His Temporary Wife (8 page)

Now that’s marriage.
Esme smiled as the two reached them, stepping forward to kiss Connie’s cheek.

“Hi. Just dropped in to tell Domatrix I’d come ride a little later. Do you all know
Rafael Benton?”

“Phillip Irving,” Connie’s husband introduced himself. “And this …”

“Is Connie, right?” Rafael shook Irving’s hand, but smiled warmly at Connie. “You
work over at the Bait and Wait, right? You’ve sold me bait the last couple of times
I decided to waste a day on those legendary big mouths in the lake!”

Connie flushed, but looked pleased he knew her name. “There are fish there, but I
don’t deny they’re tricky ones. You gotta fish years to catch a good ’un!”

“Is that where the ‘Wait’ part of the name comes in?”

Connie laughed. “That, and the owner’s wife Ellen used to have snit fits every once
in a while. Wouldn’t wait on anyone she didn’t cotton to.”

“So … should I ask where Ellen is now?” Rafael asked.

“She’s okay—hasn’t run off or passed, if that’s what you didn’t want to find out,”
Connie chortled. “She’s found being a grandma’s more fun than being a worm saleswoman.”

Everyone laughed at Connie’s tale and for a moment, the tension eased. Then lines
of worry filled the older woman’s face. “Guess I should say I worked there, Esme,
Mr. Benton. They let me go today.”

“Why?”

Irving shook his head and patted his wife’s arm again. “Told my Connie not to worry.
Times are hard, and the owner said he can’t afford help—just not many people stopping
by and his oldest boy don’t have a job, so he’s fillin’ in for his pa.” He shrugged
weary shoulders. “It’s what should be, families helpin’ their own.”

“I don’t begrudge ’em,” Connie added. “They gave an old woman a job when lots of folks
wouldn’t. It’ll just take getting used to.” She forced a smile. “Why don’t y’all come
have some sweet tea? I’ve got some nice and cold, just waitin’.”

“No, thanks,” Esme and Rafael chorused together, drawing a look of speculation from
the elderly couple.

“I’m not dressed … I … had a business appointment,” Esme explained, not looking at
Rafael. “I’m going to go home and change, then I’ll come ride, if that’s okay.” She
smiled. “I’ll have a glass of tea then, if you’ve still got some.”

“I have to go, too,” Rafael put in, and Esme knew he’d shot her a glance before addressing
the Petersons. “Nice to meet you, Irving. Connie. Hope things work out for you both.”

“Ms. Salinas, wait …” She turned as he fished a business card and pen from a pocket
and jotted something down. “Here.” He extended the card, and she reluctantly reached
out to take it. No point in making the Petersons part of this whole charade.

“That might help you with the questions you had about jobs around here,” he added
smoothly, then nodded again to the Petersons and left. When he started backing out,
she said goodbye again and walked to her truck, buckling in and checking the rearview
mirror before curiosity got the best of her and she glanced at the card again.

Lillie Mae. Silver Boot and Booty. Ask her.

Lillie Mae. She’d spoken to the woman weeks ago, when she checked out the Irvings
before considering their place to board Domatrix. She’d only been in town a couple
of days, but she’d heard the name everywhere. An old woman, from what little she knew,
whom everyone in Truth seemed to adore. And she knew the Silver Boot and Booty—the
newest bar in town, right next to the traditionally named Silver Dollar, which she
supposed had been the first building in town. But why she was supposed to go talk
to a strange old lady in some bar that represented a real economic threat to her aunt?

She backed out faster than she should and hit the asphalt with every intention of
going home, changing, and coming back. She didn’t know when she changed her mind,
but she knew when she passed Cattle Guard Road that she was going into town. And talking
to an eighty-year-old woman about Rafael’s proposition. Crazy. She couldn’t think
of another description for what she was about to do. The fact that she laughed out
loud in the empty cab of her own truck didn’t worry her nearly as much as it should
have.

There was a longhorn steer wearing a saddle, tied to the hitching post outside the
Silver Boot and Booty. There was a golf cart parked next to the longhorn. And the
few people walking along the sidewalks in front of the buildings weren’t even glancing
at them. Esme shook her head. Rose Creek had been as small—maybe marginally smaller—than
Truth. There had been eccentrics there, too, but nobody rode longhorns and parked
golf carts outside saloons. Either she’d fallen into a rabbit hole, the whole town
was crazy or—hope flared—someone was shooting a music video. She’d seen lots of weird
stuff in country music videos. In fact, hadn’t Cody been photographed somewhere on
a longhorn that looked a lot like this one?

