The Last Chance Ranch (11 page)

She came around a corner and found Ramón sitting on a sofa near a window. A tiny lamp burned on the antique table, and Ramón was washed gold with the incandescent bulb on the right, silver-gray from the window on his left. The fingers of light fanned over his high, clear brow, cascaded down his elegant cheekbones, danced on his generous, seductive mouth. Such a face, she thought, struck dumb once again.

He didn’t seem to notice her, and Tanya clasped her books to her chest like a schoolgirl with a crush. Her lungs felt overfilled, her body too tender for the clothes she wore. Intelligence and compassion and a sense of humor—all showed in the exquisite features, along with the alluring seductiveness. How had he managed to avoid marriage all these years? How was it that some determined female had not corralled him by now?

At the diner earlier, Tanya had said she did not want life—but she did. She wanted to dance and make love, she wanted to cry out with passion and chortle with joy. She wanted to bear another child and have another husband and—

Be young and live.

She was afraid, too. Afraid of the intensity of her nature and the combustibility of Ramón’s. He was genial, a generous man who would please almost any mother or matchmaker as a suitable husband candidate.

But Tanya was not the foolish sort of woman who mistook a kind man for a bland one. In his eyes was a fierce and blazing passion, carefully banked. He was a man who controlled himself rigidly and carefully, a man who kept his passions skillfully concealed, but she knew they were there. Waiting.

For her? She didn’t know and didn’t know if she wanted to find out.

A fleeting image of him, naked and close, gave her a momentary weak-kneed breathlessness. Embarrassed, she ducked her head and was about to turn away when he called her name in a loud whisper.

She turned.

“Come sit with me,” he said quietly, gesturing. “I want to read you something.”

On stiff legs, she moved toward him, creaking slowly down to perch on the very edge of the sofa next to him. “I only bite on Saturdays,” he said.

Bite—oh, that brought up some images! She clasped the books closer to her chest. “It is Saturday.”

“Ah, so it is.” He waggled his eyebrows wickedly. “Well, I don’t bite hard.”

A shiver goose-walked down her spine. “Umm, what do you want to read to me?” Her voice sounded odd in her ears, all breathy and soft.

He put his book down next to him, on the cushion between them. Outside, thunder growled over the sky, and rain pattered musically at the windows. Inside, the haunting Andean flutes floated through the room. Within Tanya’s chest beat a quick, fluttery pulse. It seemed impossible such tiny beats could circulate enough blood through her body, and as if to prove it, she felt a little light-headed.

Gently, he took her books from her arms and put them on top of his own, then shifted the pile to the floor at his feet. He moved closer. Tanya shrank away from him, overwhelmed with the narcotic scent of his skin, and the way the silver and gold light caught in the long strands of his dark wavy hair. Her heart beat faster, and to her dismay, she realized her hands were shaking. When he reached for her cheek with his fingers, she started violently, her gaze flying to his face.

He halted, then stretched out his hand again and lightly put his fingertips on her jaw. “I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do,
grillacita,
little cricket,” he said, his fingers moving lightly. “But I really need to kiss you.” His gaze touched her mouth, moved back to her eyes. “Will you let me kiss you, Tanya?”

She stared at him, wanting him and yet, so afraid. “Yes,” she heard her voice whisper. And again, “Yes.”

He opened his hand on her face, his fingers spreading to clasp her ear, his lean palm cupping her cheek. The touch was unbearably gentle, wildly arousing. To be touched at all was almost more than she could bear, and when he came closer, bending over to kiss her, Tanya panicked.

She put her hand up and stopped him, ducking her head away from him. “Ramón, no, I—it’s just—this is—” Rising terror bolted through her and she started to stand up.

Ramón let her go instantly, but caught her good hand. “Hey. You don’t have to run away.”

Tanya swallowed, feeling faintly foolish as the panic attack eased. It was Ramón here, sitting next to her, his thigh resting against her own, looking so sensually handsome. Hesitantly, she lifted her hand to touch his face. He didn’t move, just waited while she touched his jaw, his cheek, his chin. Beneath her fingers, his skin was warm and male, coarse where his light beard was shaved off his chin.

She looked where she touched, the fluttering pulse strong in her throat. He didn’t move, and she was glad of his patience, glad of the heat and calm in his liquid eyes. “It scares me to want anything,” she said.

