His Temporary Wife (2 page)

The back door opened, letting her into a brightly lit food-preparation area. She could
smell oregano-spiced
menudo
simmering on a stove and hear the sound of someone humming from somewhere unseen.

“Hello? Tina? Anyone home?” Esmeralda called, reluctant to go any deeper into this
unknown place and startle someone, or set off an alarm. She moved a step or two farther
along the island, and stopped short, her attention snared by the mirrored back of
the door separating—she supposed—the club area from the kitchen. She brushed at the
strands of hair that had come loose during the drive—light auburn hair made darker
by the dampness from heat and drive-induced stress. Her breath caught suddenly in
her throat as a figure loomed behind her, light glinting off almost-black hair, brown
eyes spearing her own in the mirror—a formidable, unexpected stranger.

But surely this person wouldn’t have just walked in if he didn’t have that right.
Apprehension dissipated with the logic, and she turned and held out a hand, hoping
it wasn’t as damp as her hair.

“Hello. I’m Esmeralda Salinas, Tina’s niece.” His brows went up slightly, as if her
introduction surprised him. Did he know her aunt, then? He didn’t look like a delivery
man, in his Western shirt, creased pants, and polished boots.

Her parents had called Tina some awful names, in Spanish and English. The kindest
thing Esme could remember hearing from her mother was that Tina “liked men.” Could
this man be her partner? The names, and the possibility of a man or men in her aunt’s
life, didn’t bother her. Lord knew she’d been pegged, usually by other women, as everything
from a tramp to a whore. None of the labels were true, but she never disclaimed them—gossips
wouldn’t change their minds and she didn’t care. But her aunt might not appreciate
her deciding to just drop by and say hello, taking her up on that long-standing invitation
to come any time.

Esme ignored the misgivings. If her aunt didn’t have room or time for her, she’d hang
around a day or two and move on. She had a degree, a few dollars in the bank, and
absolute confidence in her own abilities.

The man still hadn’t answered. She arched her own brow. “And you are?” she prompted,
with a tinge of sarcasm.

His head moved back slightly, almost as if he weren’t used to being challenged. Then
he smiled and took her hand. “Rafael Benton.”

Her hand tingled under the firm pressure of his, but she ignored it. She’d come to
Truth to find herself again, not a man. She’d committed a professional blunder back
in Rose Creek, toying with a six-year-old’s emotions because she wanted the little
girl’s father. One could argue that she hadn’t done any real harm, but she expected
more from herself. Always.

He released her hand and took a step back, but she could swear he was looking at her
left hand.

Did he wonder if she was married? Was he thinking about striking up a conversation?
Finding a way to ask her out? He’d better not be involved with her aunt, then. She’d
been burned more than once thinking a man was free. Or giving herself free rein to
pursue men who weren’t available, figuring it didn’t matter to her if their own women
couldn’t keep them from straying. Never again, she vowed.

He didn’t toss her compliments or suggestive lines, though, just peered past her at
the door. “You caught me by surprise. Tía never mentioned having a niece.” He seemed
to think that would hurt her feelings, judging from momentary awkwardness in his quick
glance her way. “Not that we’ve spoken often.”

The humming stopped and Esmeralda heard something fall, followed by a brief curse
in Spanish. Then a woman emerged, her apron spattered, but her thin face changing
from annoyed to pleased as she greeted Rafael.

“Rafa! How are you?” Then dark eyes turned her way and Esmeralda sensed immediate
suspicion.

“Yes? May I help you?” she demanded, wiping her hands on the sides of her apron.

“I’m Esmeralda—Esme Salinas. Tina’s niece.”

“Her niece—oh.” At least this woman, who clearly worked for her aunt, didn’t seem
surprised that Tina had a niece. Startled, maybe, but not surprised. She walked over
to offer her hand to Esmeralda, giving her a polite nod. “I’m Angelica Morales, but
your aunt calls me Angel.” A slight smile lightened her expression. “Tía says a place
like this in a town like Truth needs every angel it can get.”

“She isn’t wrong about that,” Rafael Benton muttered and both women shot him a glance.
He shrugged and added, “You should know, the place I live is called Witches Haven
by the locals.”

“Rafa,” Angel scolded, her face troubled. “Why would you even repeat such gossip?
Hasn’t there been enough trouble in this town without helping it along?”

