His Temporary Wife (12 page)

Rafael wasn’t answering, though, and his smile was gone. Had he changed his mind?
He’d told her that he didn’t particularly want her because of his relationship with
Tía. He’d said that his parents were coming in a few weeks. Did he plan on being married
by then, or marrying when they came? Either way, if he actually went through with
the madness, he didn’t have much time to look.

“Rafael?” she prompted, not wanting others to notice—or get close enough to hear their
discussion.

“You caught me off guard.” He flexed his arms. “Let me walk you to your truck. I saw
it when I came in and it’s way in the back.”

She nodded and waved goodbye to Angel and Tom, who were standing near the bar, talking.

“You don’t have a purse?”

“Didn’t need it. License in the truck, keys in my pocket. I travel light.”

“I guess that’s a good thing. You’re okay to drive?” he asked, as she clicked the
fob to turn on the truck and unlock the doors.

“Why wouldn’t I be? I haven’t had a drink since Lillie Mae sort of dared me to.”

He chuckled. “I bet she didn’t say ‘dare you,’ though, right? She just sat there and
drank her morning beer and you figured you needed to make her blink.”

“Smart ass,” she muttered. “So … are you still interested in me taking the job, or
have you decided to move on?”

“It’s one in the morning and I know we’ve both been up since at least ten, Esme. You’re
not at all tired?”

“I am, but …”

He maneuvered around her to pull her door open, passing so close that he brushed her,
although she didn’t think he meant to. “Let’s call it a night,” he suggested matter-of-factly.
“We’ll probably both think better tomorrow.”

“You’re assuming a lot,” she retorted. “Tomorrow I might not be living on adrenaline
and thinking I can do anything.”
That sounds a lot like the old Esmeralda. Not who I planned on becoming when I left
Rose Creek.
She lifted herself into the seat and closed the door, then rolled the window down.
“When and where would you like to meet?” she asked.

“Do you fish?”

“Excuse me?”

“Fish? We could go to the lake, spend some time trying to catch a fish. I never have,
there, but we could try. And we could talk.”

She leaned her head out the door to gauge his expression. “Is this a test?”

“Why would you think that?” His face fell a little. “You don’t fish, do you?”

“No, not recently. But I can go watch you fish.”

“Good. It’s peaceful there, Esme. There’s this shady spot with boulders. We can talk
without anyone interrupting.”

“How do I get there? I’m new in town, remember?”

“Why don’t you go over to Witches Haven around nine and we’ll just take one truck?”

He frowned at her hesitation.

“Sure,” she said, finally. “Why not? Bring food, water, and the dogs. Oh, and whatever
you need to fish with.” She grinned and put the truck in gear. “Oh, and move,” she
added. “Just in case I run over your feet or anything.”

He laughed, but moved back anyway, making a show of checking his feet.

“Idiot,” she murmured, glancing in the side mirror and seeing he was still standing
there, watching her leave. But then she thought of the immediate surge of desire she’d
felt at the sound of his throaty chuckle, and knew she was the idiot.

• • •

Esme couldn’t help smiling a little when she saw the back seat of Rafael’s truck.
He’d covered both seats with sheets, and the dogs took up the entire space. The bed
of the truck held all the things the cab couldn’t—fishing gear, ice chest, folding
chairs, a canvas heap he told her was for shade—enough stuff, she thought, to survive
being lost in the woods for a week.

Not that that would happen, she reminded herself. But she thought she’d moved fewer
belongings from Rose Creek to Truth than he was taking for a few hours fishing.

And interviewing her, she reminded herself.

He saw her grin at the overload and smiled, too. “You wouldn’t believe I’m an accomplished
world traveler, would you?” he admitted.

“Why do you need all this?” she asked, careful not to actually link herself to him
or anything he had planned. Just business, that’s what today was.

“Honestly?” He slanted a glance at the truck. “You’re the one who said to bring the
dogs and food. The fishing gear—well, we needed that, right? Besides,” he added, with
a slight shrug, “I’m practicing for when Justin comes. You’re supposed to over-pack
for kids, right?”

“I don’t have kids,” she reminded him. “Packing for them usually doesn’t come up in
my line of work.”

“Right. We’re late. The fish get up a lot earlier than we did. Let’s go.”