Holding on to that fragile hope, Esme grasped the rail running alongside the steep,
enclosed stairs and descended into the Silver Boot and Booty, Truth’s newest bar.
The rock exterior and deep stairwell were at odds with the garish neon sign, but the
interior was as bright and gaudy as the neon. Light gleamed on a polished hardwood
floor. The bar took up most of the front of the establishment—high, polished wood
that reflected almost as much light as the floor. The tables scattered around were
along the sides and towards the back, leaving most of the inside space for dancing.
Not as cluttered as her aunt’s place, or as dark.

“Hey, there!” a friendly voice called from behind the bar. A cheerful woman with steel
gray hair nodded at her. “We’re really not open, but if I can help you with something
…”

“You’re not open?” Esme questioned, waving her hand at a table near the front, but
not the one nearest the bar. A man in western garb sat there, a glass of something
in front of him, and a half-finished bottle of beer beside him, near a high-crowned
cowboy hat.

Before the woman at the bar could answer, an elderly woman came out of the hall beneath
the large sign pointing to the restrooms. Western shirt and jeans, boots with ornate
embroidery. Hair the color of mountain snow, framing a face that showed age, but was
still striking.

Esmeralda had never seen the woman, but she knew. “Lillie Mae. Hi,” she said in greeting.
“I’m …”

“Tina’s niece, Esmeralda.” The lady nodded with assurance. Of course you are.” She
closed the distance and held her hand out. Fringe dangled down the sleeves of her
long-sleeved shirt and tickled Esme’s hand as her own was pumped energetically. She
must have flinched away from the spidery-tickling sensation, because Lillie Mae laughed
and let her go.

“My Sunday duds are a mite annoying,” she said. “And don’t tell me what day it is,
’cause I know.” She leaned her head forwards and lowered her voice. “I just ain’t
washed my workday clothes yet.” She winked and grinned. “Asides which, tourists would
rather see the Sunday me.” She waved a hand at the table. “Join me for a bit?”

“But … it’s not open …”

Lillie Mae snorted. “It’s open to me and my guests. Kind of like my office, this place.
Come on, sit with me.”

“Sure.”
Isn’t that the plan?
As the women reached the table, the man stood, removing his hat and holding out a
hand.

“Hondo, ma’am. You’d be Tina Cervantes’s little girl?”

“Uh … her niece,” Esme corrected. “I’m sorry … Hondo? Didn’t I drive through Hondo
on the way here?”

“Yes ma’am. I’m named after the town, or maybe just the river that runs through it.
Didn’t ever ask.” He grinned affably. “Figured one of the reasons I used to get chosen
a lot to play extras in cowboy movies was the name.”

“Hondo, would you go check on Babe? Can’t be too careful these days. Someone might
just try to lift him, even though everyone in the Hill Country would recognize that
worthless old critter on the spot. Almost as famous at the UT longhorn, Babe is.”

He nodded at both of them, then replaced the hat. “Nice to meet you, Miss Esme. Lillie
Mae, I think I’ll hitch ol’ Babe on the cart and run by the feed store. He gets a
kick out of it ’n’ so do I.”

Lillie Mae didn’t really reply, just watched as he wandered away. “Good man, Hondo,”
she said eventually. “Just wish he got it—this boat’s sailed. Buried four husbands
and there ain’t gonna be a fifth, but he keeps tryin’. Sit down, girl. I bend a little
slow these days.”

Esme sat.

“So, spill it. What brought you here?”

“Didn’t you … isn’t it … part of Rafael Benton’s plan? Didn’t he send you here to
meet me?”

“Now, see, a few years ago, if I’d seen Rafael, I wouldn’t have been talkin’ about
any ships sailin’ ’less he was right there on it.” Lillie Mae chortled, and Esme smiled
a little in spite of herself. This woman was something else, for sure. But she didn’t
know what, or why Rafael Benton—the devil, according to Andy—had sent her here after
he propositioned her. Then the mirth left Lillie Mae’s face and she lifted her beer
bottle, finished it in a gulp, and pointed it at Esme. “Nobody sends me here. I come
sit a spell here every day. Sort of my office, you could say. Now—what you do for
a livin’, girl?”

Lillie Mae’s question caught her off guard, and for a moment, she just stared in surprise.