His lips tightened and his chin tilted, making him look angry and a little intimidating.
“The trouble isn’t with a house on a hill, Angel. We both know that witches had nothing
to do with this town’s personal slide into hell.”

The bitterness and darkness of his words bothered Esmeralda more than they should.
“Well, it was nice to meet both of you,” she said robotically. “I’ll come see Tina
later. Do you think she will be in later, Ms. Morales?”

“Tía comes in every day. Mostly.” She glanced at a decorative clock on the wall. “About
an hour, I imagine. She always comes in to check before we open at four. You can wait—”

“No, thank you. I have a horse with me, and I need to get her unloaded. I’ll drop
by in a while.” She nodded briefly and left.

She had her hand on the doorknob when she heard Rafael’s voice, low and fierce, as
he whispered to Angel, “I’ll kill her.

Twenty-five minutes more of twisting Hill Country roads and fingers knotted around
a steering wheel brought Esmeralda to a small piece of land with a modest, well-kept
home and a miniscule shed encircled by an equally tiny corral.

“It’s perfectly safe, ma’am,” the landowner assured her, his weathered face creased
into lines of weariness. He hitched up his overalls.

“I thought you had a closed stall, Mr. Peterson,” Esmeralda protested, hating the
feeling that turning him down would hurt him financially, but not willing to leave
her mare here in the middle of nowhere exposed to any bad weather that might blow
in. She couldn’t see any hazards in the corral, and the fence looked sound, but …

“Lillie Mae had her horse here after she fell,” he added. “Six months. Wintered here.
I closed up two sides of the shed and he was just fine.”

“Yes,” she said gently. “I spoke to Ms. Wilson, remember? You sent me her name as
a reference?”

He looked puzzled. “Lillie Mae complained about me?”

“No. She told me you’d been wonderful, taking care of her horse for free after she
broke her hip. “But—” She shrugged and waved a hand at the small area. “My mare just
wouldn’t have enough room or shelter here.”

“Well, then, good luck to you, Miss Salinas.” He scratched his chin and looked thoughtfully
at the trailer. “Might find a place over at the Double Block Ranch. Not a lot of places
would board a horse around here. Unless—” The sun-browned face brightened. “If you
have kin—”

“I do,” she acknowledged. “But my aunt Tina wouldn’t have a place for a horse, I don’t
think.”

His brow knotted. “Tina? Small town, and we know pretty much everyone here, but I
don’t remember …”

“Most everyone calls her Tía, I think.”

His puzzlement disappeared. “Oh, that’d be Tía Cervantes. Nice lady. But we never
heard about you.” He shrugged a little. “Well, if you want the truth be told, she’s
kind of standoffish to some of us. But I’m sure she’s a nice lady anyhow.”

He turned at the sound of an old sedan laboring its way along the drive, and his whole
face lit up. “Connie’s come home,” he explained. “My wife works down at the Longhorn
Bait and Wait store over at the lake.”

Connie came toward them, her frame thin like her husband’s, her steps a little slow,
but a huge smile of welcome on her face. “Hi, there,” she greeted, walking right up
to Esme, pecking her cheek, and hugging her. “Y’all’d be the lady bringing the horse
to stay. Emerald—” She stopped herself. “No, that’s not right. It’s Spanish, right?
For the same thing?”

Esmeralda smiled, liking this couple who were already more accepting of her than many
folks in Rose Creek had ever been. “Don’t worry. It means the same thing. If you’d
like, you can call me Esme.”

“So, are you about to take your horse out?” Connie asked hopefully. “I love horses,
but can’t ride anymore. Even if we could afford to, I couldn’t. Hurt my back last
year, and I’m not real well.”

“Ma, Esme don’t want to hear all our troubles. She’s changed her mind—wanted a little
better place for her horse.”

Connie’s face fell, but she gave Esme a brave smile. “Sorry to hear that dear, but
of course you want the best for your horse.”

Esmeralda looked around slowly. The place wasn’t luxurious, but seemed safe. Besides,
if for some reason she didn’t stay here … she breathed a little prayer under her breath
that this wouldn’t be a mistake. “Actually, Mr. Peterson—”

“Irving, ma’am. Call me Irving. We don’t stand on formality.”

“Irving, if you don’t mind, I think I’ll leave her until I get settled. You did hold
the place for me.”

