His Temporary Wife (6 page)

“Hey, Tom,” she said as the bartender fiddled with the karaoke machine. “You got Carrie
Underwood’s “Cowboy Casanova”?”

Tom’s eyebrow with its decorative skull ring shot up and he grinned slowly. “Oh, yeah,”
he told her.

Moments later, Esme stood in front of a cheering crowd, belting out the song about
a bad boy/cowboy—weren’t those the same? She moved as much as she could without losing
track of the music. She felt the song course through her like fever, heat her like
a lover’s touch—but hers wasn’t a blue-eyed cowboy, she realized. Darkly intense eyes,
broad-shouldered, lean-hipped, whispering threatening words like caresses … she could
almost see him on the stage, moving toward her as the music built to its climax.

“Esme! Stop!
¡Para!
”

She could hear her aunt’s frantic whisper. But she could see the crowd listening,
feeling the song—she didn’t want to stop.

So she didn’t, pouring out the last of the music and acknowledging the tumultuous
cheers and shouts from the crowd with more satisfaction than embarrassment. She was
amazed by the response, although, she reminded herself, her aunt had explained her
charm early on. What had she said back at the house when she asked for help?
New meat
. Better not get too full of herself just yet.

“Esmeralda Salinas, get off the stage,” her aunt hissed, looking around as if worried
by something. Or someone.

She waved a final time and headed for the side steps. “What’s wrong?” she whispered,
aware that her aunt seemed genuinely upset.

“You idiot!” she spat. “When I say something here at the club, I expect you to do
it. I told you to stop! And of all the songs you had to be singing—”

Esmeralda straightened and glared at her aunt. “Don’t you ever, ever insult me again,
Aunt Tina,” she whispered. “Because I’m nobody’s idiot.”

Tina’s face flushed with anger, but her tone was level when she answered. “If you
lost what you might have gotten,
querida
—let’s see what you call yourself! You should not have been up on that stage singing
that
song when Rafael Benton walked in.” She reached out and snared Esme’s wrist, the
metallic nails carelessly pressing into her skin. “He hates karaoke. He especially
hates that song—and there you were.”

And with those parting words, she stalked away, engulfed immediately by the crowd
of people that seemed to materialize around her.

• • •

Rafael sat in his usual chair, nursing a beer and wishing he were somewhere else.
This place was poison and had been since Cody died in an upstairs room. Poison or
drug; he was addicted to the sadness, apparently. A young woman walked past, showing
off her jean-sheathed rear, putting a little extra wiggle in and turning her head
enough to wink at him. Nice, but no.

He sighed heavily and downed the remainder of the beer in a gulp. No point in hanging
around here, listening to music that just kept punching him in the gut. Although …
his eyes scanned the crowd, finding her immediately. He’d come in as she finished
a pulsing rendition of a Carrie Underwood song Cody used to sing for Harper and he’d
more or less eyeballed her ever since. Even though he didn’t want to. Too bad she
was Tina Cervantes’s niece. He wouldn’t have minded throwing his hat in the ring with
the other yelling, stomping jerks in the room. He could compete for her, and he would
win.

He allowed himself the luxury of a smile. Confidence had come easily to him in the
past. Even as an unwanted kid shuffled from strangers to shelters to street corners,
he’d believed he’d win. He liked to think his confidence—or brashness, depending on
who was describing him—was the quality that the Bentons couldn’t resist in a ten-year-old
street kid. The quality that compelled the wealthy couple to adopt him and love him
as fiercely and unconditionally as any mother and father ever could love their children.

He drew in a breath and stood up. The game warden, Prince Jackson, still in his tan
uniform with its wildlife insignia on the sleeve, walked by and paused to shake his
hand. He’d learned right from the start that there were good guys and bad guys in
Truth, and PJ, his preferred handle, was one of the good guys. Too bad the game warden
was just arriving; he was leaving. He’d have enjoyed drinking a beer with the man
and chatting about his job protecting the native wildlife—anything but the loss of
his sister.

“Leaving so soon?” Tía purred beside him.

He knew that voice, the false honey dripping out of words meant to deceive. “Yes,”
he answered curtly, trying to step away from her, but she moved in front of him and
shook her head at him.

