thick soup made of pork and hominy.”
Ryan forced a smile. Hominy? He couldn’t say that he’d ever tasted hominy. “Sounds good. I’ll be there.”
Jennifer swung her legs to the floor and Ryan helped her to her feet, wrapping her delicate fingers in his hand. “I’ll drive you home,” he offered.
She tugged her hand from his, then shook her head. “I have my car. I’ll be fine. I just needed something in my stomach.”
“What about lunch?” