by Hebby Roman
She lifted her head. It was the first time he’d used a term of endearment. She was a little surprised, wondering why he’d chosen this particular time. But she liked the sound of it—made her feel special and cherished.
“I’ll take a Coke, just open the screen door and call for Maria. You can ask her for what you want, too.”
“No problem.” He called for Maria.
Maria appeared in the doorway and asked, “Sí, Señor, what do you need?”
“Leticia would like a Coke and if you have one, I’d love a beer.”
Maria nodded and let the screen door shut behind her.
He sat down and took her hand in his. She loved the feel of his hand, so warm and comforting and … work-hardened.
“It’s too coincidental, John Clay,” she said without preamble, “every time I leave the ranch … and I was only gone overnight to Del Rio, something happens to the charro horses.”
“Nothing happened when you came to the Lazy L. Did it?”
“No, and now that you mention it, I was worried when I drove back the next day. But everything was fine then and now this.” She shook her head. “Why would anyone want to harm my horses? I can understand the other incident—that someone tried to steal them. But this was out-and-out malicious. Trying to poison Princess and her foal.”
“You’re certain she was poisoned?”
“Yes, Doc Leghorn is ninety percent sure, simple arsenic. But he’s doing some lab work and will call back tomorrow.”
Maria appeared and handed her a Coke, poured over ice, the way she liked it. And for John Clay, she must have remembered and had stocked his favorite, Lone Star beer. She handed him the bottle.
“Thank you,” they both said in unison.
“Dinner will be ready in less than an hour. Plenty for two.”
“Thank you, Maria,” Leticia said again. “I don’t know if I can eat, but I appreciate you fixing something. John Clay loves your cooking. Keeps threatening me that he’s going to steal you away.”
Maria snorted. “This is my home and here I stay, until I’m too old to cook.”
“A long time from now, I’m sure,” Leticia said, feeling her heart lighten a little, sparring with her housekeeper.
Maria nodded again and went back inside. “I’ll let you know when supper is ready.”
“So, what did Jim Bob say? You mentioned you’d called him.”
“Do you know Jim Bob Ely?”
“I know of him. I know he’s a doggone good County Sheriff.”
“Yes, he’s a kind man and very professional. He took a sample of my oats. Said they might be tainted, but only a lab report would prove it.” She pursed her lips, considering. “Now that I think of it, if the oats in the bin were poisoned, any of the other horses could have gotten sick.”
“But only Princess showed signs of poisoning?”
“Yes, and now that I’ve calmed down and thought it over, that’s even more puzzling.”
He took a swallow of his beer and set it down. “Yes, it is odd.” He pushed his cowboy hat onto the back of his head. “You’re going to have to wait until tomorrow, I think, to know for certain. Not until the lab results are in.”
She knew that was true but didn’t want to think about it. All she wanted was to feel cared for … cherished. And John Clay had come, leaving his grandsons to be with her.
She leaned forward, knowing what she was doing, and ready for the next step. Her need for him to come when she was vulnerable and fearful, had made her realize her feelings for him had grown. She was opening her heart and ready to take up her life again.
And she wanted it to be him—no one else.
“Stay the night, please. Can you?”
He looked straight at her, searching her face, a silent question in his eyes.
She took his hand and he nodded, lowering his gaze. He turned her hand over and traced lazy patterns over her palm, making her shiver with longing.
He let go of her hand and framed her face with both his hands. “I thought you’d never ask.” Then he kissed her, open-mouthed and hungry.
And she leaned into him, kissing him with all the old abandon she’d felt for … Eduardo. Not caring they were on her front porch, in front of God and everybody, who wanted to watch. With his mouth on hers and his fingertips stroking her face, she knew somehow, she was ready to love again.
She wanted this man in her life and in her bed. Knowing, as they kissed, he’d changed. Life and circumstances had changed him … or maybe she’d changed. It didn’t matter—they were meant to be.
