "Hey," she said on her way to a rack of shirts. "Come here. What size do you wear?"

  Ramon sighed. "I knew this would happen. Don't shop for me. Let's find the shoes."

  She threw him a smirk as she flipped through the rack. "This is a good sale. Come on. What size?"

  Ramon scowled at the rack of hoity toity, button-down, long sleeved shirts. "Do I look like the kinda guy who wears this crap?"

  Marcy took in a deep breath through her mouth and blew it out slowly as she went to a rack full of short-sleeved, casual shirts. "What about these?"

  Ramon stopped, glancing at the rack. "Hmm. Well, maybe."

  "What size?" She asked. "You wanna try 'em on?"

  "Not really." Ramon took a shirt to examine it. "I can always bring it back if it doesn't fit."

  "Or you can try it on?" She grinned suggestively. "And I can help?"

  He lifted his eyes to hers, his shorts suddenly feeling a little tighter. But from his peripheral vision he saw a sales woman. The very sales woman who would certainly catch them. "No. I know too many people around here. I'd never live it down."

  Marcy sighed. "All right."

  Then his voice softened and he gently cleared his throat, plucking another shirt from the rack. "Maybe some other time."

  Marcy smiled and unconsciously licked her lips.

  Ramon returned her smile, hoping now more than ever she'd stay in his house a while longer.

  Fifteen minutes later, Ramon was at the counter, paying for a pile of new clothes. He grumbled under his breath.

  Marcy heard him and asked, "What? No one's holding a gun to your head."

  He ignored her and handed cash to the woman behind the counter. No way in hell he'd admit he actually needed these clothes. But shit, every shirt he owned was old and faded and he couldn't remember the last time he bought new clothes for himself.

  Bag in hand, they turned in the direction of the women's shoe department.

  Marcy emitted a tiny gasp and started walking faster in the direction of a pair of gold stilettos she spotted.

  Ramon watched her hurry off and muttered, "I knew this would happen."

  For a few minutes, Ramon thought Marcy forgot he was there. And maybe she had. She appeared to have found her paradise. She pulled six pairs of shoes from the rack and sat them down on a bench, ready to try them on. A friendly sales lady finished with another customer and rushed over to her, saying, "They were just marked down."

  "Oh! I'm so glad I came in today." Marcy's words came out fast. "It's so hard to find them in my size unless I order online and…"

  Ramon immediately tuned out their chatter and strolled over to another rack. Women's boots, all flat. All fairly heavy duty, but hopefully feminine enough for her. After she finished with the clearance rack, he'd hopefully have a few pairs lined up and waiting for her. But it appeared as though the only person working in the shoe department was the woman helping Marcy. So, he took a deep breath and looked around for anyone else who could help.

  Then suddenly, a woman standing behind him cleared her throat and said, "Ramon?"

  His heart raced. There was an odd familiarity in her tone, even though he didn't recognize her voice. He glanced at Marcy a few racks over to make sure she was still busy, then he turned around.

  Two women stood there, not smiling, but not angry. Both were skinny with blond hair and deep tans, but one looked much older than the other. The older one grimaced. She said, "So, you're the one who went home with my cousin and never called her."

  "Uh…" Ramon slowly backed away. He shot a quick glance at Marcy over his shoulder to make sure she was out of earshot. He asked, "Who's your cousin?"

  The younger one lifted a brow and raised her hand.

  "Oh." Ramon gulped, then nodded.

  The older one said, "She's standing right in front of you and you don't remember her?"

  His eyes narrowed. "You confused me with the question. You said it as if she was somewhere else." Inside, he knew it was a flimsy excuse but it was the only one that came to mind. Wanting to somehow remedy the situation without drawing Marcy's attention, he softened his voice and said, "Look, I'm sorry. I don't remember you. Did I meet you at The Tumbleweed?"

  "Yes," she said in a flat tone.

  He looked in her eyes. "I'm sorry if I said I'd call you. I don't remember saying that. Hell, I don't even remember meeting you. Please forgive me."

  She rolled her eyes then looked at her cousin and said, "Come on. Let's just go."

