Beauty and the Brit (4 page)

Vivid turquoise paint adorned the walls in Bonnie’s room at the back of the house. Posters and magazine pictures of celebrities formed most of the artwork. On the wall over her bed, however, were the horses—posters of prancing, dish-faced Arabians, a fanciful winged horse with a star-studded background, and a unicorn with its head in a maiden’s lap.

“You don’t have an Arabian horse, do you?” It sounded like she might ask for his autograph if he did.

“Unfortunately, no. I have two rather naughty thoroughbreds and two warmbloods.”

“Warmbloods?”

“A cross between normal light horses and heavy draft horses,” Rio answered, standing in Bonnie’s doorway, a cross between a proud sister and a rabbit ready to bolt.

“Right,” he said, pleasantly surprised. “There are many warmblood breeds. I have an Irish Draught and a Hanoverian.”

“That’s so awesome,” Bonnie said.

“Little girls in the city wish for horses, because we can’t have them.”

“Show him your horses, Rio.” Bonnie crossed the room. “You have an awesome collection.” Rio shook her head. “Come
on.
” Bonnie took Rio’s hand. “You should be proud of them.”

“Bonnie, he doesn’t care.”

“She has, like, a hundred Breyer horses. You know them?”

He knew of them. His mother had collected similar molded horse statues, much to his father’s bemusement. Why had she needed fakes when she had real ones down the garden path? It was impractical. And practicality had almost been a religion in their home.

“I haven’t got a hundred—” Rio mumbled.

“You don’t need to—” he said at the same moment.

“But you have the really rare one,” Bonnie persisted.

“Aw, give us a look then,” he teased. “I’ll have tunnel vision—only what you want me to see.”

“Whatever.” Rio sighed.

Across the short hallway she flipped on the light and ushered David into her room.

He had a hard time keeping his promise not to take it in. Rio’s room, a pale, paint-chipped blue, was less coordinated than Bonnie’s. The double bed’s four posts were spindly and old-fashioned, and her nightstand was simply two wooden produce crates, painted and stacked one atop the other. The open range theme continued with a stunning eight-foot-wide panoramic poster of horses grazing beneath a mountain range.

Above her bed hung two prints of cowboys leaning muscled and shirtless against stall doors and hay bales. They were the kind of cowboys he doubted actually existed—but, then, what did he know from cowboys?

Another wall held a neatly arranged collection of eight horse portraits, all palominos, the largest one of a stereotypical wild stallion, standing vigilant on a sunset butte with his flaxen mane and tail fanned in the breeze.

“If I were ever lucky enough—that is what I’d get.”

“Accept no substitutions?” He winked at her.

She actually laughed. “Well, around here you can’t charge for substitutions. People would go broke.” Her smile faded. “That was a restaurant joke. I work at a restaurant.”

He had a feeling it was more than a joke. She’d likely settled for many substitutions in her life.

“Honorable work. Underappreciated.”

“But, look, look. This is the cool stuff.” Bonnie bubbled like a teapot and turned him in place to face an eclectic assembly of bookcases and shelves nestled against the wall opposite her bed. A stereo system took up one large shelf, but true to Bonnie’s promise, the rest of the space was filled with model horses. Dozens of them in every color and pose. Prominently displayed in the middle was an orangey-brown stallion on a wooden stand, its regal head straight up and alert. A western saddle adorned its back, and slender brass chains created draping reins.

“He’s really old,” Bonnie the de facto tour guide explained. “Our grandmother found him at a garage sale for only two dollars. Now I think he’s worth a couple of hundred.”

“So the story goes,” Rio added, her full soberness back in place.

“He’s quite something.” David peered at the figure. “And it’s an impressive collection. How many do you have?”

Rio considered a moment. “Maybe eighty,” she said. “Only a half dozen were bought new. The others came from thrift shops or garage sales. I don’t collect them for the value. And I’ll never sell the old guy so I don’t care what he’s worth.” She gave the little orange horse a stroke along the neck. “One of my sillinesses from childhood.”

“My mother collected model horses, so I don’t think they’re silly. She still loves hers.”

Bonnie threw her sister a hip bump. “Told you he’d be impressed.”

