Lynda Sandoval – One Perfect Man (страница 8)

Who was this lady he’d hired to help plan the quinceañera, anyway? Hope hadn’t seen her dad this…spazzed out for a long time, and they never ate at the dining room table unless it was, like, a holiday. Seriously, Thanksgiving, Christmas and their birthdays, period. Never on a regular old Wednesday.

Speaking of holidays—she inhaled, trying to pretend she wasn’t actually sniffing him—was Dad wearing cologne? He smelled like Christmas, since the only time he seemed to wear his Gray Flannel cologne was for Christmas dinner each year. He usually just smelled like laundry soap and bleach, like the paste and paper in his studio. Comfortable, like her dad.

But he was wearing cologne now. She was 99.9 percent sure.

Not only that, but he was dressed UP. He wore his black microfiber slacks, the ones she begged him to buy because they were SO cool and he didn’t want to because they weren’t practical, and black shirt—with buttons! Like, a shirt for church, not one of his regular day shirts. Not only that, but the house was spotless, smelling of pine trees and lemons, and he’d been racing around all nervous, exactly like a guy preparing to impress someone on a hot, first date.

It so rocked!

The cologne, clothing, and cleanliness were definite clues that something was brewing. Business meeting? Yeah, sure. Maybe partly, but it was so totally more than that. Tonight’s “meeting” was special, and she might only be fourteen but she knew why. Duh, can you say obvious? They were learning about variables in algebra, and the only variable tonight was this Erica, so it had to be her. Her dad was making all this effort for a woman, something he never, ever did. It was so completely romantic that Hope’s tummy swirled with anticipation. She fought to hold back a giggle!

Biting her lip, Hope made a mental note to keep a close eye on her father tonight. She was pretty good at reading him, which wasn’t saying much because he was a total open book. If he was interested in this lady, all Hope had to say about it was, like, FINALLY. Sheesh. Her dad always claimed he was happy without a wife or girlfriend, but Hope knew better. She was just in the way. She was! But maybe things were changing? From the looks of things, this Erica was the first woman in a long time who even had a remote shot at the title of girlfriend when it came to her stubborn dad.

Her tummy clenched and she fought back another nervous giggle. Hope had no idea what would happen after tonight—maybe nothing at all. But she knew one thing for sure: things in the Garza household were about to get WAY interesting.

By the time Erica pulled up the long gravel drive, her focus of anxiety had moved to Hope. She hadn’t been ex-aggerating when she’d told Tomás she wasn’t really a kid person, and yet she knew kids were far more intuitive than adults. They quickly recognized adults who were uncomfortable around them, and she knew she’d be pegged. Her only hope at this point was that the assignment wouldn’t turn out to be horrid.

She glanced at the buildings up ahead, taking in this home, getting a feel for the animal in his natural habitat, so to speak. Tomás’s low, smallish house looked to be authentic adobe; the setting sun washed it into shades of gold and peach that Erica found both beautiful and charming. Behind it loomed a newer, large wooden structure, probably a barn. A barn? She took in the property, saw no animals. Undulating meadows spread out around the house and barn, covered with scrub oak, sage, and piñon and juniper trees. Though she was a city girl at heart, she couldn’t deny this would be a great place to raise children.

Okay, she’d stalled enough, avoiding that moment of truth when she’d have to face Tomás again and meet his daughter. What kind of person would be afraid of a fourteen-year-old girl? Idiot. Pulling in a deep breath, Erica stopped her car behind a black Ford pickup parked adjacent to the house and turned off the ignition. As the hot engine ticked, she resisted the urge to flip down her visor and check her makeup in the mirror one last time. Just nerves. She could beat them.

Alighting from the car, she retrieved a black-leather portfolio from the back seat along with her purse. She followed the small sidewalk up to the front door and then lifted her fist and hesitated only momentarily before knocking on the bright red door. As she stepped back and waited, she braced herself for the awkward moment when she’d face Tomás again, uneasy especially because she was on his turf this time.