She tangled her fingers in his long, silver-streaked hair, letting the warmth of his kisses ignite her. Wanting nothing more than to be enfolded in his arms … never to be let go.
Did he want the same thing? She didn’t know, but she could hope. He’d come when she needed him. Every time she’d needed him, he was there for her.
If that wasn’t love, then what was?
* * *
Franco stood on the flimsy front porch of his trailer, watching his employer kiss her lover in broad daylight. Once upon a time, he’d hoped to win her affections, but now he knew it was a lost cause. Not only that, he and his son, not to mention his employer’s horses, were in danger.
He looked away and set his jaw, grinding his teeth. He opened the trailer door. Pancho, who should have been working, not slacking, was taking one of his many breaks, sitting on the couch, engrossed in one of those stupid telenovelas.
His son glanced at him and then turned back to watch the TV.
Without a word, Ramos grabbed him by the front of his dirty cowboy shirt and hoisted him in the air, pushing him against the trailer wall and leaving his feet dangling.
Pancho’s eyes widened, and he gasped. “Papá, what are you doing? Let me down. I’ll get back to work. I just—”
He let go of his son’s shirt and Pancho slid down, his knees buckling. He fell to the floor.
Franco stared at him. “What have you done, mi hijo? What have you done?”
Pancho scrabbled to his feet, his eyes wide. He licked his lips and gulped. “What do you mean? I haven’t done anything.” His son forced the words out, spraying spittle, striking Franco in the face.
Franco grimaced and wiped his face. He kept his voice low, “If you’ve done nothing, mi hijo, then why are you so afraid?”
His son frowned and looked away. He tried to push past him, saying, “I need to curry some of the Quarter horses. They were out in that muddy pasture yesterday and they—”
Franco put his hand in the middle of his son’s chest and pushed him against the wall again. “Fencing cut and the most valuable horses straying. I wondered but decided it could have been someone else, wanting to steal them. But poisoning? No! El Lobo’s men have found you, and they won’t stop until they’ve exacted their revenge from the person who is employing us.”
He lowered his head, looking directly into his son’s eyes. “This is not about a few packages, Pancho, delivered or not delivered. You lied to me, to get to the States. Lied to me and put my employer and her valuable animals in danger.” He clenched his jaw, feeling the muscle jump. “I should tell the Señora and have her send you back.”
“No! No!” His son wailed. He sank to his knees and put his hands together, as if praying. “Por favor, Papá, don’t do that. Don’t do that. Across the border, I’m a dead man.”
His voice was a soft hiss. “Tell me what you did.”
His son lowered his head and then raised it, his hands still folded in supplication. Finally, he bowed his head. “Jesenia, the woman I told you about, the cousin of El Lobo’s wife, she is bad, a very bad woman.” His son shook his head.
“And?”
“She is very bad, but very beautiful, too. La bruja, a witch, she made me want her, made me to lie with her.”
Shock and terror streaked through Franco, turning his insides to slop. “No! No! Not that!” He pounded his fist against the thin trailer wall. “What else,” he demanded,
but he wanted to close his eyes and ears. Wanted to be anywhere but here, facing what his son had done.
Pancho cowered on the floor, visibly shaking. “She told me I got her with child, but she opened her legs for any man … any man who would take her.” He lifted his head and shook his clasped hands. “She said I must marry her and join the cartel to take care of her and … the baby. It was the only way.” His son bent his head and sobbed, repeating, “The only way.”
“And then you called and lied to me.”
“Sí, I lied, but what else could I do? I don’t want to be in the cartel and be dead in a few years.”
“What about Juana, your intended?”
“I told her the same story I told you. She understood and said she’d wait for me.”
“But you knew you could never go back, not after this.”
Pancho sniffed and sniveled, wiping his snotty nose on his sleeve. “I knew, of course, I knew, but what could I do?”
“You’ve already done enough. This Jesenia must have raised the alarm with El Lobo. They’ve tracked you here, and they won’t stop terrorizing this ranch until you go back and do as they say.” He bent down and thrust his face in Pancho’s. “¿Entiendes?”