“Come on, girl, that ain’t one of the hard questions.” The older woman giggled, and
Esme’s anger started building. This was “dear” Lillie Mae? “Sweet” Lillie Mae? She
drew herself up and breathed deeply.

Before she could answer, though, Lillie Mae did. “You’re one of them counselor workers.
For a school.”

“I am a counselor,” Esme said coolly. “I have a certificate and might open a clinic,
or I might go back to work at a school.”

“So you’re a counselor? You give advice?” Lillie Mae repeated.

“Yes.”

“Then why the hell are you here talkin’ to an old lady you don’t know? Shame on you,
girl. You gotta make your own mind up about this job Rafael’s offering.”

Derision crept into Esme’s voice. “Job? What do you suppose the qualifications for
a job as a ‘temporary wife’ are?”

Lillie Mae leaned back a little in her chair and narrowed her eyes, then straightened
again. “Hey, Freddie!” she called at the woman behind the bar. “Bring me a water and
… what would you like, Esmeralda?”

Esmeralda hesitated. She seldom drank so early in the day and she really did want
time to ride. But a tiny part of her didn’t want to give Lillie Mae reason to think
she didn’t make her own rules. “Got screwdrivers?” she called past Lillie Mae, not
letting the older woman order it for her, and got an affirmative nod from the woman
behind the bar.

Freddie hustled over with their drinks and Esme smiled at her energy. “Bet you can
hold your own when the place is open.”

Freddie laughed. “Well, I don’t usually tend the bar, just haul drinks. But when I’m
alone … old habits die hard, I guess. I’ve always worked as a waitress of one kind
or other.”

Freddie left them and went back to dusting and arranging barware and bottles, and
Esme downed a large portion of the drink and turned her attention to Lillie Mae again.
“So, you were telling me I should make up my mind about Rafael’s ‘job?’ What are the
chances he’ll walk in any minute, Lillie Mae?”

The older woman just stared at her for a moment, then snorted, a sound between insult
and laughter. “You got some woman
cajones
,” she noted. “No one in town would’ve asked me that if they’d only known me a couple
minutes.” She reached over and patted Esme’s hand, her fringe tickling again. “And
that’s fine, if you’re showin’ ’em for the right reason. I’m no enemy, girl. Just
someone drawn into a predicament and wantin’ to help.”

Esme considered the words, then shrugged. “What kind of predicament could make a decent
man propose marriage—temporary marriage—to a complete stranger?”

Lillie Mae’s eyebrows shot up. “He proposed? So quick?”

So the old lady knew more than she was admitting?
No point in getting her dander up if she could get her to talk, though. “He didn’t
exactly propose,” Esme admitted neutrally. “He told me he needed to hire someone,
that he didn’t like my aunt, and that I was the only person he’d approached.”

Lillie Mae nodded thoughtfully, but didn’t say anything. She fished in her pockets
and drew out a bright red cell phone, checking her messages, then placed the device
on the table. “I still bring ol’ Babe into town out of habit,” she confided, “but
these modern contraptions sure do beat the old ones to heck.” She picked up the phone
and waved it at Esme. “’Specially this. But there’s one thing that’s even faster than
this in a town like Truth—”

“Gossip?” Esme suggested, remembering Rose Creek, and even her teen years in Laredo,
which wasn’t really a small town.

“You got it. And see, that’s what Rafael’s up against—waggin’ tongues. He confided
in you, and if you won’t listen and see what he says, I hope you at least don’t talk.”

“You seem to be defending him.”

“He’s got a name in this town. But he didn’t earn it—at least, he don’t deserve it.”
Her fingers drummed an irregular beat on the table. “How’d you hear about it? He look
you up?”

“My aunt asked me to talk to him—set up the interview, I guess. She didn’t give me
a clue what kind of job I was applying for.”

Something changed in Lillie Mae’s face, almost imperceptibly.

“You don’t like my aunt, either?”

“No, girl, I don’t. But one thing everyone in this town respects is family. We don’t
choose ’em, but we honor ’em to the grave and beyond. Don’t you mind what you hear
about your aunt any more than what you hear about Rafael Benton.”

“I have to tell you that I wouldn’t have even gone to ask about the job if my aunt
had told me what it was.” Esme took a bit more of the orange juice and vodka, more
slowly, thinking, but not understanding. “Lillie Mae, I don’t get it,” she admitted.
“Why did Rafael tell me to come here? What do you have to do with anything?”