They climbed in to the cab, and when both Danes reached over to greet them, Rafael
reprimanded them. They obediently turned away to their respective windows, and Esmeralda
couldn’t help being relieved. She really didn’t know why she’d told him to bring the
dogs; they were gorgeous, but they’d already started drooling. At least with them
along, he’d have to watch them and his fishing. Less time to focus on her. She, on
the other hand, could ask him the questions for which she needed answers.

The road to the lake was like the road she’d come into Truth on: narrow and dug between
high banks of clay and rock, with trees perched awkwardly sometimes. When she wasn’t
driving a horse trailer, they didn’t seem nearly as formidable, though a car careening
around a curve partially in their lane elicited a curse from Rafael as he swerved
farther toward the shoulder to avoid it.

“I’d been going to suggest you talk, but maybe not,” she murmured. “Does everybody
come back from the lake in that big a hurry?”

“Not everyone. The scary ones are towing boats, though. Twice the chance of getting
hit.” He didn’t say it with real concern, though, so she relaxed against the seat.

“I don’t know why I said we should talk again,” she said. “I still don’t think …”

“You still think I’m crazy,” he finished for her, and she saw his dimples slash across
his cheek. “Maybe I am, but if it’s crazy for my family, it doesn’t embarrass me.
You’re not seeing anyone?”

The question caught her off guard and she blinked, but answered levelly enough. “We’d
established that, hadn’t we? I wouldn’t be talking to you if I were.”

“There’s a reason I asked again, Esme. If you were … wouldn’t your parents prefer
you married, or would they be okay without the formalities?”

“My parents.” She fell silent briefly. “Yes. They’d prefer marriage. But they’ve pretty
much given up on me.”

He turned to look at her, surprised, and this time an oncoming driver leaned on the
horn as he moved too near the middle of the road. “Are you close to them?”

“We talk. I visit now and then. But …” She didn’t finish. “One of my plans when I
moved here was to start mending fences. Thought as I spent some time with my aunt,
I’d find out more about my mother.” She looked out the window at the wall of rock,
clay, and cedar crawling past as Rafael braked for a sharp curve. “I’ve never understood
why my mom and aunt aren’t closer than they are. I’ve always wished I had a sister.”

“I was lucky,” he said, as they suddenly came out on a cleared parking area overlooking
the lake. “I have parents who never gave up on me. And when I had a sister, she and
I were close.” He parked and turned to her. “Let’s get set up down by the lake, and
then we can talk.”

He opened his door and slid out, then turned back to grin at her. “Quietly. We will
talk quietly, or I’ll never catch anything here!”

The dogs bounded out the moment he opened the door, but stopped obediently and waited
while he clipped leashes on them. Then he handed her the leashes with a grin. “You
wanted them. You babysit.”

Drat
. That hadn’t been in her plans.

“And I can control these things?”

“You can control a horse, right?”

“Mostly. And one at a time.”

“Quit whining,” he ordered good-naturedly. “If they try to run into the water, though,
don’t let them. We don’t want to scare—”

“The fish away. Got it.” She headed down toward the water’s edge, comfortable that
her tennis shoes wouldn’t slip, but a little uneasy about actually controlling the
dogs if they decided to chase something. Sure, Domatrix was bigger, but she was usually
calm and well-mannered. These giants could drag her half a mile before she got them
stopped.

They behaved halfway down to the water, walking so obediently that she dismissed her
worries and relaxed her hold on their leashes. Only, Rafael clearly hadn’t been joking
about their love of the water. A few yards away from the edge, both dogs suddenly
bolted, catching her completely off guard, and raced straight for the calm water.

She shrieked, startled, then hung on for a step or two, but the vision of winding
up face-down in the lake and spending the morning around Rafael in a wet T-shirt made
her let go of both leashes, flinging them away from her just as one of her feet went
under water. Unrestrained, the dogs bounded about, barking and splashing. Their joy
was contagious, and she laughed at them.

“Oh, no!” Rafael said. “They’re in the water.”

“Surely you can get them out,” she reassured him, then looked at him. “So … how long
it does take for the fish to calm down?”

“You’re serious, aren’t you?” he asked. “Fish don’t ‘calm down.’ You’ve really never
gone fishing?”