  As they walked off, Ramon felt terrible about this woman. The last thing he wanted to do was mislead or hurt someone. When he hooked up with women he met at bars, he prided himself on making his intentions clear. Apparently this time, he'd failed.

  Ramon rushed after them and said, "Hey! Wait."

  Both women stopped in their tracks. The younger one turned around slowly. Her cousin waited a little longer and gave him the angriest look she could produce.

  Ramon cleared his throat. "I'm truly sorry. I mean it. If I thought you were gonna get hurt I never would've—"

  The one he slept with held up her hand. "Spare me. You're a man whore. Don't pretend you actually care."

  Ramon saw from her steely glare that it'd be worthless to argue with her. And he was relieved she interrupted him before he asked what she was doing here at this mall. The reason he went two counties away to bars like The Tumbleweed was to lessen his chances of seeing these women again.

  Gently, he backed away and muttered, "Fine. But I'm still sorry."

  The women both huffed, looked at each other, then stalked off.

  Ramon turned around. Marcy was still at the sale rack, but she stood at alert, watching him with curiosity. He kept her gaze for a moment then looked down at the floor as he trudged toward her. Hopefully she hadn't heard anything.

  Marcy waited until she was close enough, then asked, "Did that girl call you a 'man whore'?"

  Her question was a fist to his gut. He hesitated before saying, "Yeah."

  "Why?"

  Ramon glanced over each shoulder, then closed his eyes and massaged his temples with his thumb and forefinger, his head suddenly pounding. Before he answered, he took a deep breath. "I met her at a bar. Don't remember much about it." He exhaled, hard. "Okay, I don't remember anything about it."

  "Were you that drunk or was it that bad?"

  Ramon looked in her eyes, unable to read her expression. But at least she didn't look angry. "I was drunk."

  "Okay." Marcy nodded but had no apparent reaction. She focused once again on her shoes, and Ramon sighed in relief.

  After she settled on five pairs of clearance rack stilettos, he showed her the boots he picked out. She immediately selected a pair of burgundy leather flats. To Ramon, it looked like she hated all of them but chose the lesser of all evils.

  After she tried them on and gave her final approval, Ramon insisted on paying for them as well as the rest of her shoes. She protested at first, but he told her to consider it a pre-emptive bonus for the bookkeeping help she offered him, which they would talk about in more detail at dinner.

  Marcy shyly said, "Thank you."

  Almost an hour later, after Marcy had her way with another clearance rack—in the women's apparel department—they were in the car, heading to their dinner destination.

  Marcy smiled at Ramon as he drove. "So, was it really that painful, shopping with me?"

  Ramon gritted his teeth. Aside from the unexpected strangers who approached him, their time at the mall was actually kind of pleasant. He didn't even mind the few minutes he had to wait while she tried on pants. But he couldn't tell her that. Hell, he could barely admit it to himself. The more time he spent with her, the more attached he became. And he found himself surprisingly unprepared for that attachment. So, he calmly replied, "It was okay."

  "Well, that's good. I guess." She stared out the window for a while, then asked, "So, that girl you saw in there. Was it a one-time thing? Or do you regularly get approached i
n public by random women calling you, 'man whore'?"

  "No. No one's ever come up to me like that." But of course, it would happen when he was out with someone he liked, for once.

  "Okay." She took a long pause. "Do you get drunk and hook up with women in bars, a lot? Or was that also a one-time thing?"

  It was the question Ramon dreaded. For all he knew, maybe God put that girl in that mall tonight for a reason: to punish him. And if it happened tonight, it could happen again. There was no use lying about it. It would probably catch up with him eventually. He swallowed, hard, then said, "It's a pretty regular event for me. And it's the only female contact I usually have."

  Marcy glared at him, blinking, until he gave her a glance. Then she said, "You say it like it's okay. Perfectly normal."

  Ramon shrugged as he drove. "Two consenting adults, right? I'm always honest about my intentions. I don't promise any of those women the world. I just promise 'em one good night."

  Silent, Marcy's eyes were fixed on the road in front of them, her arms folded across her waist.

  They drove along in awkward silence for several minutes until she spoke again.

  Her voice was sad. "Why do you do it? Do you hate women?"

