His Temporary Wife (21 page)

He nodded, said goodbye to both of them, and hurried off, leaving them alone.

“See you around,” Esme said, but Marie held out a hand in a placating gesture.

“Wait, please.” She looked embarrassed, but forced a smile. “Esmeralda, Rafael told
me my job depended on treating you the right way.”

“I didn’t ask him to.”

“No, I know.” She rubbed her hands together nervously. “I don’t know why I behaved
that way, and I promise I’ll do better. And I wanted to ask a favor.”

“Okay.” Esme waited, trying not to tap her foot on the ground.

“My parents are semi-invalid,” Marie confided. “Luckily, I make enough here that I
can pay for help when I need to work late. Mostly I rush straight home, but tonight
I really would like to go out.”

“Okay,” Esme repeated, hoping she wouldn’t be asked to stay with two people she didn’t
know and whose daughter she didn’t really like.

Marie blushed. Bright red, for no apparent reason.

“There’s this guy,” she added.

Oh.

“He’s a country singer—Esmeralda, you have to see him! He’s gorgeous, and he’s got
this voice …”

“What’s his name?”

“You might not have heard of him. He’s just breaking in. He’s playing at the Silver
Dollar tonight. That’s …”

“I know. The place next to the Silver Boot and Booty and down the street from my aunt’s.”

“Anyway, Bounty Collins is playing there!” Marie almost squealed with excitement.

“Who?”

“You haven’t heard of him?” Her face fell. “You will soon. He’s been in Nashville
but he’s making one last trip through Texas before he goes back for good.”

“Okay. And the favor?”

“Go with me tonight. I’ll buy you a drink or—whatever. We can grab dinner if you want.
We can get to know each other.”

Esme considered the invitation. She didn’t think she could be friends with Marie.
But if Marie was infatuated with some up and coming local singer, so much the better.
Marie couldn’t moon over Rafael if she were mooning over someone named Bounty Collins.
So she smiled. “My aunt won’t like me going there instead of Tía’s, but I’ll tell
her I was checking out the competition. What time do you want to be there?”

“Nine. Would you like a burger or something first?”

“No, I’ll just meet you there, Marie. I need to run some errands first.”

“Thanks,” Marie repeated, her whole face glowing. “I’ll walk you back to your car.
Did you know that Bounty writes songs, too?” She chattered on all the way back to
the drive, and Esmeralda just sat in the quiet of the truck for a long moment before
she turned it on, relishing the silence. She could only hope that Marie’s adulation
for Bounty would strike her speechless while they were at the Silver Dollar. She wouldn’t
be able to stay sane if she were subjected to such prattle.

Esme walked carefully over the floor of the Silver Dollar, aware that a number of
male heads turned her way and the room was crowded enough that she might bump into
someone if she weren’t careful. She finally spotted Marie at a table not too far away
from the stage and waved. Marie beamed at her and jiggled in her chair, full of excitement.

Esme sat down at the table with a smile, amused at the transformation. Sober and professional
in their former meetings, Marie looked years younger and years happier in her skin-tight
mini-dress and stilettos. “You really like this guy Collins?” she asked, sitting down
with Marie.

“I met Bounty last week! I actually met him. Can you believe he told me to come tonight?”
Marie gushed. “What do you want to drink?”

Esme ordered a margarita and sat back, listening to the laughter and noise around
her and thinking about Rafael. Would he have objected to her coming here? Surely not.
She tried to focus on what Marie was saying, but every other word seemed to be Bounty,
so the gist was, the girl was in love.

A burst of applause and Marie’s mouse-like squeak of excitement accompanied the bar
owner, a former country singer himself, as he announced the appearance of “country’s
next big star, Bounty Collins.” Applause and a few whistles greeted the introduction.

Esme turned her attention to the singer who walked out. Spangled, fitted western shirt
and jeans with embroidered boots and a white cowboy hat. Blue-eyed and blond—the man
she’d seen walk by the window that night she and Rafael had eaten at Rosita’s and
she’d gone to Tía’s afterwards. The singer flaunted a bit of swagger and plenty of
good looks. Good for Marie if she’d already met the guy. She probably hadn’t had much
time for herself with the demands of taking care of invalid parents and earning a
living.

