His Temporary Wife (5 page)

“Your …” Angel seemed to hesitate for a second, then continued, her tone weary. “Your
aunt dislikes pictures. Clutter, she calls them, and she always says an uncluttered
life is a free life.” Angel shook her head. “Well, she says that. Most of these pictures
are hers, but she told me I should take care of them for her. She’s not easy to figure
out, I’ll tell you that.”

“But freedom is important to her, isn’t it?” Esme folded her arms against her chest,
warding off the chill of the air-conditioning humming softly in the background. “Even
as a child, I remember she’d never stay.”

Angel nodded. “I’ve known her for over ten years now. She doesn’t stay anywhere. But
she claims the club is her last stop.”

“Is she here, too?”

“No. She stayed talking to some customers who left a little late.” Angel pushed herself
off the bed and walked over to place an oversized purse on the desk. “Her room is
downstairs, the room Cody had built on to the original structure. Down the hall, beyond
a study and bath. Cody always said a downstairs room was easier to get into and out
of without being seen. Tía will probably come in and go straight to sleep. Don’t count
on seeing her for breakfast, Esme. Anything else?”

Esme cast a final glance at the picture of her aunt with Cody and Rafael Benton. “Just
… were they married?” she asked, indicating the picture with a gesture.

“Married? Heavens no, child! Rafael is—was—Cody’s brother.”

Stunned, Esme said goodnight and went back to her own room.

The aroma of coffee percolated through the house, and Esmeralda’s eyes, heavy-lidded
and unwilling, fought slowly open. Sighing, she pushed herself up on one elbow and
glanced at the clock, surprised that she was up before nine after yesterday’s trials.

She wondered if Angel took care of her aunt’s needs in the morning, too. Apparently
the woman was something more than an employee but less than a respected companion.
She forced herself into action, determined not to slouch around if her aunt were actually
up and busy so early.

Twenty minutes later she hurried downstairs, invigorated by a shower, her hair still
damp, but caught up neatly in a ponytail. Maybe she could bring her visit up to her
aunt and be sure she was welcome here, not just a relative who had to be taken in.

When she got to the kitchen however, Andy, not Angel, turned from the stove and nodded
curtly.

“Your aunt said I should feed you,” he told her with hostility, shoveling eggs and
sausage links onto a plate, then picking up a biscuit with his fingers and putting
it on the side. “Sit down.”

“Andy, you clearly don’t want to feed me. After today, don’t bother. Today, I’ll eat
this to save you and my aunt from any unpleasantness.” She walked over and snatched
the plate away, leaving him gaping and scuffing the toe of his boot against the tiled
floor as she sat down at the table, facing him.

“Andy, how dare you?” Tina’s voice crackled into the silence, and Andy straightened
so quickly he backed into the stove. Esme dropped her forkful of eggs back to the
plate.

“I expect courtesy to my guests, Andy. You understand that, right?”

The older man mumbled and left the room, and Esmeralda pushed her chair and stood
up to greet her aunt.

“I really didn’t mind. He probably isn’t used to fixing breakfast for strangers.”
Hesitantly, Esme kissed her aunt on the cheek, the greeting her mother would expect.
She wasn’t sure Tina would appreciate it. She bit back a sigh, feeling more unsure
than she had in years. But she accepted responsibility for the awkwardness, aware
that she should have called. Surprises weren’t always the best options for family
reunions.

Tina accepted the kiss without comment, and moved toward the stove, but Esme stopped
her.

“I’ll get your plate, Tía,” she offered, carefully using the name she’d been told
to use. “Juice or coffee?” she asked, as she spooned food onto the plate and set it
in front of her aunt.

“Andy can’t make coffee. Just juice, and I’ll pick up coffee in town.”

Once Esme sat down again, Tina reached over suddenly and patted her wrist. “Might
not be so bad having you here.”

“Tía, I don’t have to stay here. I can rent a place until I decide what my plans are,”
Esme offered, again feeling that she wasn’t truly wanted as a houseguest. “We’ve spent
so little time together. We can visit, if you want. I have a horse, and I want to
figure out if I’m staying or not before I move her again.”

They ate in silence a few minutes. The ornate clock on the kitchen wall ticked off
the day in loud increments.