“A kiss isn’t such a big thing.”

“Maybe not to you.” She traced the clean, straight edge of his jaw. “It is to me.”

Gently, slowly, he lifted a hand and smoothed hair from her face. “Not so much to win or lose, in a kiss.”

Tanya raised her eyes to his infinitely dark, infinitely patient gaze. Suddenly she remembered sitting next to him at a card table covered with layers of blue, green and white tissue paper while a Spanish band sang a sad ballad she didn’t understand, and wondering what it would be like to kiss him. The memory startled her—she must have repressed it, trying to remove any feeling of guilt she felt for that day.

Now, with small movements of her fingers, she urged him closer. Very slowly, he tilted his head and bent toward her. His breath, smelling faintly of the mint he’d eaten after lunch, brushed her face, warm and moist.

Their lips touched. His were full and firm, pliant and undemanding. Gently, he kissed her. Gently he moved ever so slightly closer, putting his hand under her hair. His thumb moved against her earlobe. She opened her eyes when he pulled back, and he met her gaze soberly, dipping to kiss her again. His hair curled around her fingers. His shoulder bumped her wrist.

It was only a dance of lips, a simple, warm exploration, and Tanya felt the terrible panic and tension leave her on a sigh.

Ramón straightened, his hand smoothing over her shoulder. “See, not so scary.”

Tanya smiled at him, warmed clear through. “It was just your astonishing presence that scared me.”

He laughed. “You made a joke.”

“There’s hope for me yet.”

“Oh, there’s always been hope for you, Tanya. Always.”

Tanya looked toward the window, a pungent ache in her chest. There were two sides to every coin life passed. Victor had been the dark side; Ramón was the bright. “I’m so grateful to you, Ramón. I don’t know how I would have survived all this without your help.”

“Was that kiss one of gratitude, then?” he asked softly.

“I don’t think so,” she said. “I don’t know.”

“I don’t think so, either.” He took his hands from her shoulders and leaned over to pick up their books. He gave Tanya hers to carry. “We should get back to the ranch.”

Tanya had the feeling she had disappointed him in some way, but she was not sure how. No, that was a lie. It was dangerous to start lying to herself. She didn’t have to share her feelings or observations, but she had to claim them, keep herself in touch with what she really felt. It was the only way to stay healthy and strong, able to cope with the changes her life had required.

Honesty. Clasping her books to her chest, she knew she had allowed Ramón to think she was expressing mere gratitude when she kissed him. Even more than allowing him to come to his own conclusions—she’d planted the idea.

It wasn’t true, of course. Her wish to kiss him had nothing at all to do with gratitude and everything to do with desire.

He undoubtedly knew that. She rubbed her forehead. Maybe that was where the disappointment lay—in her lack of honesty. A vague, formless guilt tugged her. Maybe she shouldn’t have allowed him to get so close. She shouldn’t have allowed her emotions to show so blatantly on her face. Maybe—Ramón stopped dead in the middle of a dark narrow aisle and turned around. With a suddenness that surprised her, he bent and pressed another kiss to her mouth. This time, his body touched hers, chest to chest, leg to leg. The kiss carried a strong edge of hunger. The insistent thrust of his tongue sent a sharp response through her middle.

“It wasn’t gratitude, Tanya. A million years ago, we were attracted to each other and we still are.” He put his forehead against hers and rubbed her jaw with his thumb. “It isn’t wrong, and it also doesn’t have to go anywhere.”

She looked at him. “I don’t know how to do that,” she said.

“Do what?”

“Be lighthearted about things like kisses and feeling attracted to you.”

He lifted his well-shaped head, and the devilish version of his devastating smile showed off his white teeth and made his eyes crinkle at the corners. He winked. “Stick with me, kid.”

Tanya only smiled. She doubted anyone could teach her to lighten up, but if anyone could, it was Ramón.

Dear Antonio,

It’s the small things that make you crazy. Like never going to the grocery store. I never liked it all that much, to tell you the truth, but right now it would be such a big pleasure to push a basket through the produce section and smell the onions and potatoes, see the pale green cabbages and dark kale and mottled butter lettuce, all piled up and dotted with silver water, reflected in the mirrors. I’d love to pick out peaches and put them in a bag to make a pound.

