His Temporary Wife (28 page)

“Stay a little longer. One more beer. Let me tell you a story about how your husband
and I met. Maybe you can remind him …” He got up and walked to the bar, coming back
with the promised beverages.

“Here.” He handed her one, and took the other. “Cheers.”

She nodded curtly, but didn’t raise her drink. Her cell phone buzzed suddenly, and
she looked. Beto’s number. She didn’t answer, but when it kept ringing, she started
worrying. Maybe her parents—her aunt or uncle—needed her and couldn’t call. Maybe—

“Excuse me,” she said, standing. “I need to take this.” And she wouldn’t take it in
front of a stranger who knew her brother.

She could hardly hear his voice, and she walked around the room trying to improve
her connection. When the number faded from the screen, she closed the phone. “I’ve
got to go.”

“But your beer,” he protested. “You didn’t touch it. I wanted to tell you—”

She didn’t sit down, but she lifted it, sipped it, then pushed it away. “Thank you,”
she said, and left.

Her truck was halfway down the block, but the distance kept seeming to lengthen. She
felt sluggish and tired, but she’d slept well the night before. She turned to look
behind her. Fear made her skin prickle as she thought she saw Beto move into the shadows
of a stone column by one of the buildings. What could Beto be doing still in town?
Rafael said he’d given him bus fare home.

She couldn’t help the sudden suspicion she felt. Maybe Bounty wanted to break up the
marriage early. Maybe Beto wanted to mete out some further damage. They might be two
of a kind, out to hurt her, hurt Rafael—hurt Justin. The scandal they could cause
by making her appear to be pursuing Bounty, just days after the wedding, might be
something they’d do out of sheer hatred. She tried to walk faster, but her legs wouldn’t
cooperate. Across the street, the door opened as customers came out of Rosita’s Restaurant.
She didn’t know the woman, but the other was the game warden—PJ. Even through the
dizziness trying to cripple her, she remembered that game wardens were certified peace
officers. She held her arms out a little at her sides trying to keep her balance.

“PJ!” she called, as if he were her new best friend. “PJ, I want to ask you …” His
momentary confusion disappeared and he started toward her, smiling, but she saw him
looking around carefully, his head moving imperceptibly as he spotted something.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“Wobbly. I think maybe the beer I was drinking had something in it. I didn’t drink
much …” She swayed.

“Someone might have been following you,” he said softly, motioning towards his companion,
who had stopped several yards away.

The woman who had been with him came up, and nodded at Esmeralda, though she looked
annoyed. “I feel dizzy,” Esme explained, “but …”

“Let’s get out of the sun. I’m Reyna.” She supported Esme as they climbed up a sloping
walk and stopped under an awning.

Behind them, PJ had disappeared, and came out minutes later walking beside Beto.

“He says he’s your brother,” he told Esme, and she shook her head. “No. He’s my cousin.”

“We’re family,” Beto whined. “You owe me—tell the officer the truth. You’re my sister!”

“Please,” Esme said softly. “Please—can you make him leave? I don’t want to drive
yet.” She knew she sounded shrill. Panicked. But she couldn’t help herself. “If I
have to be here with him … no. I won’t.” She tried to move away, but stumbled and
stopped.

“Didn’t your husband pay for a bus ticket for him?” PJ asked.

When Esme looked surprised, he chuckled.

“Yes, I know,” she agreed, weakly and without humor. “This is Truth.” She took another
faltering step before turning back. PJ and Reyna flanked Beto, effectively keeping
him there. She wouldn’t run. “What were you and Doug planning, Beto?” she demanded,
her dry throat making her voice hoarse. “Were you going after me or Rafa?”

Beto’s hate-filled face twisted in a leer. “Prove we were doing anything, cuz. You
were working on a little affair with the man your husband hates most in the world.
I was just walking down the sidewalk. Stopped to take a leak, and this gorilla grabbed
me for no reason. I’ll sue,” he spat.

She’d never felt so sick, but it wasn’t the drink. Her head pounded, but most of the
dizziness was gone. The nausea and the weakness threatening to swamp her like a tidal
wave, dragging her under and away forever, came from Beto’s hatred and contempt.