Finally, her aunt lowered her fork and impaled Esme with a hard gaze. “Girl, are you
running from something? From someone?”

“No!” Esme set her coffee cup down so hard some of the coffee sloshed over. She wiped
it up with her napkin and frowned at her aunt. “Why would you think that?”

Her aunt shrugged and gave Esme a half smile. “I ran a lot. Almost always from bill
collectors or men.” Her smile faded completely. “Usually I’d wind up at your mother’s,
and I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised I was never welcome.”

“You can’t think …” Esme struggled to defend her mother, but as always, found it a
difficult task. “You two are sisters. She might not have always approved of you, but
… she loves you.”

“You don’t even say it like you mean it,” Tina countered dryly. “But that’s not what
I want, empty assurances from you. Adriana and I can hash out our own differences.”
She reached across the table and caught Esme’s wrist unexpectedly. “So, there’s no
husband? No boyfriend? No lover in your life right now?”

None of your business.
The questions rankled—they sounded too much like an inquisition from her mother or
brother. Or assorted acquaintances who called themselves friends and tried to dig
up whatever dirt might lurk hidden under the surface of a very routine life. “No,
no one.”

Her aunt’s fingers tightened slightly. “You’re sure? Because I just had this brilliant
idea, but it only works if it doesn’t cause either of us any grief.”

She took a deep breath. “So, what’s up?”

Instead of answering, Tina released her wrist and shoved her chair away from the table
and walked over to the sink to peer out the window. When she turned back, her eyes
glittered with unshed tears.

“I might lose the club,” she said. “So long I wanted something to call my own, I had
visions of just what I wanted to offer. But between the downturn in tourism here and
the competition from that new bar, I’m not making it. Just a little sales boost and
I could hold on until things pick up again.”

Esme stood up, too, hugging herself, wanting to reach out to her aunt, but feeling
too awkward and unsure of what her aunt wanted. What she expected. “How can I help
you?” she asked.

Tina rubbed one hand across her face, and lifted her chin. “Do you still sing?”

The question came out of left field, so totally not what she expected that she gaped
and didn’t answer immediately. A request for a loan, a suggestion that she find somewhere
else to live made sense, but this?

She tilted her head? “Sing, Tía? I don’t sing, except with the radio.”

“Nonsense!” Tina walked over to her, this time catching both Esme’s hands and swinging
them. “One of the times I was there, you won that singing contest, remember? And you
could sing anything you wanted to. Your mom kept scolding you for making anyone who
came to the house listen to you.” She arched her eyebrows. “In fact, didn’t you tell
me you wanted to be a singer when you grew up?”

“I have a degree in child psychology, Tía. I never really considered music.”

“Probably just on account of your mother,” Tina muttered, letting her hands go and
cupping her chin. “Come sing karaoke tonight. Tomorrow, too, if it goes well tonight.”

“How would that help you?”

Again, Tina shrugged emphatically. “The main thing is, how could it hurt? Do you know
who Cody Benton was?”

“Of course.” To her annoyance, Esme felt goose bumps pebble her arms, and she forced
herself not to shiver. “I loved her music. Too bad she’s gone, Tía, but …”

“You should have seen my place when she dropped in,” her aunt continued, her gaze
losing focus as she looked at something over Esme’s head. “She’d do karaoke or sing
with some of the local musicians. Stay all night. No one could touch us when she’d
drop in. She was golden.” Her eyes refocused on Esme, losing their far-off expression.
“You can be golden.”

What? Singing karaoke?
Esme shook her head. “Look, Tía, I wouldn’t mind singing if others were, but … it’s
a stretch to think I can generate business.”

“You can be a hostess,” Tina went on, ignoring her protests. She grinned wickedly.
“Fresh meat—the lifeline of any small town bar. Or small town, for that matter.”

Tina’s proposition seemed more bizarre by the minute. Esme frowned. She’d never considered
herself either an introvert or a prude. But something about her aunt’s tone of voice
made her uneasy. Why on earth would Tina expect her to be much help one way or another,
if the club was really in trouble? Coupled with the questions about her love life,
in fact, her aunt’s tone was almost offensive.

“I couldn’t pay you of course,” Tina added. “But you have a roof over your head and
food on the table. And if folks come in—”

“Just what kind of hostess do you want me to be?” Esme asked slowly. “You seemed to
think it was important that I wasn’t dating or involved with anyone.”