“I am. You’ve made a warm and personal home here,” David said. “Chase said it came from your parents.”

“From my mother’s side,” Rio acknowledged.

“Rio calls it our nest egg, because we’re going to sell it when I’m done with high school. We’ll own it totally then because there are only ten payments left.”

“Bonnie!” Rio stared in obvious dismay at the personal revelation.

“But it’s an amazing plan.” Bonnie ignored her sister’s consternation. “After we sell it, we’re moving out West and having all our own horses. We watch the ads for land all the time. Rio’s been planning it forever. Haven’t you?”

A new flush spread across Rio’s cheeks.

“That’s not something you go blurting out,” she admonished. “Some things are private.”

Young Bonnie had a few underdeveloped social filters, although not a mean bone as far as David could tell. Nonetheless, if the plan was true, it was impressive.

“It is a good plan. It takes intelligence and patience to plan your future.”

“It’s a someday plan,” she replied, her tone factual and unemotional. “We’re lucky to have this house, so even though it could be a ticket out of the city, I don’t want to misuse it.”

“You’d like to leave the city?”

“Sure. Leave and never come back. Some day.”

“So the Western landscapes on all the walls were a clue.” He smiled.

“I guess it would be silly to deny it.” She swung her attention back to Bonnie. “It’s late, you little blabbermouth, better make sure your homework is done. Traumatic night or not.”

“And”—David took his cue—“it’s time for me to leave you ladies to it. You’re obviously quite safe here. I can go back and tell Chase you’re tucked in.”

He wasn’t sure what this micro-insight into Rio Montoya’s world revealed about her: strength, courage, vulnerability for a start. And the dreams of horses and moving West added a further level of attraction.

“Thank you,” she said at the front door. “It was nice of you to get us home.”

“My pleasure.”

“It was nice to meet you!” Bonnie was the first to offer her hand.

A residual chill transferred at her touch as it dawned on him what had almost happened to this bright little bird. For all she’d grown up in the same place as her sister, she was so much more innocent and wore an unspoiled air Rio didn’t possess. He looked back to Rio’s steady, unemotional gaze.

“If you ever have a wish to visit the horses, you’d be welcome at my place. Kennison Falls isn’t that far away—an hour and a half drive, perhaps. Plenty to do there. See what stable work is like, take a ride perhaps. Test out that good plan of yours.”

He stopped, aware he was not only channeling his pathologically hospitable mother but on the verge of sounding like an infomercial. Bonnie’s face broke into a grin. Rio shrugged with wistful pragmatism.

“That’s very kind of you. In many ways, though, an hour and a half might as well be four days.”

He nodded. In truth, it would probably be better not to mix his world with hers. He couldn’t think of two more opposite places.

“The offer stands. It was lovely to meet you both.”

“Will you come back to Crossroads?” Bonnie asked.

He smiled. “I come to the cities now and again. Meanwhile, you stay out of strange cars, right, love? Even if good music’s involved?”

She smiled with a touch of, but not nearly enough, self-consciousness. “I will.”

He looked back to Rio and, again, had an urge to protect her, despite the fact that she wanted no protection. “Stay safe.”

Her smile was far more sardonic than her sister’s. “Somehow, I always do.”

Three minutes later he pulled from the curb and watched the Montoya sisters’ porch light fade in his mirror. She’d gotten to him, the stoic and protectively sarcastic elder Montoya. She was not like any woman he’d ever found attractive before.

Not that he’d ever see her again. Still, he hoped with all his heart his gut fear for her was nothing but the last wisp of those old ghosts.

Chapter Three

T
HIS HAD TO
be a nightmare.

Rio stared at the chaos around her and tried to make sense of the voices. So many voices—rendered into dissonant babbles and shouts by the hiss of the fire monster that had awoken her twenty minutes ago. Like a dragon, red and black, evil, crackling, belching smoke, it devoured her life before her eyes.

No. That was wrong. Their lives were intact. She’d gotten Bonnie out safely. Paul wasn’t home. She’d rescued her cell phone and her ancient laptop. She’d gotten the fire department here in good time and given them all the information they’d asked for.

She swayed on her feet watching her home burn and told herself their lives were all that mattered.