“I know but, Papá, we’re in the States. We could go anywhere and maybe, if we changed our names, they wouldn’t find us. Other Mexicans do it all the time, start a new life here.” He reached up and pulled on his sleeve. “You must have a little money put away.”
He pulled his arm free. “Did I not tell you all my extra money goes to Juan Pablo, your younger brother, who is studying hard to be an engineer.” He shook his finger in his son’s face. “I warned you.”
“Sí, I know, Papá, but what about me? Do you love Juan Pablo more—”
“You chose your own path,” he ground out the words. “I wanted you to get an education, to rise in the world, but you didn’t want that. Your brother did. That’s why I’m helping him.”
“What am I to do? We can’t stay here. El Lobo’s men will do something to the horses and—”
“You will sleep in the barn every night with the horses and guard them.” He crossed to the other wall behind the TV set and took down a double-gauge shotgun that Leticia … Señora Villarreal had given him when she’d first employed him.
The shotgun was to keep the “varmints,” as she called them, coyotes and wolves and such, from her precious horses.
He tossed the shotgun to his son.
Pancho caught it and looked at it, his eyes wide with fear. “But Papá, this is no protection. If I shoot at El Lobo’s men, they will come after me with machine guns. Do you want me to die?”
Franco sucked in his breath. No, he didn’t want his eldest son to die, but he had to protect his employer’s horses from what his son had unwittingly brought down on them. There was no other way. They could run, but with no money and not knowing anyone in the States, where would they go?
He drew himself up. Besides, this was a matter of honor. His son had endangered them. He needed to do what was right.
“You will sleep in the barn with the horses every night. If someone comes to harm them, you won’t shoot at El Lobo’s men, but you will fire the gun—one shot. And I will come.” He sucked in a deep breath. “Together, we will face them.”
“But Papá, they will kill us. You don’t know how these men are—”
“You should have thought about that when you slept with this Jesenia.” He pulled his hand through his hair. “I do not want harm to befall you, mi hijo, despite what you might think, but we will guard the horses of Señora Villarreal while she goes to Del Rio and San Antonio. We must do it to uphold our honor.
“Maybe El Lobo’s men will not come again so soon. I will save my pay this month and so will you. Then we will leave and try to find work. We will change our names, but then we will have no work records, no references. We will need to work at any jobs we can find.” He shook his head. “It will be a hard life, but it is the only way I know forward.”
* * *
Leticia linked arms with John Clay. He led her toward the front porch, carrying her Merlot and his beer in one hand. She leaned into him, her nerves fluttering, knowing that soon they would be linked together.
Supper had been a homey affair. Maria had made arroz con pollo, a simple but tasty dish of chicken with rice, accompanied by a home-grown salad from the garden. For dessert, Maria had served them the first ripe peaches from the orchard, sliced and with homemade whipped cream from her milk cow, Nelly.
As delicious and comforting as the meal had been, she’d only been able to eat a few bites. Her nerves had claimed her, as she’d predicted, but not because of what had happened earlier with Princess, but from knowing she and John Clay would make love tonight.
He helped her to sit and put the wine glass in her hand. Then he sat beside her and gazed out at the still, dark night.
“I hadn’t thought to ask.” She found her voice. “How is Stormy’s training going? The last time we spoke on the phone, you’d said he was coming along.”
He took a swallow from his beer. “I’m glad you brought it up. Stormy is doing great.” He chuckled. “That horse is a trooper. It took a little while, but José and I got him straightened out. He’s learned to trust us and not fear the starting gate. I can’t wait to see him race.”
“Really?” She turned to him. “You mean, you got him over his fear of the gate?”
“Yep, took some work, but he’s an outstanding horse.” He tapped his forehead. “Very smart. Once you get him past his fear, it’s almost as if he knows what you want him to do.”