Tía waved a hand. “Just be my niece,” she scoffed. “I’m the real hostess. You’d just
smile, look pretty, and sing a couple songs. Just for a night or two. Customers come
in, you get ’em moving around, dancing a little—they drink more, have fun—that’s really
good for the bottom line.”

Stealing her aunt’s gesture, Esme shrugged. “Okay. Tell me the time and where to sign
up.”

“Eight’s kind of early, but it’s about right for what I need,” Tina said, then beamed
at Esme. “Eight’ll let word get out before …”

“Before what?”

Tía’s smile broadened. “Truth is just where you need to be this weekend, girl. You’ll
help me for an hour or two now and then, and I’ll help you.”

“Help me?” Esme prodded, interested. “By giving me an unpaid job singing in a club
to cowboy wannabes?” She tossed the words out lightly, though, careful to make sure
her aunt wouldn’t be offended.

“Oh, yes. Help you.” Tía’s wicked grin reappeared, and her eyes sparked dark fire.
“There’s a job opening in town and it’s got real specific requirements. Unreal money
for a temporary position—set you up for a long time. But to apply, you have to be
single. Uninvolved.”

“Wow.” Esme fell silent for a minute, thinking, then shook off the surprise. “But
those are pretty weird qualifications, aren’t they? Besides, I have a job—or at least,
I have a career. I planned on looking for counseling positions …”

“Hmph.” Tina snorted dismissively. “You can open your own clinic with what you’d make
in six or seven weeks.”

“I’d be lying if I said that doesn’t sound interesting,” Esme admitted, and her aunt
chuckled, and then gave her a wink.

“The money’s not the best part, either.”

“Really? What’s the best part, then?” Esme asked.

“You’d be working for the devil, but most women in Truth wouldn’t mind that a bit.
El diablo tiene las suyas—
he has his own charms, and his own followers.”

“I thought we were talking about a job offer. Now you’re suggesting I take up devil
worship?” Esme challenged, her words tinged with sarcasm. “Who is this irresistible
devil you want me to work for?”

“Rafael Benton,” Tina answered. “Of course.”

• • •

Esmeralda stood in a corner of the small stage, half-hidden by a huge television and
a small jumble of mismatched stools and chairs, and tried to catch her breath. The
crush of people, the catcalls and applause when she sang, her aunt’s broad smile and
encouragement sent her spirits rocketing. If being helpful to Tina Cervantes was this
much fun, she could do it forever.

Although, clearly, her relatively quiet life of late wasn’t keeping her fit enough
for line dancing to Alan Jackson’s “Good Time,” belting out a little Reba, and helping
the waitresses deliver a few rounds of beers at one particularly chaotic point when
she was “on break.”

“You know everyone’s looking for you, right?” Tía asked in her ear, startling her.

“I’m just breathing,” Esme assured her, shooting her a teasing glance. “I do get to
breathe, don’t I?”

“Can you do it while you sing?” her aunt retorted. “Knew you’d be something else if
you’d sing a couple songs for me! I’ve got an eye for talent, you know. Just look
at Cody …”

Hearing the singer’s name tempered Esme’s exhilaration. Almost involuntarily, her
eyes glanced at the picture across from where she stood. Again she felt the slight
irritation she’d felt when she drove into Truth and found the town claiming Cody as
its own. Her aunt seemed to imply that she herself had figured into Cody’s success,
but she’d always heard the woman was a product of Nashville.

She shook aside the irritation. “I’m hardly Cody Benton, but I’m having a lot of fun.
Besides, men can’t paw me if I’m up here singing.”

“One drunk and you’re complaining. Really!” Tía looked at her watch and shook her
head. “You have time for one more before you call it a night, girl. Just one!”

“But if you don’t close until two …”

“Just one more,” Tía repeated, looking around the room almost apprehensively.

“You’re the boss,” Esme conceded.

A couple passing by noticed her. “Hey, you’re great,” the woman shouted, and her partner
nodded. “And pants-dropping gorgeous,” he added, laughing when the woman elbowed him
and pretended to drag him away.

Esme watched them go, feeling successful. And sexy. How long had she been ignored
and avoided in Rose Creek when she let herself feel like this?