“You’ve spent four years trying to step around me, Rafa. Why don’t you get it? You
and I don’t have to like each other to use each other. To profit from each other.”

“The way you used Cody? The way you profited from her? Look, I don’t need this. I
don’t need you—”

“What if I told you I have the perfect candidate for you?” She batted heavily shadowed
eyes at him and reached out a hand to stop him from escaping. Her nails glinted silver
in the lights. He frowned. More like expensive talons than nails.

“Tell me tomorrow.”

“Okay.” She lifted a shoulder indifferently. “You were the one who said there wasn’t
much time. And tomorrow might be too late, because the candidate has other job offers.”

He stared at her, considering. He wished he hadn’t included her, but he knew that
she had contacts outside Truth, tarnished as many of them were. He couldn’t stomach
any of the hangers-on he’d known in Cody’s last troubled days. Surely she wouldn’t
dare suggest any of them.

“You know someone who meets all my qualifications? A serious prospect?”

“A perfect prospect.” Tía winked. “Ready to lose a small fortune?”

“You make this sound like you’re pimping someone,” he gritted. “You shouldn’t be so
eager for a payoff, Tía. I’d be a lot more inclined to listen to Lillie Mae or to
Brockton.”

Tía snorted and turned away.

“Who?” he asked, knowing that he had few choices and time really was running out.
If he were going to be happily married—or at least legally married—before his parents
returned, he had to find an acceptable wife. Chris and Alice would see right through
him if he married in front of them.

Tía faced him again, triumphant. “My niece,” she said. “Esmeralda.”

After the third time she hurled aside an outfit and looked for something else, Esmeralda
had to admit to herself that she was nervous. Which infuriated her, because nothing
unnerved her. She hadn’t felt so jittery and apprehensive since … since her mother
found out about her first serious boyfriend, Toby. She pressed her eyes closed momentarily.
Old news, Toby, and the pain no longer bit, but in a way, their doomed relationship
had become the foundation of the life she’d lived ever since.

Defiantly, she went to the closet and jerked out a celery-colored sheath with a plunging
neckline and shimmied into it. An hour until she had to present herself at this place
called Witches Haven on Death Curve, and damned if she’d be late—or nervous. She’d
met Rafael Benton and if he’d uttered a threat, real or imagined, she didn’t see how
it could have been directed at her.

In spite of her aunt’s insistence that the opportunity of a lifetime was just ahead,
she also didn’t see how she could work for a man she’d much rather have a fling with
and forget. He’d unnerved her, those dark eyes boring into hers in the mirror at Tía’s.
He’d loomed so large, his presence so close, that she’d thought at first he would
slide his hands over her shoulders and pull her back against him. Not the behavior
she’d expect, but there’d been a daredevil air about him, a hardness and recklessness
that …

“Esmeralda Salinas, you’re full of it!” she hissed at herself, looking into the mirror,
glad that Rafael didn’t lurk there to feed her lunatic fantasies. The man got under
her skin and made her want him, but there was nothing other-worldly about that. And
she’d be very unlikely to wind up with whatever job he was trying to fill, so … screw
everything.

She put on her favorite earrings and dawdled over a necklace. She fingered her prettiest,
a delicate gold chain holding an ornate cross with emeralds. A present from her mother
on her fifteenth birthday, she seldom wore it, because she knew her life wasn’t what
her mother had intended when she gave the necklace. Sometimes she thought of the chain
as a curse, meant to embarrass and shame her whenever she stepped over the thin line
her mother tried to draw in the sands of moral behavior.

Laughing at herself, she snatched up her favorite necklace, a clunky fashion piece
with oversized amber and brown beads pieced together with leather. The colors went
well enough with green, she supposed, and the gift from an ex-student she’d counseled
always boosted her spirits.

She snatched up her purse and hurried downstairs.

Andy sat in a rocking chair on the porch, ear bud attaching him to his ever-present
music, and shot her an indifferent glance as she passed.

“Off to the devil’s lair?” he asked as she reached the bottom step.

“The devil’s lair?”

