Cinderella in Overalls Page 4

  Jacinda insisted that it was too far to walk on such a hot day and brought a placid workhorse around from behind the house for them to ride. Josh made a stirrup with his hands and boosted Catherine onto the horse’s broad back, then pulled himself up behind her.

  He put his hands on her shoulders, the sun shone on his head and everywhere he looked there were rows of orange squash, red peppers and fields of green grass. The air was clear and clean, and he was beginning to understand how terrible it would be to lose a farm, especially one you had grown up on. The horse plodded down the dirt road as Jacinda watched from her doorway, smiling and waving her approval.

  “She likes you, in case you didn’t notice.” Catherine’s voice came from over her shoulder.

  “She likes you, too,” Josh answered. He hoped the farm was big enough so they could ride around all day like this, swaying back and forth together with the sweet smell of her hair invading his senses.

  “She likes me, but she doesn’t approve of me roaming the world without a husband. She wants me to get married before it’s too late.”

  Josh moved forward to support her back with his chest. “Do you have anything against getting married?” he asked, his lips so close he could lift her braid and kiss the back of her neck.

  “Nothing at all.” She inched forward to pat the horse between the ears and break the contact between them. “Just that I’m only interested in the kind that lasts forever. And that’s rare, in case you haven’t noticed. Take my sister who got married so she could move to town and get off the farm. She’s divorced now with two kids. And then Jacinda who’s always on my case. She’s been married three times, all miners and every one was arranged. It’s not her fault that she’s outlived them all. But I can’t make her understand that I’m just as self-sufficient as she is. And I’ve got plans that will keep me busy for the next five years. The funny thing is that I came here to help them with all my theories and my hybrid potato stock. But do you know what’s happened? I’ve learned more from them than in four years of agriculture school.”

  He ran his hand lightly along her shoulder blades, fighting a nearly uncontrollable urge to loosen the braid to see her hair tumble down her back. Her shoulders trembled, and she dug her heels in and urged the horse forward.

  “So you can see why I want to do something for them,” she said deliberately, “and leave something behind when I go.”

  He tensed. “The truck?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then let me find a donor for you.”

  She turned the horse toward a grove of mango trees. “You don’t understand. You think that will solve all our problems. But the truck is only part of it. The rest is learning what it means to take out a loan and pay it back. Accepting the responsibility is the big thing, that and the nitty-gritty, writing their names on checks, filling out deposit slips. That’s where you come in.”

  “Catherine...” he began. How was he going to tell her again that the answer was no?

  She twisted around on the horse’s broad, bare back and pressed her hand against his mouth so he couldn’t speak. He wanted to kiss her fingers, one by one, but she turned around quickly before he could do more than think about it.

  “Don’t make up your mind yet,” she said. “You just got here.”

  The horse stopped under a tree, and she slid to the ground, then stood looking up at him, her dark eyes pleading for his help. She held her hand out to help him down. He took her hand, jumped off and pulled her into his arms, holding her so tightly he could feel her heart beating against his chest. She felt the way he knew she would—warm and soft and desirable.

  With one hand he reached behind her and untied the ribbon that held her braid together, and her hair fell in waves, releasing the fragrance of summer flowers. Their eyes met, and for a long moment the only sound was the birds in the branches of the trees overhead.

  Finally she stumbled backward and leaned against the tree, her hands clasped behind her back. There was a slight tremor in her voice when she spoke. “I told you I’d do anything to help the people of this valley, but I didn’t mean...”

  “I know you didn’t. I was just trying to change your mind about bankers.”

  “There’s only one way you can do that,” she insisted.

  He came toward her, his eyes a deep, penetrating blue and trapped her against the tree, his hands on either side of her shoulders. “Why are you being so stubborn about this loan? When you have a loan, you’re under a lot of pressure. What if something goes wrong, locusts or a flood, and you can’t make your payments?” He leaned forward, but she didn’t flinch under his gaze.

