Maggie grinned at Rance’s surprised expression.
“And I suppose you learned to cook Japanese in Germany?”
“Something like that. Actually, I was in Washington State. I never got to Germany. But I learned to cook German in Virginia.” Maggie looked around. “Where are your dishes?”
Maggie’s breath caught in her throat as Rance leaned toward her and snaked his arm around her shoulder. “They’re in the cabinet here.”
She turned as Rance pulled the cabinet door open, wincing as he reached for the stack of plates. His close and intensely masculine presence was strangely unnerving. And Maggie wished he would button his shirt.
“I think I owe you an apology about this morning,” Rance said quietly as Maggie set a pot of water on the stove to boil the noodles.
She looked up, puzzled. It was the last thing she’d expected to hear.
“You had been very helpful, and I was rude. I had something else on my mind. And I had to get back here and attack the wood.” He flexed his shoulder, wincing as he did. “I’m beginning to regret that decision.”
The expression on Rance’s face was sincere, and some of Maggie’s doubts about him disappeared. Maybe the dog plan wouldn’t be such a bad idea, after all. But she wasn’t going to decide just yet.
Rance’s voice interrupted Maggie’s thoughts. “I haven’t made a great impression since I showed up here. After the Fourth of July incident...” He shrugged. “And my rudeness today.”
The apology didn’t seem to require a response, so Maggie made none. She bustled about Rance’s old-fashioned kitchen, quietly putting the final touches on the meal. She had never been good at idle conversation and had nothing else to say. Besides, being so close to him made her very uncomfortable. She shook her head at the notion that was forming. She had no business thinking about that stuff, anyway.
Rance drifted back over to the carton of puppies and chatted with the kids. Maggie felt vaguely disappointed that he had abandoned her so quickly, but she was relieved at the same time. She smiled as she watched him with the children. Rance had even managed to draw Buddy out of his shell.
Even more surprising than Rance’s easy rapport with the kids was Maggie’s growing attraction to the man. What business did a woman her age have panting after the first good-looking man she’d met in ages? She glanced away from where he crouched, joking and laughing with her children. Then, as if drawn, she looked back.
She studied the lean angle of his jaw and the straight, dark hair that fell unheeded into his obsidian eyes. So different from Chet Callahan, yet so familiar in the way he had fallen into an easy camaraderie with Buddy and Jen.
Rance had felt her eyes like cool daggers in his back. Though he had known she was watching him for some time, he had resisted the urge to turn and look back. There was that air-force husband of hers to consider. He’d served twenty years in the air force himself; there was no way he would cut in on a fellow serviceman’s territory.
Finally, he could stand it no more. He looked up and found himself falling into Maggie’s eyes. She lowered them quickly as they met his, and color rose into her creamy complexion. Rance watched, amused, as she fanned her glowing cheeks and muttered something about the heat in the kitchen.
He levered himself to an upright position and flexed his protesting muscles. Even his legs were sore. He sauntered over to the stove. “I hope it’s ready,” Rance announced. “The smell is too good to resist much longer.”
Maggie flashed a smile that could have lit the darkest night. “All done.” She handed Rance a platter laden with sauce-covered noodles. “Would you take this to the table while I straighten up here?”
Relieved to have something to do, Rance carried the platter to the table. He didn’t know how much longer he could have resisted the urge to run his fingers through her fiery hair. He focused on the steamy spaghetti.
It tasted even better than it smelled, he discovered a few minutes later. Rance wasted little time with small talk, but ate ravenously. He had tried to temper his appetite and eat slowly, and almost succeeded.
Rance pushed his plate away and leaned back in his chair, feeling comfortable and satisfied. “That was the best pasta I’ve had in years,” he announced. “Next time I’ll have to fix dinner for you.” And the mysterious missing husband, he supposed with regret, feeling guilty about lusting after a fellow airman’s wife. Where was he, anyway? Maybe he was on an unaccompanied overseas tour. “I’m a pretty fair Mexican cook.”