“Oh, I know the townsfolk call it Witches Haven,” he said, nodding sagely. “The man
who built it—twenty years ago or more, I guess—called it that.” He smiled and winked.
“The parties, you know? But that dude that owns it now, he’s no witch. The devil,
that one. Mad as hell about what happened to his baby sister. You might want to be
careful, Esmeralda Salinas.” The words issued out in a strange tone that raised the
hair on her arms.

“Why should I be careful, Andy?” Esme demanded, aware that Andy still would rather
see her gone than here, although she didn’t know why he disliked her.

“I hear Benton wants your aunt gone—or dead,” the watchman said, still rocking the
chair and swinging a foot. “I bet she’s glad I decided to come down here from Chicago
with her. Good luck with the devil,” he added, and closed his eyes in dismissal.

• • •

Even in the broad daylight and looking for the place, Esmeralda could see how she’d
missed it those times before. Death Curve started out as an innocuous bend, although
there were speed warning signs with their contorted arrows. But the steepness and
the “s” part of the curve took a driver by surprise, and strangers undoubtedly would
keep their eyes glued to the turns. Up on her left, a hill loomed, a little higher
than most in the immediate area.

Untrimmed cedar, so predominant in the Hill Country, stormed up the hill, quilting
in dull green with patches of brown where weather or disease had claimed a tree. The
growth was so dense that the hill itself seemed dark and unwelcoming.

The house on the hill—not at the front of the summit, but set back, with a dark rock
fence shielding part of the view—was even darker. Unlike so many of the rock homes
in the area, the house appeared built of very dark timber, treated perhaps to prevent
decay, but providing a fort-like façade that made no effort to be inviting.

The drive itself began several hundred yards beyond what seemed to be the front of
the property and Esme almost missed it, having to brake sharply and then wait as an
annoyed biker scooted around her, scowling her way.

“Sorry,” she muttered, not any happier than he apparently was about the poor design
of this place.

The drive climbed the hill gradually, the view on both sides consisting only of cedar
and underbrush, and then she broke out near the top, onto a gentle, terraced slope
dotted with neatly tended rock gardens and ornamental plantings. Off to one side,
an intricate path of rock led into a series of fish ponds and gardens, all created
from the abundant Hill Country stone, and she could see benches scattered around among
the pools, with water lilies blooming in the sun in the nearest ones.

The change in scenery couldn’t have been greater, and she slipped carefully out of
the truck cab and walked a few steps closer to take it all in.

Bet it’s something else in the spring
, she thought, imagining the bluebonnets covering all the cleared acreage and lining
the edges of the walk.

In the sunlight, with flowers all around, the hulking structure lost its air of malevolence.
By the time she approached the steps again, she was the same professional woman who
had never been rejected after a job interview. She might not accept, but she knew
she could make Rafael Benton offer her his job, whatever it was.

She put one foot on the bottom step and stopped short at the boom of thunder announcing
her arrival. In synchronized majesty, two fawn Great Danes rose from their places
in the sun and turned dark, curious gazes her way. Apparently these were not killer
watch dogs; they stood like stones after sounding the initial warning. But they were
big
, and just marching up to the door seemed a little foolish.

Before she could muster her nerve and do just that, the door swung open and an attractive
woman, a few years older than her, peered out. “Luc! Chief!” she scolded, and the
two dogs wagged their tails and retreated a few steps.

The door opened, and the woman walked out, holding out a hand and offering a smile
that bordered on annoyed.

“You must be Ms. Salinas,” she noted. “I’m Marie Thompson, and I run Witches Haven
for Mr. Benton, who is waiting for you.”

Esmeralda frowned at the curt, overly proficient brunette, wearing jeans and a clingy
top that made her look emaciated. “Waiting? My appointment isn’t until—”

“Twelve,” Marie finished. “I know. Perhaps I should say he is ‘expecting’ you, then,
but he’ll be glad that you came early.” She smiled mirthlessly. “Always better to
get business over with, that’s Mr. Benton’s motto.”

Well, don’t I just feel welcome
. Esme followed the woman’s hand-wave into the house and looked around the cavernous
living room as a prickle of apprehension came back. The woman wasn’t friendly—was
she involved with her boss? Esmeralda had encountered the veiled hostility often enough
in the past when someone was worried about a man straying. She’d gotten tired of it,
in fact, and given up trying to reassure women who disliked her on sight.