Bounty strummed his guitar and sang a few bars of an Alan Jackson song, then introduced
his band members. He played well enough, and his voice was okay. But the presence
wasn’t there. He covered songs listlessly at times, and Esme didn’t think he showed
any genius with a couple of songs he had written. Before his first break, she was
ready to leave and head for Tía’s. Or home. Leaving Marie alone so quickly seemed
rude, so Esme stayed, hoping that she’d be able to sound convincing if she had to
compliment Marie’s crush.

While Bounty encouraged everyone to support the bar and have another round while the
band took a break, Marie reached over and grasped her hand, squeezing it tightly.
“Do you think he’ll come over … look … he is!”

Esme reached over to pat Marie’s hand, hoping that the woman wouldn’t pass out.

Bounty walked up, and this time he tipped his hat and nodded. “Marie, you look beautiful,”
he told her, leaning over and pecking her cheek. “Thank you for coming to see me again.
I know you told me it’s hard.”

Then he turned to Esmeralda. “Well, hello, gorgeous!” He leaned over and kissed her
nearer the corner of her lips than her cheek, then pulled out a chair and straddled
it. “Marie,” he said over his shoulder, “thank you, thank you!” Then he turned back
to Esmeralda. “When and where?”

Esme saw Marie’s face freeze, then turn scarlet. Embarrassment and anger, probably,
and she couldn’t blame the other woman a bit.

She pushed her chair back. “Thanks for the compliments, Cowboy, but I’m engaged.”

She saw Bounty glance at her finger. “The first ring wasn’t expensive enough,” she
explained. “Marie, I’ve got to run now. Bounty, if it hadn’t been for Marie, I wouldn’t
have had the pleasure. Better take care of your number one fan!” She waggled her fingers
and walked out, furious at the way the singer had behaved with Marie. Now how would
she mend fences with Rafael’s assistant?

She glanced back at them, and could tell they were arguing about something. That seemed
odd. Did Marie have enough of a claim that she could reproach him over coming on to
another woman? A country honkytonk probably wasn’t the best place to find a man who
wasn’t a player. She frowned. She was sure Marie had said first that she didn’t know
the man, that she just wanted a chance to meet him—and then Marie had mentioned that
she already knew him. Maybe she’d just misunderstood. What possible reason would Marie
have had to lie? Mentally shrugging it off, she decided to drop in to Tía’s.

She opened the door to see a trio of regular customers belting out “Whose Bed Have
Your Boots Been Under” and doing Shania Twain a huge injustice. The poor woman would
want at least an apology if she ever saw this. She waved at them as she walked over
to claim a stool, looking around and seeing neither her aunt nor Angel.

“Where’s everyone, Tom?”

He didn’t answer, turning around to set three full beer mugs in front of their owners,
then wiped his forehead with a bar towel and tossed it aside.

“We don’t even have that many customers and I can’t buy a break.” He peered at her.
“Hey, can you serve drinks as well as you sing?”

“Oh, no.” Esme smiled at him. “Speaking of drinks, can I have a glass of water with
lemon?”

“Wimping out?” He brought her the water before turning back to take an order from
the waitress who came in some Saturdays.

“Yeah, but I only slept an hour or two last night. My aunt and Angel are both gone?”

“Tía didn’t come in again today. Angel called and talked to her, then she started
feeling bad and …” Tom shrugged. “I told her to go home, but she insisted she’d be
back in a bit. She’s a hard worker and one good woman to have around.”

Tom’s tone expressed sincere admiration, and maybe a hint of something more. The idea
of Angel and Tom being in love amused her, although probably they’d chosen their prospective
romantic partners badly. Her smile faded away. She’d chosen hers for money. Not exactly,
but certainly Truth would think so. If not now, when Rafael and she just turned and
walked away from each other.

“You look glum,” Tom noted. “Hey, that’s not the look for a woman in love to be wearing.”

“You heard?”

Tom hooted. “If anyone in Truth hears, everyone hears. That’s why it’s called Truth.”
He gave her a wink and turned to wait on new customers, and she climbed down from
the stool, carrying her water, and wound up at a table by the window again.

The boisterous trio who had been singing up on the stage without benefit of Tom’s
help suddenly came rushing over. “We wrote you in! Come on, girl!”

“Night off. Besides, I’m a married woman now.”

“Engaged,” one of them protested.