Maggie smiled. “And you learned to cook that kind of food in New York City, I suppose,” she responded dryly.
Rance laughed. Damn, she had a pretty smile. “No, I came to it naturally. I learned how to cook from my grandfather. He owned a small Mexican restaurant in San Antonio.”
“And you didn’t go into the family business?”
“No. Grandfather died when I was nineteen. I was in college, and I had no interest in keeping the restaurant. I wanted to be a farmer like my father, and I was studying agriculture at Texas A & M. When Abuelo died, I couldn’t afford to finish, so I joined the air force. The rest, as they say, is history.”
Rance realized that he had probably revealed more about his past than he should, but Maggie was so easy to talk to. And she couldn’t possibly connect a boy from Texas with this place.
She looked puzzled. “The air force is a rather roundabout route to being a farmer.”
“I was a nineteen-year-old kid from San Antonio. I had no family and no money. I had to get the money to buy a farm first. The air force seemed as good a way as any to go forward.” He laughed. “I finished my degree at night school. But the money took twenty years.”
“So you joined for the money. What about your parents?”
“They died when I was a kid.” It wasn’t the entire truth, but for all he knew, his mother was dead. Surely she would have come back for him if she was still alive.
“I’m sorry.”
Rance murmured a polite response, as embarrassed as Maggie probably was. He smiled sheepishly. “I read every book on farming I could find, but I’ve still got a lot to learn.”
“If there’s anything we can do to help you, let us know. My dad was in the same position about twenty-five years ago. I’m sure he’ll be glad to help.”
No wonder there had been no mention of the Popwell name when he was reading all those old newspapers! They hadn’t even been here at the time, Rance realized with relief. Mr. Popwell must have bought his acreage after the bank foreclosed on Luther Hightower.
“Speaking of help, I could use some around here, getting the yard and peach orchard cleaned up. How about it, Buddy? I’ll pay.”
Buddy looked up from his third helping of spaghetti at the mention of his name. “Can I, Mom?”
“That is, if your husband doesn’t need him to work for him,” Rance added.
Jennifer glanced up from the design she was drawing in a puddle of sauce on her plate. “He won’t mind. He’s dead.”
Chapter 4
“I tell you, Tess. I could have died right then and there.”
“Oh, Maggie. What did you do?” Tess managed to ask between giggles.
Maggie took a long, cool swig from her glass of iced tea before she answered. “What could I do? I was mortified, but it was the truth. And Buddy, bless his heart, didn’t blink an eye. Just kept scarfing down his spaghetti.” It seemed funny now, two days later, sitting in the Pittsville Dinner Belle Diner. But Jennifer’s blunt statement about Chet had seemed very callous and cold at the time.
Tess shook her head in amazement. “Well, the little darlin’ did you a favor.”
“You call embarrassing me in front of Rance Montoya doing me a favor?” Maggie looked longingly across the table at Tess’s French fries as she played with her low-fat meal.
“She let Mr. Rance Good-lookin’ Montoya know that you are available, in her own inimitably crass way,” Tess clarified, brandishing a ketchup-covered French fry.
“Bu
t I’m not available,” Maggie insisted, then shoved a forkful of tuna salad into her mouth. She chewed energetically to forestall any more conversation. She should have known better.
Tess took Maggie’s otherwise-occupied silence as an invitation to continue. “I know you’re interested, or you wouldn’t have gone over there with picnic basket in hand.”
Maggie swallowed. “I was just trying to show him some of that southern hospitality you were harping on the other day,” she protested.
“And you wasted no time, sister dear. How long was it? Twenty minutes?”
“Good grief, Tess. It was more like five hours. And I’m not interested. He’s a perfect stranger.”
“Perfect is right. Stranger? No. After all, you’ve shared a meal with him and read his library application. You know everything there is to know about the man.”
“Hardly.” Maggie scooped up a forkful of fat-free cottage cheese. “And now I’m even paying for my good deed.”