Held back from the disaster by a snarl of fire hoses and swarms of efficient firefighters, there was nothing more to be done except stare in disbelief at the flames devouring the roof. She didn’t even know what time it was. She’d paid no attention to the clock when the thick veil of smoke had choked her awake.

Bonnie sat on the boulevard grass beside her, shivering despite the thick blanket given to her by one of the firemen. She stared, her eyes wide but expressionless.

The horror did mesmerize. Their house had stood ninety years in this spot, and Rio had done her best to keep up the one material thing her mother had left in her care. It wouldn’t spontaneously combust. This fire could not be an accident.

Pajama-clad neighbors gawked and murmured in little groups. Few of them had approached her. Neighbors didn’t get too close since Paul and Hector had grown so attached.

Hector.

He wouldn’t. Even he can’t be that evil.

She let her head fall forward into her palms. Oh God, this could not be happening.

“Rio? Bonnie? Girls, are you all right?”

She recognized Chase Preston’s troubled Southern drawl before she saw him. Before she could answer, Bonnie released a cry and jumped to her feet, throwing herself into Chase’s arms with a sob.

“Aw, honey, honey, I know. But thank God you’re both out here.” He locked her into a safe embrace and caught Rio’s eyes. “Are you really okay?”

“Yes.”

No.

Then she saw David. The world around her slowed for a few blessed seconds while her stomach took an unexpected dive for her toes. He stood behind Chase, the concern in his eyes blazing to match the fire. It seemed like mere moments since he’d been standing in her room and Bonnie had blurted out their life plans, giving him possession of secrets she’d never told anybody. Because she’d never thought to see him again, she’d let the embarrassment go. At his surprising appearance here, she felt even more vulnerable than she had four hours ago.

“Rio.” He spoke into her ear, and she blinked, unsure how he’d moved to her side without her noticing. “This is shocking. I’m so awfully sorry. I’m sure it’s too early yet for authorities to know what happened?”

The direct question calmed her. She appreciated him not asking again how she was.

“I don’t know. I . . . I have a suspicion, but only because of what happened earlier.”

“Do you think your brother was involved?”

That question took her aback. Paul? Even if
Hector
was involved, Paul’s friendship would never extend to something this vile.

“No.”

“Good. Perhaps one suspect eliminated.” He allowed a gentle, bittersweet smile, which she recognized as understanding.

“It wasn’t an accident.”

Saying so out loud for the first time ripped through the layer of numbness protecting her from her feelings. Tears of anger and the first edgings of fear welled in her eyes. Averting her gaze, she swiped the moisture away.

“Aw, it’s all right, love. Didn’t you only just tell me how much of your future is wrapped up in this house? You’re allowed to cry. It’s not weakness.”

His accent touched her, wrapped around her heart with less formality than earlier, but calm drifted further from her reach. Was she so transparent he could see how to obliterate her control with a couple of understanding words?

Shit.

She didn’t do physical displays. She needed to follow her instincts and shove him away, buck up, and take care of her crisis. Instead, she didn’t even object when he wrapped his arms around her the way Chase had done with Bonnie. Her tears won, and she sobbed.

For a minute it was a relief—to let him shore up her wobbly knees and his broad chest to obscure the sight of the fire. To weep for things she was losing as she stood there. David didn’t move except to tighten his arms. He didn’t speak or use his power to take advantage of her, but power was what he had. Power to surround her, insulate her, let her believe it wasn’t her fault she’d lost control.

His scent dulled her fear like anesthetic. His chest, rising and falling beneath her cheek, pulled her focus from the disaster and put it on him. A thought crept insidiously through her brain: she could hide within this stronghold for a long time and get used to it. The very idea slapped her back into reality. She didn’t know this man. To let him take away her fear and her focus was dangerous—fear and focus were her only weapons.

Drawing self-control back around herself like a cloak, she slipped from his embrace and crossed her arms tightly around her middle, covering the flimsy T-shirt she wore as pajamas. As soon as she had escaped his embrace, however, she found she had no desire to escape his presence. Even without the drugging fog from his scent and his touch, he exuded calm protection.

Chase placed a hand on her arm.

“We don’t need to stand here and watch, honey. We can go back to Crossroads and wait. The police can come talk to you when the fire is out.”