“And that’s the same thing. I’m spoken for, guys. Go away!”

“Aw, hell, Miss Esme. We’re not disrespectin’ you or your man. We just can’t hit those
high notes like ol’ Billy Ray.”

“What’s he got to … oh, no. I will not—not—do ‘Achy Breaky Heart.’”

They didn’t listen, just caught her hand while the customers around who had heard
her sing before started chanting, “Esme, Esme, Esme!”

“Someone will get my table—”

“I’ll watch it,” one of the clerks at the local grocery store said, grinning. She
waved at the three other women with them, and they left their husbands to take over
Esme’s table.

“One, and I finish my drink and go home.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Esme saw Angel, wan and preoccupied, come in and whisper
something to Tom, then give him a gentle shove toward the karaoke machine. A few seconds
into the song, Esme admitted to herself that she loved moving with the song while
she sang, stomping and shaking and hitting the notes the men had complained about
without any trouble. She almost gave in to the shouts for an encore, but when she
glanced at the bar, Angel looked worse than before, and Tom had gone back to serving
drinks to some much thirstier customers.

“Angel, are you all right?” she asked, and the older woman nodded. “Don’t worry. I
think I just let my sugar and pressure get messed up. I’ll be fine. Once the crowd
thins out, I’ll leave.”

“Have you heard from Tía?”

“She answered the phone at the house but just hung up on me.” Angel took a glass Tom
handed her and took a sip, wrinkling her nose. “These kids don’t know how to make
lemonade,” she muttered. “He’s more likely to kill me than cure me.”

“I think I’ll head home,” Esme said reluctantly. Facing her aunt tonight wasn’t something
she wanted to do, but she hadn’t seen her all day. Hadn’t her aunt even wondered how
the trip to Laredo with Rafael had gone? Or how her own sister was doing? The old
hurts started winding their way up to strangle her heart and mind again, but she wouldn’t
let them. More than ever, she’d make a go of her summer job. She could do it to help
Tía and salve her own soul. Eventually, maybe she’d even try to understand her mother.

She walked over to finish her water.

“Hello, gorgeous,” Bounty Collins said, so close that his hot breath brushed past
her ear.

The glass fell out of her hand, spilling its contents all over the laminated table
top.

“Oh, man, I’m sorry.” Bounty stepped around her and swiped ineffectually at the ice
and water spreading out to the edge. The ladies who had moved when Esme came back
leaped up with handfuls of tissue and paper towel they dragged from their purses,
and Tom came rushing over with a towel.

With everyone working on the table, Esme turned indignantly to Bounty. “How dare you?
What made you think you could come in here to my aunt’s place and fall all over me
when you treated Marie like you did?”

“Calm down, calm down.” He pulled a chair back. “Sit down for a little.” He smiled
and nodded at everyone and thanked them, and they wandered back to tables. “Look,
pretty woman, Marie’s sweet, but she’s just someone I met. She knows I’m not interested
in her. Now you …”

Anger pulsed through her, and she fought an impulse to slap him just for Marie’s sake.
But she’d attracted enough attention. She fought back the urge to grin when she thought
of Rafael, off in Houston, probably thinking she was home alone, asleep.

“You have five minutes,” she muttered, and sat down. “And you owe me water with a
lemon twist.” He stalked over to the bar and came back with a beer and her water;
watching him walk towards her, she could see why Marie was in love and a number of
women in the club were all eyes. He was nearly as tall as Rafael, with muscled arms
and a chest that stretched the denim of his shirt. Not long ago, she realized, he
would have been her dream man, a fantasy to chase. If he led others on and discarded
them, well—their loss. Tonight he just repulsed her.

“What did you want, cowboy?”

Before he could answer, Tom suddenly came up to the table. “Excuse me a minute, Esme.
But, look dude, you know you’re not supposed to be here. So when you finish your chat,
go.”

“Tía would be glad to see me,” he told Tom. Then he turned his back on the bartender.
“Look, Esmeralda, I’m sorry I was rude. You know how it is, the adrenaline, the crowd—and
you gotta admit, you’re a knockout.”

She shook her head. “Give it up. An ass is an ass. I doubt you treat anyone better
than poor Marie. And besides, I’m engaged.”

“I don’t see a ring,” Bounty noted.