She looked out over the lake. She didn’t want to answer, but she’d come to talk, hadn’t
she? “My fiancé and I went fishing at South Padre right before he left Laredo for
the Army.” She managed a faint smile. “We never got to the beach.”

He made a noncommittal sound and unfolded an expensive chair, with cup-holders and
a padded seat. Then he whistled the dogs out of the water and removed their wet leashes.
While he was working, he asked, “Did you ever marry?”

He couldn’t see her, because he was still trying to untangle fishing line that had
tangled around a leash, but she shook her head. “No. He never came home from Afghanistan.
The trip to South Padre was the last time we were together.”

That brought his head up. “I’m so sorry. Are you still in love with him? Is he why
you never married?”

“How do you know I never married?”

“Well, you’re not married, not dating …” He carried the tangle of line over and tossed
it in a trashcan, then came back. “I just assume he must be the reason.”

Esme stopped searching through her beach bag for her iPad and tilted her chin. “Just
for the record, I loved Toby, but I went through hell for that. From the first time
Toby got me home late, I was called a tramp, a slut, a whore. Since I got labeled
anyway, I don’t think you could say I’ve been carrying a flame for Toby. When I think
of him, I’m sad that he lost his life. Maybe we would still be together, but really,
who is? There have been a lot of men in my life since Toby. A lot. And I enjoyed them.
I’m not apologizing for that, got it?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said immediately, picking up a fishing pole. “Do you know how to
cast this?”

“Cast means throw, right?” When he turned, startled, she laughed. “No, I don’t know
how to cast, and yes, I know what the word means.”

“Look. Hold it like this—one-handed. You can steady the line and hook if it distracts
you,” he added, noticing the face she was making at the synthetic worm hanging off
the hook. “Then draw it back and to the side, depending on where you want the lure
to go, and just let it rip.”

Let it rip?
Esme watched attentively, but only thought to look where the lure landed when she
heard the splash and saw water ripple near a stand of reeds growing a fair distance
away from them. She’d been entirely too captivated by the taut muscles under his shirt—the
movement from his shoulder outward along one muscled arm stole her breath and her
attention.
Show me again?

She dug a heel into the damp ground and bit her lower lip. She couldn’t be caught
swooning over someone she’d just told about her abilities in bed, could she? She’d
exaggerated, but the gist was, she had enjoyed the men she’d dated. Women who disliked
her on sight and some of the men she had refused to date created an image and a reputation
she didn’t try to correct: a woman unafraid to be sensual. Unafraid to seduce and
move on.

“Here.” Rafael handed her the pole, and picked up another, this lure fish-shaped and
glittering in the sun. “Variety’s the key,” he said innocently enough, and cast his
line out beyond hers. “When we pull them in, we’ll have to be careful. Otherwise,
there’ll be a tangled mess.”

Again, the play of his muscles working so easily under the thin shirt mesmerized her.
They stood there quietly for a moment, if not in silence. The big dogs panting nearby,
the shrill scream of some distant birds, and the far-off hum of a motorboat or Jetski
filled the day with its own kind of music.

“So, you named your horse?”

The question came out of the blue and the pole slipped a little in her hands.

“Uh … yes. Yes I did. Problems with the name?”

“No.” He jerked on his line suddenly, then began reeling it in. “I just don’t know
what Domatrix means.”

“You’re kidding, right?” This time, the pole slipped completely out of her hands.
“You’re a man, for starters, educated, you travel, and even if your mom and dad are
the nicest, tamest people in the world …” She broke off, shaking her head, but staring
at him in disbelief.

“Domatrix was a present from Toby when he left Laredo. He had a car a friend of his
really wanted. He knew I wouldn’t go home after I’d run away to be with him. So he
sold the car and bought Domatrix for me.” She sighed, remembering. “Not a great gift
since I was working a few hours at the mall and going to school. But one of my friends
agreed to keep her if she could ride her now and then.”

“So the name?”

“Well, you saw her. Those long black stockings.” She’d never told anyone where her
horse’s name came from before, although she used it once or twice as innuendo when
she was trying to impress someone. She shrugged and said with a slight twinge of embarrassment
she rarely felt, “We were … kind of crazy then. He said she’d always remind us of
how it was … and that anyway, she would always control who rode her.”