When the door opened, however, Tomás wasn’t on the other side. Instead, Erica faced a bright-eyed little tomboy who stood, one stocking foot atop the other, smiling shyly. The girl wore low-rise jeans and a baggy Buffy the Vampire Slayer T-shirt that sort of ruined the effect of the cute tummy-baring pants. She had Tomás’s watchful, tiger’s-eye gaze and a choppy haircut that was as bad as it was endearing. Erica wondered if the girl had cut it herself, and a pang of…something unrecognizable tightened her middle. Compassion? She smiled. “Hope?”

“Hi.” The girl teetered on that precipice between girl and woman, gangly and unsure. “My dad’s in the kitchen.” She stepped back from the door and tilted her head. “Come on in, Ms…. I don’t know your last name.”

“How about if you just call me Erica?” She stepped over the threshold into a warm, welcoming living room appointed with deep, comfortable mission-style furniture and bold colors. Intricate quilts shared wall space with Zarape blankets and artwork she recognized from some of the galleries in Santa Fe and Taos. Gorgeous black Santa Clara pottery and Jemez carved redware held places of honor on the lighted shelving adjacent to a huge fireplace. The shelves seemed to have been built just for the collectible Native American pieces, and the effect was stunning. This wasn’t just a house, it was a home. Part haven, part gallery. Erica didn’t know what she’d expected, if anything, but she was impressed.

She glanced over to find Hope studying her with a childlike intensity that caught her off guard. “It’s beautiful.” She indicated the room.

Hope stuffed her hands into her back pockets and turned her attention to the room as though she’d never seen it before. “Grandma Ruby made the quilts. There’s one on my bed, too. It’s a log-cabin pattern.”

Erica couldn’t help the smile that lifted the corners of her mouth. Leave it to a child to miss the significance of the artwork in the room and go straight for the comfortable.

“Is someone talking about me?”

Erica turned at the same time Hope did and saw a small, elderly woman with a shock of almost magenta-tinted hair wheel deftly into the room from the archway behind them. She hadn’t expected Ruby to look so vibrant, but then, she didn’t know much about multiple sclerosis. “If you’re the creator of these fabulous quilts, then the answer is, yes.”

Hope pointed a thumb over her shoulder. “That’s Grandma Ruby. You better just call her Ruby.”

“Well, now. You must be Erica.” Ruby came to a stop just before her and knotted her hands loosely in her lap, which was covered by another small quilt she no doubt made herself.

“In the flesh.” Erica transferred her portfolio to her left hand and thrust out her right. “Thank you for having me.”

Ruby shook Erica’s hand. “Nonsense, it’s our pleasure. Welcome to our home. I can’t tell you how glad we are to have you helping with the quinceañera. Isn’t that right, Hope?”

Erica glanced at the girl, sure she saw something move through Hope’s expression before she bit her bottom lip and nodded silently, a placid smile on her lips.

Interesting. Erica filed that away for later.

“So,” Ruby drew out, “I will admit Tomás has told me a bit about you.” And then she chuckled softly and Erica knew.

Without a doubt.

Tomás had told his grandmother about their little misunderstanding at the Arts Festival meeting. Ugh, she wanted to kill him. Since that wasn’t appropriate behavior for a guest, she tried another angle. “Yes. Well. I’m sure I know what little bits he shared. As his grandmother, I’m counting on you to share a few of his embarrassing secrets, as well.”

Ruby’s eyes sparkled. “You can count on that.”

“What are you guys talking about?” Hope asked, baffled.

Ruby wagged a finger. “Mind your business, young lady.”

“Erica.”

So caught up in meeting Hope and Ruby, Erica somehow forgot that Tomás would be nearby. Her stomach plunged at the sound of his voice in the room, its depth and richness seeming to suck away all available oxygen. She looked toward the archway that led to the dining room beyond, and there he stood. Dressed all in black, wiping his hands on a strawberry-patterned dish towel, guarded laughter and welcome in his eyes.

God, but he was a beautiful man.

She forced a smile. “Tomás. I hope I’m not too early.”

“Not at all.” He tossed the dish towel over his shoulder as he crossed into the room, then wrapped Hope in a playful headlock. “You’ve met my girls?”

“Da-a-ad!”

Erica grinned at Hope then smiled genuinely at Ruby. “I have. We’re all old friends by now.”