  His eyes widened in surprise. "No! Absolutely not." He heaved out a sad sigh. "I get lonely, okay? I live in that big house by myself, workin' all the damn time. Only talkin' to men. And cows." He gave her a glance. "Once in a while I want a woman's company. All right?"

  Marcy made a sound of disgust. "Why not just hire an escort, then?"

  He snorted. "Shit. I'm not desperate."

  She rolled her eyes. "Then why not try to actually date someone for a change? You know, form a lasting relationship? I'm sure you've had plenty of opportunities, no matter how busy you are."

  Ramon nodded. "I used to do that. But you know what? I got tired of the bullshit. Women always wantin' to change me. Or gettin' mad 'cause I said the wrong thing." He chuckled softly as he added, "Or making me go to the mall and stand around like a jackass while they raid the clearance racks."

  In a tone thick with sarcasm, Marcy said, "Well, excuse me, then. I didn't know you hated it so much or I never would've suggested it."

  He shook his head. In a gentle tone, he said, "I didn't hate it with you."

  They came to a red light. Ramon switched gears and brought the car to a halt. He had the sudden urge to touch her, so he put his hand on her thigh. Then he turned to look at her.

  She was already giving him an intense stare. Her pretty green eyes held a million questions, but she was silent, easing her hand onto his.

  Ramon stayed there, fixated. Lost in her. Staying there until long after the light turned green. He moved when a car horn blared.

  Then he slowly peeled his eyes away from her and reached for the gear shift.

  They were a minute down the road when Marcy gently asked, "So, where are we going for dinner?"

  Ramon wished they were in her bedroom instead of heading to dinner. For a moment he considered pulling over to take advantage of this unspoken connection they had… But logic kicked in. It was more important than ever to continue their plan for the evening. He needed to know if she really hated his world as much as he feared she would.

  His stomach twisted with dread. Despite his better judgment, he knew right then he had fallen for her.

  And he just knew she was going to break his heart.

  "Uh…" Ramon took a deep breath. "It's only a little farther. A family run bar."

  "A bar?"

  He shrugged. "More like a diner with a bar area. Floyd's Grill."

  "Okay." She sounded hesitant.

  "Don't worry. I've known these people for a long time."

  A few minutes later they pulled into the gravel parking lot of their destination. It was packed with regulars, as Ramon noticed from the vehicles he recognized.

  When they stepped out of the car, they heard country music streaming from inside the small building.

  Marcy laughed as she headed to the entrance. "I knew you liked this kind of music."

  He shook his head and sighed. Being here in this familiar locale made him feel comfortable. "You shouldn't stereotype people. And for the record, I do like country music, occasionally. But the people here at Floyd's like it a whole lot more than I do."

  CHAPTER 14

  As soon as they walked into the building, all eyes went to Ramon and Marcy. Most of the patrons waved and collectively said, "Hi," to Ramon.

  To the left, Marcy spotted a bar, complete with two pool tables and the smallest dance floor she had ever seen. To her right were booths, almost all of them filled with gray-haired couples. Marcy estimated that she and Ramon were easily the youngest people there.

  And, surprisingly, Ramon came to life inside that old restaurant, starting with a portly man in a cowboy hat who rose from his booth and approached Ramon with a smile and an extended hand.

  "Howdy!" The man said.

  Ramon chuckled and shook his hand. "Howdy George. How's the…"

  Marcy kept her astonishment in check. Howdy? She had never heard anyone use "howdy" as a casual greeting in her entire life. She listened as Ramon went back and forth with the man for a minute, discussing calf vaccinations and other such ranch-related issues. She quickly deduced he was a fellow rancher and assumed the others in the restaurant were as well, judging by the way their eyes lit up like they wanted to join in the conversation.

  The man chuckled and said, "I was gonna invite you to sit here with me and Ruth but I see you got company." He raised a curious brow, and the woman sitting in the booth did the same.

  Ramon stammered for a moment then said, "This is Marcy," and proceeded with formal introductions.

  When he finished, Ruth asked, "Is she your girlfriend?"

  Marcy would have found the question intrusive, but Ruth's tone was sweet, and she had a kind smile. And although Marcy would have loved to call herself his "girlfriend," that title put a new spin on their relationship. It was one thing to go on a date; it was another to call him, "boyfriend."

  Ramon and Marcy shared a quick glance, then his eyes darted sheepishly around the room. He stammered momentarily, but finally answered with, "She's staying with me for a while."

  George asked, "Is she one o' them mail order brides?" He winked at Marcy. "You gonna turn tail and run home 'cause he don't look like the picture?" He leaned in a little closer and asked, "Are ya Russian? You know, rushin' back home?" Then he pulled a hand to his stomach with a bellowing laugh.

  Ruth rolled her eyes and said, "Oh George, stop. You know that's not funny."

  Marcy wanted to laugh, but only because the dumb joke broke her tension. She saw Ramon's lips curl slightly as though he found the joke oddly amusing in the same way.

  When George stopped laughing, she thought about responding, but Ramon answered for her.

  "She's my," he paused for a breath, "maid." His eyes met hers as he said in a gentle tone, "She's my live-in maid for the next few weeks."

  George harrumphed, sounding pleased with Ramon's answer. "Well, all righty then."

  Ramon put a hand on Marcy's back and gave George and Ruth a casual wave goodbye as the waitress brushed past them.

  Ramon turned his attention to her. "Hey Connie."

  Connie gave Ramon a playful elbow jab. She looked about the same age as the rest of the clientele. "Just the two of you?" she asked.

  "Yes," Ramon said.

  Marcy was glad Connie didn't ask any questions as she led them to their booth by the window. She simply handed them menus, told Ramon it was good to see him, and said she'd be back in a minute to take their orders.

  Marcy collapsed in her seat, suddenly feeling very out of place.

  Ramon picked up the menu and started reading. "The pot roast is good. Chicken fried steak's good. Stay away from the seafood platter…"

  Marcy nodded along, unable to focus on his words with all the eyes looking her way. A few people gave her a friendly nod when she mad
e eye contact with them.

  Suddenly, Ramon's eyes perked up and he waved at someone who was trying to get his attention. Then he called out, "Hey Santos."

  Marcy heard footsteps as Santos approached. When the short, balding man appeared at the table, he gave Marcy a friendly, "Hello," then asked Ramon, "So, how's it goin'?"

  Ramon shrugged. "Not half bad. How 'bout you?"

  Marcy sensed she was in for another rancher discussion, but Santos asked a question that practically made Ramon turn pale.

  "You sure?" Santos asked, his brows narrowed in obvious concern. "You haven't called me to fill up that pond of yours."

  Ramon asked, "Was I supposed to?"

  "I thought so," Santos said. "Henry called and asked me to send a truck out to your place but I can't legally take orders from a guy who doesn't own the property." He put a hand on Ramon's shoulder. "Now, I know you didn't call someone else with that job, did ya?"

  Ramon gulped so hard, Marcy saw a lump go down his throat. That's when his tanned face drained a few shades. "Henry called you?"

  Santos nodded and withdrew his hand. "Yeah. Couple weeks back."

  Ramon looked relieved. His pallor slowly returned to normal. "Oh, okay. Had me worried for a minute. I'll give you a call soon. My brother's about to have a wedding at the house and I need to get it fixed by then, if I can."

  "No problem. Just gimme a call." Santos looked over his shoulder at his table, then said, "Sorry, didn't mean to bother you."

  Ramon shook his head. "No bother. Talk to you soon."

  After Santos left, Ramon picked up his menu and started reading it aloud again.

  Marcy interrupted him. "Wait. What's up with you and Henry?"

  Ramon glared at her. "Victor told you to ask me about that, didn't he?"

  Sighing, Marcy said, "No. And this is the second time you've asked me that and the answer's still the same. I just wondered why you acted so weird with that Santos guy just now. What's the big deal?"

  Ramon's eyes locked on hers for a moment, then he set his menu down, folded his hands on the table, and leaned forward. In a voice quiet enough to be drowned out by the din of the restaurant, he said, "It's personal. But since you asked, I'm just plain tired of Henry's bullshit. I've been dealin' with it for years. That's all."