“I’m not surprised.” She pursed her lips. “When I raced him against your mare, I felt as if he knew, somehow, how fast and how far he had to go to win.”
“That’s Stormy. Sometimes, I think he has horse telepathy.” He chuckled again and took her hand. “He’s quite a horse. I’ve entered him in a maiden trial on July fourteenth at the Retama track in San Antonio.”
She leaned forward. “You haven’t? You think he’s ready?”
“He’s more than ready. He’ll run those other horses off the track.”
“Oh, that’s so exciting!”
He leaned forward and brushed her lips with his, whispering, “As exciting as this? As exciting as us?”
“No,” she breathed. “Nothing could be more exciting than … us.”
“Good.” He touched his forehead to hers, gazing into her eyes. “Can I come to you, tonight?”
“I’d like to take a bath first.” She could feel herself flushing, knowing what was coming. Wanting it, but afraid, at the same time. It had been a long, long time, since she’d been with a man.
He rose and stretched out his hand, helping her up. “I’ll wait. Thirty minutes or so?”
She licked her lips. “Yes, that would be good.”
Chapter Nine
Thirty minutes later, Leticia sat on the edge of her bed. She’d bathed in rose-scented bath oils and put on an ancient negligee … from her days with Eduardo. She shook her head. She had to quit thinking about Eduardo. She was beginning a new chapter of her life with John Clay, and it wasn’t fair to make him compete with a ghost.
She ran her hand over the flimsy rayon—it was the only pretty and feminine thing she had for … sleeping. Usually, she slept in PJ’s, but for tonight, that wouldn’t do. Luckily, the negligee was a light blue color, so it hadn’t yellowed with age.
Waiting, she fluffed out her hair and arranged the folds of the flimsy negligee.
A knock sounded on her door.
She jumped up and pulled open the door, falling into John Clay’s arms. He wore a velvety, maroon-colored robe, belted at his waist.
He didn’t waste time with greetings, pulling her into the room and covering her with kisses. He nuzzled her neck. “Hmmm, very nice, you smell like a rose garden in full bloom.”
She shuddered, shivering with wanting, and running her hands over him. She opened up the V at the neck of hi
s robe, trailing her fingers over his muscular chest.
Their hands were everywhere, touching and searching. His mouth clinging to hers. They kissed and kissed, open-mouthed and hungry for more.
He pulled apart and lifted his head. Taking her hand, he led her to the bed, saying, “Let’s go slow. Okay? I’ve waited a lifetime for this moment. I want to savor every second, touch you everywhere, love you like I’ve never loved a woman before.”
Hearing his words and knowing how much he desired her, made her tremble with wanting him. But at the same time, in some strange way, his intensity, almost frightened her, making her as skittish as a newly-broken colt.
He helped her to sit on the bed and then he sat beside her, gathering her into his arms. And slowly, gently, almost as if he was worshiping a pagan goddess, he peeled away the layers of her negligee. At each baring of her skin, he kissed her and traced his tongue over her flesh. His attention to detail was making her so hot, she didn’t know if she could allow him to draw out the seduction, as he wanted.
He cupped her breasts and flicked his thumbs over her nipples. A shaft of pure, sweet lust lanced through her. She moaned into his mouth. And between her thighs, the old familiar achy pressure started. Her nipples pebbled and stiffened, begging for his touch.
Tracing his fingertips down her stomach and lower, her womb tightened and contracted. She inhaled sharply. Good Lord, she had to do something or she was going to come—just from him touching her.
She unbelted his robe. He was naked underneath, and she gasped. His erection stood at attention. He wanted her—that was obvious—as much as she wanted him. She touched him, running her hand over the silky smoothness of him. He thrust his hips forward, groaning.
He lifted his mouth from hers and said, “If you keep doing that, I’ll be done before we’ve even started.”
“I’m ready, more than ready.”
He touched her again between her legs. She was hot and wet. He peeled away the last vestiges of her negligee. Now he’d been infected with her urgency. And for that, she was glad.