“Thanks, PJ and Reyna. Everything’s gone but a headache.” She waved a hand at Beto.
“I—I don’t know what you can do with him, but I can’t be here. I need to go.”

“Don’t worry about him. You shouldn’t drive. Maybe Doc Roberts is in.”

“No need.” Esmeralda brushed at her hair with her fingers and took a few experimental
steps. “See? I can walk again. I have to leave, PJ. I don’t want to see him again.
Ever.”

In the end, she didn’t drive home. PJ called Rafael, who insisted on taking her to
the clinic to have blood drawn. PJ alerted the sheriff’s office, who went off to the
Silver Dollar. Everywhere eyes watched her, and conversation buzzed around her. She’d
never manage to be free of scandal, even when she was supposed to be the hero. Not
only hadn’t she talked Doug out of pursuing Justin, she’d bet money someone had overheard
the exchange about being Beto’s cousin, not sister. Soon her sorry story would be
all over town. The mother who didn’t want her, but claimed a stranger as a daughter.
The woman who’d married for money and couldn’t even succeed at that for two months.
The one thing Rafael had asked her to do was stay away from Doug, and she’d blown
it.

Dejected, she moved one foot after another, doing what she was told. That was easier
than thinking. PJ’s friend offered to drive Esme’s truck home, and Rafael insisted
she ride with him.

“Why, Esmeralda? How could you have done the only thing I asked you not to do? Sitting
at a bar drinking with that—that bastard.” He shook his head. “I expected more of
you.”

After that, neither of them spoke until they got home.

“There’ll be cell phone pictures and gossip,” he said, stopping her when she moved
to unfasten the seat belt. “There’s no getting away from it.”

“If there’s no getting away from it, then there’s no need to talk about it.” She pushed
his hand away and unbuckled the seat belt. “I’m sorry, though, Rafael. Believe it
or not, I thought just once I’d be the good guy.” She smiled faintly. “I’m not up
to dinner.” She slid out and made her escape, still on unsteady legs.

Rafael never came upstairs. She waited for him, wanting to explain, wanting him to
understand that she hadn’t done it out of pride or stubbornness. She’d really thought
maybe there was something to Doug’s claim that the Bentons just couldn’t accept his
love for Cody. She couldn’t quit thinking about Beto’s phone call, followed by Doug’s
insistence that she drink another beer. What could he have wanted? To spite Rafael,
maybe? Be caught in some public display with the enemy’s new bride? Or had Beto been
the ringleader, wanting—God knows what he might have wanted.

She glanced at her clock. Almost two in the morning, and she was alone. They hadn’t
risked sharing the bed since … since the night they’d risked their hearts and made
love. But he’d always been next door. She’d spent hours hoping he’d knock. Or just
open the door. He never had, but now, knowing the room next door was empty chilled
her.

Early the next morning, she got up and dressed, then went downstairs. The whole family
seemed to have disappeared, although Connie greeted her warmly and offered her breakfast.

“Connie, where is everyone?” she asked.

“The Bentons left. They took Justin back to Houston.”

“Why?”

“I wish I knew. Broke Rafael’s heart, and when they left—he took off somewhere. I
don’t know where.”

“Thanks, Connie.”

“Do you really want to know what happened?” Marie asked.

“Yes.”

“Your brother tried to press charges against Rafael. He keeps telling the sheriff
that Rafael paid to have him beaten up. “

“No one can believe that.”

“No. But it harassed Rafael just enough to make him snap. Your brother started mouthing
off about you, and Rafael hit him—in front of the deputy who was just about to let
him go. They didn’t arrest him, but you know a lawyer will get him for everything
he can.”

“And Justin?”

“The Bentons got worried about all the gossip and talk going around and thought they
should take him home.”

“This is Truth. There’s always gossip.”

“Well, not like this. Someone started saying you told Bounty you’d sleep with him
if he’d just agree to let the Bentons keep Justin. Said you pretending to be drugged
was just part of an act to keep Rafael from going off and killing someone.”

“Nobody can believe garbage like that. There were blood tests.”

“Look,” Marie said with finality. “I don’t think half the folks here believe any of
the stuff they hear—but they repeat it and spread it and butter it up. Rafael’s the
joke of the day, with a philandering wife a few days after the wedding.