Irving’s face broke into a wide smile. “Well, you won’t regret it. If you move her
later, that’s fine. And if you want her to stay, I could fix up the shed. Build up
the walls so she’d be nice and warm.”

“Let’s wait on that, though,” Esmeralda encouraged. “I need to see what my long-term
plans are. I’ll let her out now, if you don’t mind.”

“Can’t wait to see her!” Connie walked over to a spot by the small corral and waited,
her face full of expectation.

Esmeralda drew the pin on the trailer and let the ramp down, then eased in beside
the mare and backed her out, hearing the gasps of admiration from the Petersons.

“She’s beautiful! Never seen a prettier Appaloosa,” Connie declared, clasping her
hands together almost in applause.

Esme smiled. This must be how parents felt when their babies were complimented. Domatrix
did attract attention with her stocky conformation, glossy blood bay coat, and rump-covering
blanket of white, with its explosion of bay and black spots.

After unclipping the mare’s lead and rubbing her ears, she watched as Domatrix inspected
her new surroundings, then returned to head butt her affectionately. Connie came over,
her hand held out.

“Okay if I make friends with her?” she asked, and the mare turned around and head
butted her, too, then snuffed at the stranger’s cheek.

“Looks like she’s fine with it.” Esmeralda grinned.

“What’s her name?”

Right. Her name.
There were times she wished she’d chosen a tamer name, that Toby, her fiancé, hadn’t
goaded her to choose the name she’d given her. “Domatrix.”

The couple’s face didn’t change. “What a pretty name,” Connie crooned. “I bet you
call her Trixie for short, right?”

“Ummm … I usually use her whole name, but I don’t mind if you call her that,” Esme
offered. She looked around. “I’ll unload the food and get her watered. Then I need
to go into town. I’ll be out first thing in the morning.”

The Petersons nodded absently, both busy fussing over her mare, who seemed to like
the couple far more than she did most strangers.

A few minutes later, Esmeralda pulled open the door of the truck, wishing it were
the Corvette she’d sold before packing up and leaving Rose Creek. At least she could
leave the trailer for the moment and the sun was still high in the summer sky. Surely
she’d have an easier trip back.

She hoisted a leg to swing up when she suddenly remembered the words Rafael Benton
had hissed at Angela. “I’ll kill her.” Why the words returned so abruptly she didn’t
know, but she shivered slightly. Maybe she’d misheard him. And “her” could be anyone,
couldn’t it?

“Mr.—Irving, do you and Connie know someone named Rafael Benton?” she asked curiously.

“Hmph! Can’t say I know him, but I know about him,” Irving answered, face full of
displeasure. “One of those rich city bigwigs come here to ruin the town.”

“Irving Peterson, shame on you! Judging a man on nothing but rumors and gossip,” Connie
said.

“Well, he lives at Witches Haven,” Irving snorted. “Can’t be a godly man alive who
would live there.”

“Witches Haven?”

“Now don’t you pay no mind to that,” Connie ordered. “Just a name someone gave this
house on a hill, cause it’s built so secretive and so dark.”

“Looks like the devil’s place,” Irving put in.

“Sounds weird,” Esmeralda noted, climbing in and fastening her seatbelt.

“Surprised you didn’t see it,” Irving continued. “You drove right by it about a mile
from here. It’ll be on your left on the hill as you go around Death’s Curve.”

“Colorful,” she muttered, then nodded at the Petersons and backed out.

She’d left Rose Creek after a kidnapping and fire had ended a dog-fighting ring—something
she would never have expected to find in such a small town.

Yet here she was in Truth, hearing a muttered death threat from a man who lived in
a place called Witches Haven. On Death Curve
. Yeah, right
. The irony amused her most of the way back to Truth, and by the time she remembered
to be on the lookout for the sinister-sounding place, she’d driven right by. She shook
her head and turned the radio up a little louder, blocking out everything except the
music that always sustained her.

• • •

I’m crazy.
Rafael Benton slouched in a plush chair in Tía’s private upstairs office, and methodically
closed and opened his fingers, a habit he’d had since he’d run wild on the streets
of Laredo, a child without a home or hope. Sometimes he’d used those fists, often
to his own disadvantage. Small and undernourished as a child, he knew he was a lot
more intimidating now than he’d been then. He didn’t mind; there was protection in
strength, real or perceived.