Lynda Sandoval – One Perfect Man (страница 9)

“Good. Then let me get you all drinks.” He smoothed those work roughened hands together, and Erica’s gaze dropped to watch the mesmerizing motion. Why was it, with some men, you could simply look at them and imagine the feel of their hands on—

“Wine, Erica? A cocktail? What’s your pleasure?”

Arsenic? These thoughts had to stop. “How about water?” She crinkled her nose. “Sorry to be so dull, but I’m not so sure about those dark, winding backroads after a drink.”

“Backroads?” he teased. “Those are superhighways in these parts, city girl.”

“I’ll get the water,” said Hope eagerly, and they all looked at her. Tomás with raw love. Ruby with pride. And Erica, with a sense of relief. She’d only been there for a few minutes, but if Hope was always so obedient and well-behaved, this job might turn out to be easier and more pleasant than she’d anticipated.

“Thank you, baby,” Tomás said, as Hope bounded out of the room, all exuberance and no grace, like a retriever puppy. He looked at his grandmother. “Rube? How about you?”

“I will go with my great-granddaughter and fetch my own wine, thank you. I’m not an invalid who needs waiting on.” She maneuvered one large wheel until she faced the kitchen and made her way swiftly from the room.

And then they were alone.

Erica fought the urge to avert her eyes, to look anywhere but at this man. She was no high school girl, and this wasn’t a date. “They’re wonderful, Tomás. Your grandmother is a pip.”

“She’s a handful,” he said, but respect and love threaded through the statement. “God love her.”

For a moment, they were both silent, and suddenly Erica knew she needed to say something about her gaffe. Anything. Or else the not saying would loom in the room with them all night long like a giant purple monster he and she would studiously ignore.

Garnering courage with a slow intake of breath, Erica splayed a hand on her chest. The words came in a nervous rush. “Tomás, can I just say one more time how sorry I am to have made the assumptions—”

“Ah, ah.” Tomás stopped her, one palm forward. “We’re past that, Erica. A simple misunderstanding. Let’s just move on.”

She hung her head, grateful…a little embarrassed, perhaps? But she wanted him to know it had been her mistake, not based on him, really, at all. “O-okay. I just…let me say that…you need to know my assumption was never because I thought you weren’t…” She rolled her hand, realizing she’d just dug herself in further, wondering just how many times she’d wished for death since she met this man who stole her composure so easily, so completely, without even trying.

His smile widened. He was enjoying her discomfort, the rat. “That I wasn’t what?”

“Well…not virile.” Her face heated instantly. She held up her hands. “Wait, that didn’t come out right.”

Tomás laughed. “I think it came out fine. It’s good to know my virility isn’t in question.” He blew on his fingernails and buffed them along the collar of his shirt. “Did you have any comments about machismo or handsomeness you’d like to share?”

Then he winked.

She managed, just barely, to roll her eyes. Her throat felt dry and tight, but she injected an illusion of friendly drollness into her tone anyway. “Don’t push your luck, buddy.”

“Bueno. No more joking, okay? I know what you’re saying, even though you don’t have to say it, and I swear to you it’s in the past.”

“Thank God. And thank you.” A little more laughter, and then…silence. And what now? Small talk? She despised small talk. But it was either that or stand there stunned by how absolutely hot he looked with his hair hanging loose. A little bit rebel, a little bit artist. Hey, just because she wasn’t interested in marriage didn’t mean she wasn’t interested in men.

And Tomás Garza was one verrrrry interesting man.

She cleared her throat and forced her thoughts from him before she did something stupid. “Your home is lovely. You’re quite the art collector.”

“Thank you. Ruby’s the real collector, though. Most of these pieces are hers. I just build the display cases.”

“You’re a woodworker, too?”

“Hey, when you live out here, you become a jack-of-all-trades without even trying.” He ran a hand slowly through his hair, his gaze on the thick black pottery Ruby bought at the last Pueblo Festival. “The Santa Clara is my favorite. So sleek and dark. Quiet. Beautiful in its straightforwardness.”

Kind of like you, Erica thought, attuned to him in a way that frightened her. A lag in their superficial conversation ensued, and she was determined to fill it. She could pull her weight in most situations, but she absolutely couldn’t sit in silence with Tomás. Not tonight. “Hope is a lovely girl.”