  “Then you’d take back your truck,” she answered. “We don’t lose anything. And you keep the truck.”

  “Have you ever tried to sell a used truck?” he asked.

  “No, but I’m willing to try.” She ducked under his arm, trying to push away the hair that framed her face. “Let’s go back to the house,’’ she suggested stiffly.

  This time Catherine sat behind Josh, being very careful not to touch him. She looked off to the mountains in the distance, but his broad shoulders, the shape of his head and the way his hair grew on the back of his neck made it impossible for her to concentrate on anything but the man in front of her. This attraction she felt for him was a problem she had to deal with. Stubborn, he called her. Yes, she was stubborn. And determined to keep their relationship all business.

  Catherine tied the horse in front of her house. A delicious smell wafted through the open windows from the kitchen and she gave Josh a puzzled look. In the oven they found a torta made of fresh eggs and layered with herbs and cheese. On the table there was a loaf of Jacinda’s wheat bread and a bottle of country wine. Catherine smiled to herself. Jacinda was pulling out all the stops, convinced that the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach.

  The heat from the wood-burning stove had turned the small house into an oven, and Catherine suggested they carry the table outside to the shade. Hungry and hot and tired, they ate in silence, refilling their glass tumblers with the dark, cool wine and looking at each other warily between bites.

  By the time the torta plate was empty, half a loaf of bread gone and the wine bottle drained, Josh was eyeing the hammock stretched between two willow trees. He yawned lazily. “I’ve been up since 5:00,” he explained.

  “So have I,” she countered.

  “No siesta for farmers?” he inquired.

  She shook her head. The heat and the wine and the sun made her long to stretch out in her hammock, too, and swing in the breeze. But she couldn’t relax with Josh Bentley around. If she did, he would talk her out of the loan. If she let her defenses down for one minute, he could sweep away her reasons like dust on the road. Of course, she was worried about making the payments. She was stubborn, but not stubborn enough to keep this up much longer.

  After clearing the table with brisk efficiency, Catherine led Josh on a thoroughly businesslike tour of the remaining sixty acres of farmland, from the root cellars to the orchard and chicken coop. She introduced him to all the women and children who paused in their work to look him over and smile broadly. As they passed, the people pressed gifts on Josh until he was loaded down with a sack of fresh vegetables, jars of honey and pounds of homemade cheese by the time they returned to Catherine’s small house.

  Jacinda appeared on cue at the front porch as they jumped off her draft horse. Catherine assured her she would feed and water the horse and bring him back later. She was hot and tired and frustrated. She was going to ask him one more time, but she knew what he was going to say. She had sensed it all afternoon. She felt it from tie way he kept his eyes on the fields and from the questions he asked. From the cool brush of his hand when he helped her off the horse.

  But Jacinda lingered, suggesting she bring over a fresh chicken for their dinner. Catherine gave her a look that said there would be no “their” dinner, but Jacinda only shrugged and said she’d be back a little later. Catherine looked poi
ntedly at Josh’s car parked out at the road, and he followed her gaze.

  “I’ve enjoyed the day,” he said slowly. “I’m just sorry...”

  “Sorry you can’t lend us the money? Don’t worry. I understand. I understand that bankers will only bet on a sure thing. For a while I hoped you were different. I thought you were different, but I see you’re just like all the others. Cautious, even though we’re talking about one measly truck. Surely that’s only small change for a big bank like yours. Why can’t you take a chance for once in your life? What have you got to lose?”

  “I told you...”

  “If something happens and we can’t make the payments, the truck is yours. I’ll deliver it to you personally. Then I’ll help you resell it.”

  “It’s not as simple as that.” Josh frowned. “I shouldn’t have come. I didn’t know you were counting so much on it.”

  “I wasn’t,” she insisted. It was true. She hadn’t counted on it. She had only hoped. And once again her hopes had been dashed. Once again by a banker. She picked up his bags and packages and unceremoniously loaded them in his arms. His mouth set in a tight line, he said goodbye and walked to his car.