“I guess we’ll just have to have Eula Larson amend the application form. Apparently, there are a few questions she forgot to ask.”
Maggie had to smile. It was no secret that half the questions on the Pittsville Library application were for Mrs. Larson’s curious eyes only, and had no business being on the form. Maggie sobered. “I can’t help wondering if there’s more about Rance Montoya than we know.”
“You’re not still hung up on that ax-murderer business, are you?”
“No. But Rance Montoya is not telling us everything. He’s been pretty friendly since we saw him in the library, but I don’t think he’s being entirely forthcoming.”
“You mean he’s lying?” Tess’s blue eyes grew wide.
Maggie sighed. “No. Just more like he’s leaving things out.”
“Like what?”
“Tess!” Maggie rolled her eyes. “He left it out. How should I know?”
“I guess you’re going to have to do some investigating on your own.”
“Of course.” Maggie slapped her forehead and rolled her eyes. “I forgot. I’ll just brew up a batch of iced tea. Then I’ll lace it with truth serum and interrogate him until I get the answers.”
Tess shrugged and gave Maggie one of her irritating big-sister grins.
Maggie shook her head and looked at her watch. “I have to get back to the library,” she said as she plucked her napkin from her lap and tossed in on top of her emptied tuna platter.
“Yes, you do have to go back to the library,” Tess commented knowingly as Maggie applied a fresh coat of lipstick.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“He’s not the only one who can use the library for research.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Tess. I’m not going to spy on the man.”
“You wouldn’t be spying. The Pittsville Partner is public record.” Tess raised her eyebrows in an unspoken challenge. “Besides, Mata Hari Larson might know something else.”
Maggie slid out of the booth and adjusted her skirt. “Is that a dare?”
Tess shrugged. “I think we’re a little old for dares. Just call it a suggestion.”
“I’ll think about it.” Maggie tossed the words over her shoulder as she crossed over to the register and paid her check.
And she did think about it as she crossed the street and walked back to the library. But she didn’t do anything.
It didn’t look as if there was much in the peach orchard that could be saved, Rance finally forced himself to admit as he lowered himself to sit in the shade of a gnarled old tree. Most of the trees were dead, or nearly so. Only one or two showed evidence of having borne fruit recently. Rance sighed. He had hoped to bring the orchard back to fruition, but it was just too far gone.
He grabbed a match from his pocket and chewed on it as he swiped an arm across his brow to catch a trickle of sweat that threatened his eye. Managing only to smear the wetness around, he peeled out of his T-shirt and used it to mop his forehead. Damn, it was hot.
Buddy loped over, sank to the ground beside Rance and reached for the five-gallon insulated water jug that sat between them. He grimaced when only a trickle of water came out. The boy looked as sweaty and tired as Rance felt.
The kid had worked like a Trojan, hauling out the deadwood that he’d cut. For a scrawny kid, he had stamina. Rance had studied the boy as he worked, searching for any resemblance to Maggie. He’d found none, and assumed that Buddy must take after his father. The avid way the kid hung on his every word showed how starved he was for male guidance. And maybe it wasn’t his place, but Rance was happy to give it.
Rance wiped the sweat from his eyes and sighed. He was sorry that the kid had to grow up without a father, but more than relieved that it meant his mother was available. That Buddy was hungry for male companionship had been evident from the way the kid had hung on his every word. Hell, he’d even enjoyed the fatherly talk he found himself having with Buddy during one of their longer rest breaks.
They’d spent the better part of the day clearing out the scrubby pines that had taken over the neglected orchard. Rance wondered idly what he was going to do with all that cut pine; it was too small to use for lumber. And too tarry to use as firewood.
“Look. Somebody’s coming.”
Rance followed the boy’s pointing hand to a plume of dust headed their way.
“Let’s go see who it is.” Rance hoisted himself up out of the meager shade of the tree and headed for the lane. He debated whether to put his shirt back on, and discarded the notion. It was soaked through with perspiration, and it would just make him more uncomfortable than he already was.
He looked up and realized that the ninety-degree-plus heat had changed the blue sky to a milky white and the air was thick with moisture. Skies like this could brew up a thunderstorm in no time at all, and the white overcast was already starting to turn gray.
Rance turned to Buddy, who was scrambling up behind him. “Go back and get our stuff. I think it’s time we called it a day.”
Buddy trotted back to the tree where the water jug and the chain saw were, and Rance went on to greet the visitor. He reached the spot where he’d left his truck just as a dusty gray minivan pulled up.
Rance wished he’d gone ahead and put his shirt back on when he saw Maggie come around the van, but it was too late now. Besides, she was hardly unfamiliar with male anatomy, having been married. He took the match out of his mouth, broke it, tossed it away and waved.
“You look like you’ve put in a good day’s work,” Maggie called. “I thought you might appreciate this about now.” She looked like an angel, carrying a sweating plastic jug and a stack of tumblers.
Rance grinned. “Thanks. We just emptied ours. How did you know?”
“It goes fast on hot, muggy days like this.” Maggie undid the top of the jug and poured a tumblerful of cool liquid. She handed it to Rance as she looked over his shoulder for her son. “As I was driving over, I heard over the radio that we’re under a severe-weather watch. Are you about finished?”
“I think so. We’d run out of water, and I didn’t much like the looks of this sky.” Rance glanced skyward as he reached for the tumbler, carefully avoiding touching Maggie with his grimy, sweaty hands. Was that the only reason he was trying not to touch her?
“I’m glad you made the weather decision. I was afraid I’d be accused of being an overprotective mother if I came over and told Buddy he had to come in out of the rain.”
Rance laughed at that. He ran the cool, sweating tumbler of liquid across his heated brow. Then he took it to his lips to drink. It was lemonade, he realized after he had tossed the whole thing down in one gulp. He sighed contentedly. “This is good.”
“Daddy always likes lemonade when he’s out in the hot sun. He says it quenches better than water.”
“Yeah. I suppose it does.” Damn, she looked good. Even with her red hair plastered damply to her head. Her blouse clung to her, moist with perspiration, and revealed all the curves it was meant to hide.
Buddy crashed through the underbrush, carrying the jug and the chain saw, giving Rance another topic of conversation. “Your son did a good day of work for me,” Rance told Maggie as Buddy deposited his load in the bed of the pickup.
“That’s a surprise.” Maggie laughed. “I can never get him to clean up his room.” She poured her son some lemonade.
“Aw, Mom. That’s women’s work.”
Rance looked at Buddy as the boy reached for the glass. “Remember what we talked about earlier. Sometimes men have to shoulder responsibilities they don’t want.”
Rance didn’t know who looked more surprised at his statement, Maggie or Buddy. But Maggie recovered first. She wore a very grateful expression, but had the grace not to rub it in.
“Get your stuff together. I’ll drive you home,” Maggie said to her son.
The boy looked as if he was going to protest, but Rance fired him a stern look. Reluctantly Buddy went to his mother’s van.
Maggie looked up into Rance’s eyes, her own eyes seeming to draw him into their cool green depths. “Thank you,” she said softly. “He really does need a man’s influence. I try, but I don’t seem to make the grade.” She turned and climbed into her van.
Rance watched as she backed to a wide spot in the dirt track and turned around. With a jaunty wave, she gunned the engine and left him standing in a cloud of dust.
He didn’t know why Maggie felt she didn’t make the grade. She was A-plus in his book. And one day he was going to tell her so. And now that he knew she was available, he had plenty of time to plan his course of action.
The air seemed to press down on her as the white haze grew into thick, dark clouds. Nervously Maggie scanned the sky to the southwest as she plucked clothespins and T-shirts off the line. It was a little late in the summer for tornadoes, but you never could tell. Any summer storm could produce severe winds, if not a twister. A gust of wind blew in the smell of rain, and thunder rumbled ominously. She hurried to finish taking in her washing.
Montoya's Heart Page 5