“And to make it worse—someone let slip that you and Rafael married for money.”

“How—who could have known that except you?”

Marie shrugged. “Funny how you can take pictures of documents and share them with
a whole town, isn’t it? See you.”

• • •

Esme was packed by the time she heard Rafael come up the stairs. He walked into the
room, and her heart broke. He looked so tired. And so broken. Losing Justin must be
destroying him. Maybe he’d go home to Houston. Nothing could hold him here in this
town of lies and bitterness.

“What …?” He looked at her neat piles of suitcases and boxes.

“I can’t stay, Rafael. How can I? I did the one thing you asked me not to do, and
Justin’s gone. My aunt and brother will keep trying to use me against you until …
they won’t stop.”

“I can deal with that, Esmeralda.”

“You shouldn’t have to.” She walked over and laid her palm on his cheek. “You kept
me from falling apart when I found out who I really am. Thank you.” She stepped away,
picking up one of the boxes. “I need to leave Domatrix for a while. I don’t know where
I’m going. But I can’t stay here where all the lies will destroy us, Rafael. Marie
told me a photo of our contract came out.”

“No one but Marie could have done that. That’s easy to fix.”

“For you, maybe. You fire her, and everything’s fine. What do I do the next time I
face your parents, Rafa? What? Whether you called it a job or a marriage, I didn’t
love you when I agreed to marry you. What does that make me?”

“The woman I love.”

She blinked away tears.

“No.” She shook her head and caught his hands, trying to make him understand. “Rafael,
we haven’t been together long enough to love each other. And even if we had, I can’t
let my family harass and push and poke until they break us.”

“Toby didn’t break, Esmeralda. He went off to find a way to be with you—to be with
you always. I want the chance he didn’t have.”

Esmeralda’s throat constricted and she couldn’t answer. She just turned again to pick
up a bag, but he pulled it out of her hands and tossed it aside.

“You sat with me in Laredo, and I told you about the little girl I lost—the girl who
was like my sister. There was this huge hole inside me after I lost
Pioja
. And then I had Cody, and I lost her. Don’t walk away, Esme. Don’t be the wife I
love and lose.”

“I’m not sure I’m worth the risk you’d be taking,” she whispered.

“Could you love me?”

“I do.”

“Then that’s worth everything,” he murmured and let her pull him close.

Leslie P. García grew up here and there, spending much of her childhood in rural Georgia,
and virtually all her adult life in deep South Texas. Married and surrounded by children
and grandchildren, much of her writing touches on family. A passion for animals, a
twenty-year teaching career, and the strange twists and turns that life can take have
provided more stories than time to write.

His Temporary Wife
is the second in the Texas Heart and Soul series. Watch for Jade Brockton’s story
in the future.

Leslie loves to hear from readers, and can be reached at all the electronic haunts:

E-mail:
[email protected]

Facebook:
www.facebook.com/LeslieP.Garcia

Twitter: @LesliePGarcia

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Aaron Estes stood at the window, one hand pulling back the drapes to clear his view.
Outside, clouds hovered along the horizon, but he doubted it would rain.

Someone from town— Ross something? —had stopped by earlier and offered to do work.
The handyman had scoffed at the chance of rain. “Always cloudy,” he’d grumbled. “Never
rains.”

Aaron had shrugged and told the man politely that he didn’t need help. And he didn’t—at
least, not physical help. Spiritual help, maybe, mental health—the kind of health
that comes with peace and contentment. The kind of health he’d probably never find
again. He closed his eyes and listened for any sound of six-year-old Chloe waking,
but heard only silence. Unwelcome memories tried to push in, and he pressed his lids
tighter against his face, unwilling to give in again to the pain.

The memories came anyway: the loud, angry words of a marriage shattering. The cheery
morning greeting from the one thing he and Stella still shared—a tiny, precious miracle
of motion and light.

Chloe’s loud kiss and plaintive complaint when her mother tried to leave without kissing
Aaron goodbye hovered near the surface. He could still feel Chloe’s huge kiss on his
cheeks, hear the petulance in her voice when her mother tried to step around them.