“Thank you. That she is,” he said, turning his attention from the pottery. “She’s been looking forward to meeting you. At least I think.” He quirked his mouth to the side. “To be perfectly frank, my Hope isn’t a girl of many words.”

“She takes after her dad.” She wondered what traits Hope had received from her mother but knew it was a question she’d never ask. “Looks like you, too. Same eyes.”

Tomás shrank back in mock horror. “Now, don’t go and tell her that. The last thing a fourteen-year-old girl wants to hear is that she looks like her father.”

They both laughed softly, and Erica felt herself loosen up a bit. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, this dinner, this evening as an outsider with Tomás and his nontraditional little family.

Just then, Hope brought Erica’s ice water and her own and claimed a spot on the chair, tucking one stocking foot up under her. Ruby pulled up in an empty spot next to an occasional table that looked to be there just for her.

“Are you going to make the poor woman stand all night, m’ijo?” Ruby asked, eyeing her grandson sharply. “My gosh, your manners. Raised in a penitentiary, I swear.”

Tomás colored slightly but recovered just as fast. “Of course. Erica. Won’t you sit. I’ll leave you ladies to get acquainted while I check on dinner. Shouldn’t be too long. I hope you’re hungry, Erica.”

She set aside her purse and portfolio, then claimed her spot in an armchair and laid a hand on her stomach. “You told me to come hungry, and I did.”

“Excellent. Finally a woman who follows instructions.”

“Don’t make us hurt you, sonny,” Ruby warned, giving him the eye. He just laughed.

Erica sat her water glass on a stone coaster, and as Tomás moved out of the room, Hope asked her, “Do you have kids?”

Some non sequitur, Erica thought. “No kids. I’m not married. I have cousins,” she offered, as a replacement.

“Oh.” Hope twirled a finger in one choppy lock of her hair. “I wish I had cousins. My dad’s an only child, and…”

An odd pause ensued.

Ruby sipped from her wineglass, and Hope gave Erica a funny little closed-lip smile. She never finished her statement, and Erica knew better than to ask, but she didn’t quite know why. For a moment, the room fell silent. Then Ruby picked up a remote, pointed it at a stack of stereo components in a carved, wooden cabinet, and pressed the button. Soft native flute music wafted through the room, and Erica’s gaze fell on her portfolio. Business. Yes. A convenient bridge over the chasms of the unsaid that seemed to flow through this house like canals through Venice. She reached for the zippered case, glancing at Hope while she did so.

“I’ve come up with a few ideas for your quinceañera, Hope. I’m looking forward to going over them with you.”

“Oh.” The girl’s gaze lit on the portfolio before sliding away evasively. “Okay. Well…we’ll wait for Dad, though. We can just…relax until dinner’s ready.”

“Of course.” Erica abandoned the portfolio and reached for her water glass. So much for that idea.

“How about dogs?” Hope crossed her other foot up under her, then slipped into a lotus position in the chair, with the ease and flexibility of the young.

A sip, a swallow. “Excuse me?”

“Do you have dogs? Or cats?”

Erica shook her head.

“Any pets at all?”

Erica’s expression was regretful. “I travel quite a bit, and when you live alone… I had a dog when I was growing up, though. His name was Spike. And a hamster, Morton. My mom has two dogs. Does that count?”

“Everyone should have a pet, right Grandma Ruby?”

The older woman shook her head, laughing tiredly. “I’m not getting in the middle of it, m’ijita, but nice try.”

Hope giggled, and Ruby looked toward Erica. “This one has been trying to finagle a puppy out of her father now for months.”

“I love puppies!” Hope threw her arms out with exuberance. “We have, like, a zillion fields. It’s not like he wouldn’t have any place to run around.”

Erica lowered her voice, sotto voce, and leaned toward Hope. “Shhh. I’ll tell you a secret. I love puppies, too.”

Hope turned a beatific smile toward her grandmother—in truth, her great-grandmother. “See, Grammy Rube? It’s so totally perfect.”

Erica wasn’t sure if Hope meant the puppy, the secret or something else. But she did know, finally and for sure, that she would make it through this evening. Tomás was right—his daughter was a wonderful young woman rather than the sullen, petulant teen Erica had feared she’d face. Childlike, yes, but definitely not a child. A budding teen, but certainly not an adult. Hopeful, effervescent and eager to please. She reminded Erica of herself at that age, and that she could handle. Easing back in her chair, Erica sipped her water and relaxed.