I’d love to examine packages of stew meat and pick out the best one, the one without too much fat. And I’d love to bring the groceries in and put them away on a stormy afternoon, knowing we were safe as I made tuna fish sandwiches and tomato soup. Little things mean a lot, Antonio. If you can focus on the little things, the big ones won’t hit you so hard.

Love, Mom

A
s they stepped out on the street, Tanya spied a Disabled American Veterans’ store on the corner, and remembered Zach’s ragged jacket. “Do we have time to stop in the DAV?” she asked.

“Money burning a hole in your pocket?”

Tanya realized he might not approve of her taking a personal interest in one of the boys. “I noticed this morning that Zach’s jacket is too small. I’d like to see if I could find him another one. Would that be all right?”

“Yes. Very much so.”

Inside, she made her way to the racks of boys’ clothes and flipped through the coats. “He seems very young to be in the program,” Tanya commented, tugging an army green surplus jacket off the rack. It was in good shape, but too small. She put it back.

“Zach?” Ramón took out a long black raincoat, and Tanya watched him put his hands on it, feeling it as he looked at it. “He was arrested sixteen times on petty theft and burglary. His mother kept him out of foster homes somehow or another, but she’d been doing drugs a long time, and died last spring.” He put the raincoat back and pulled out a jean jacket to show Tanya, rubbing the sleeve between his fingersas if to gauge the weight. “This one?”

She examined it, found the elbows nearly bare and shook her head. “Poor Zach.”

“He’s pretty angry, and doesn’t have a soul in the world on his side. It may be too late, but I had to try.”

“And what about Edwin? What’s his story.”

Ramón scratched his eyebrow before he answered. “Attempted murder.”

“And he’s at the ranch?”

“We don’t call it the Last Chance for nothing, Tanya. He’s a hard case, but a lot of them are. Chris Lansky didn’t attempt—he succeeded.”

“He’s only twelve!”

Ramón nodded. “There were extenuating circumstances, as they say, but all the same…” He shrugged.

Tanya pulled a dark blue jean jacket from the rack. It was the right size. “Edwin scares me,” she said. “I try to be calm and cool, and I’ve handled him, but in my bones, I know he’s dangerous.”

“I noticed that you’re uncomfortable when his name comes up.” He flipped through several boy-size coats and without looking at her, pursed his lips. “Did you agree with David this morning, that I was too hard on Antonio?”

“No, not at all. You did the right thing—violence doesn’t solve anything.” The jean jacket was perfect. Fully lined, without tears or badly worn places and a price tag in her range. “This will be perfect.”

Ramón nodded. “David is a good counselor, but he doesn’t always understand how hard some of these boys are. They’ve been living by the laws of the streets, which are life and death laws—‘one false move and you’re out’ kind of laws. They have to be given the same hard laws on this side.”

“Tonio hasn’t lived that way.”

“No.” Ramón looked grim. “But he’s always had a tendency to try violence first. A lot of boys do, but he’s got a brooding side. I want to nip it in the bud.”

“And he has to live by the same rules you’ve set for the other boys.”

“Some, but there is a difference. He isn’t in trouble—he’s a member of my household, and therefore has more freedom.”

They walked to the end of the aisle, and on wide shelves against the wall were dishes. Tanya paused to pick up a hand-painted china saucer, the edges rimmed with gold. The price tag was ten cents. “I used to collect these.”

He took the saucer from her and turned it over. “Why?”

“I don’t know.” She grinned. “Does anyone have a reason to collect strange things?”

“Good point.”

“They’re unique and beautiful—and even when I’ve been very poor, they were in my price range. I can have ten for a dollar, right now.”

“Or—” he bent and took a dinner plate that matched the saucer from a pile in the back “—you can have a matching set.”

“Perfect.”

For a moment, their eyes met, and a spark arced between them, gentle and powerful.

Ramón looked at his watch. “Desmary is going to kill us both if we don’t get back pretty soon. Come on.”

* * *

Tanya looked for Zach when she returned. From the foyer just inside the front door, she heard him in the kitchen, and leaving her purse on the table, headed down the hall. At the door, she paused. Zach sat at the table with Desmary and Tonio. The three of them sliced apples and dropped them in cold water for the cooking tomorrow. Dinner bubbled on the stove.