  Chapter Three

  It was when he dumped the bags of food in the back seat of the car that he saw this thin stream of greenish liquid running down the road and forming a pool in a pothole. He exhaled loudly and cast a quick look back at the house. Catherine was nowhere in sight. She had made it clear she didn’t want to see him again. He thought she’d want to see him drive away, though, just to have the satisfaction of knowing he’d really gone.

  He lay down under the car on the hot pavement, feeling the heat burn through his shirt and jeans, and confirmed what he already knew. The origin of the greenish liquid was the radiator of his car. He swore loudly in the late-afternoon silence, stood up and looked under the hood. The radiator was bone dry. He walked back to the house and knocked on her front door.

  The sound of water running came from somewhere in the house. So at least she had running water, though she cooked on a wood stove and had no electricity that he noticed. Was she washing dishes or herself? He pictured her in the shower with rivulets of water running down her breasts, and the heat rose in his body from the soles of his shoes to the top of his head.

  He sat down on the front porch and chewed on a stalk of grass to calm down. When the water stopped, he stood and knocked again. Silence.

  “Hello,” he called loudly. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I need to borrow a cup of water for my radiator.’’

  Her muffled voice came from somewhere in the house. “Just a minute.”

  She came to the door, wearing a large white towel wrapped around her body. In her hand she held a metal cup filled with water, which she gave him without a word. Maybe she thought it was a trick so he wouldn’t have to leave.

  “I’ll be right back,” he assured her, trying not to notice the full curves under the terry cloth. He turned quickly and walked back to his car. When he poured the water into the radiator, it dribbled out through a crack in a rubber hose. He swore under his breath this time, just in case she was still at the door, listening. He should have realized that at this altitude water had reached the boiling point somewhere between La Luz and Palomar and split the hose. All perfectly understandable. What he didn’t understand was why it had to happen today.

  He sat down on the road in the shadow of the car and stared back at the small house. If he were in a city, he’d call a tow truck and a taxi. He’d buy a new hose and have it installed. But he was in Palomar with no tow truck, no spare parts , and, worst of all, no place to get out of the sun.

  Although he was within spitting distance of a comfortable house belonging to a fellow American, he might as well be in the middle of the desert for all the good it did him. At least in the desert there was the spirit of hospitality for the traveler. He had already used up his quota of Catherine Logan’s hospitality. He supposed he could sleep in a field. And he had plenty of food. He wouldn’t starve. If only it weren’t so hot. He wiped his forehead and thought about Catherine, still wet and cool from the shower. If he hadn’t wasted the cup of water on the radiator, he could have drunk it.

  And now he was hallucinating. He thought he saw her on the porch, wearing shorts and a shirt, her hands on her hips. He stood up, blinked and looked again. She was real. She was moving her lips.

  “What are you doing out there?” she called.

  He walked slowly back to the house, the empty cup in his hand. “There’s a little problem with my car,” he said grimly. “I was wondering if I could use your telephone.”

  She looked surprised. “Who are you going to call?”

  “A garage.”

  She shook her head. “Even if I had a telephone, you couldn’t call a garage because they aren’t open on Sunday.”

  “Well, then a tow truck.”

  “Get real, Bentley. There is no garage. There is no tow truck within a hundred miles. What is it you’re looking for?”

  “A rubber hose. The one I have is cracked.”

  “Try La Luz, and if they don’t have one, there’s always Bogota.”

  He nodded slowly. “Well, I won’t take any more of your time. You’ve been more than helpful and I’ll be on my way.”

  “Where are you going?” she asked with an exasperated sigh.

  “Back to the city.”

  “What are you going to do—walk? I hate to disappoint you, but you’re stuck here for the night, or half the night. The truck comes to get us at 3:00 a.m. for market. You can ride along if you want and try to buy a hose in town tomorrow. Until then...”

  “Don’t worry about me,” he assured her. “I’ll just camp out in my car. I’ve got plenty of food.”

  Her eyes took in his perspiring face, his damp shirt and his grim expression.

  “Why don’t you come in for another glass of water?” she asked, tucking a wet curl behind her ear.

  “Thank you,” he said, following her into the kitchen. “I gave the last one to my radiator.”

  She watched him drain the glass she gave him and set it in the sink. He stood and looked at her, watching her run her hand through the tangle of damp curls. The fragrance of hand-milled soap filled the air. His gaze slid down to her bare feet and then up her legs. A smattering of freckles across her knees surprised him. He felt the muscles in his abdomen tighten, and he realized he was in dangerous territory, emotionally and physically. He had to get out of there before he made a complete fool of himself. Just as he was turning to leave, she spoke.

  “If you don’t mind a cold shower, you can use mine. I’m afraid I used up all the hot water, but...” “A cold shower is exactly what I need,” he said. She showed him to a stall made of corrugated plastic tacked on to the house as an afterthought, and then she disappeared. The water was cold and clear and pumped in from the well in the backyard. The tank backed into the chimney, allowing water to be heated by the fire. The soap was her soap. He stood there and let the water run through his hair and down his face, and he wished to hell she would take the truck as a gift and they could be friends. He had a feeling she was as proud as the Indian women. Too proud to accept charity. He understood that. Growing up poor could do that to you.

  The other thing he wished was that he could get into his car and drive back to La Luz. Even as he dried off with her towel, he knew the shower hadn’t solved his problem. He was filled with an intense desire for a woman who hated all bankers and him in particular and was only interested in what he could do for her. Now that she knew he wasn’t going to give her what she wanted, she was even sorrier than he was that his car had broken down. As soon as he thanked her, he’d go back to his car and wait until the truck came at 3:00. He tried not to think of the car as an inferno, its black surface absorbing the afternoon sun.

  Catherine was sitting under a tree behind the house packing raspberries to sell at the market when Josh walked through the back door. She looked up and dropped sever
al berries on the ground. Now that the dirt and dust were gone his strong features stood out in stark relief. His eyes, the color of the late-afternoon sky, held her gaze across the yard. Just when she was prepared to let him spend the night in his car, he came out of her shower looking at home, as if he belonged there, too.

  Carefully she picked up the berries and resumed her packing. Casually she said, “Jacinda was here. She brought a chicken for dinner.”

  “Your dinner,” he said.

  “Your dinner, too. She made that quite clear.”

  “That was nice of her.”

  Catherine pushed the boxes aside. “She’s afraid I’ll let you slip through my fingers. She sees you as my last hope before I dry up and blow away.”

  Josh leaned against the side of the house, his arms folded across his chest. “No chance of my slipping away today. Why didn’t you tell her you have this thing about bankers before she got her hopes up? Didn’t you tell her we’re all slime bags who foreclose on innocent women and children and take away their homes?”

  She stood up with her basket over her arm. “I never said that. I know you’re just doing your job. I just wish—”

  “You wish it weren’t my job. Sometimes I wish it weren’t, either. If I were a farmer, you would have kissed me today under the tree, wouldn’t you?”

  Her eyes widened, and her heart beat out a warning. “Wait a minute. Don’t jump to conclusions. I’m not looking for a farmer. I’m not looking for anybody. I admit there may be something between us. I don’t understand it, but I don’t deny it.”

  He nodded. “Like lightning bolts. You don’t have to understand them to feel them when they hit you.”

  She swallowed hard. So he felt it, too, the current that flowed between them. It was time to put a stop to this right now, and the best way to do it, other than telling him the truth, was to agree with him.

  “You’re right, you know. I do have a thing against bankers that goes way back. I can’t change it, you can’t change it, no matter what you do. Even if you lend us the money. That’s why it has to be only business between us. Surely you can see that lending us money is good business. We’ll take good care of the truck. We’ll make our payments on time. And you’ll get a whole lot of new customers.” The words were coming faster and faster. She paused to take a breath. “What’s wrong with that?”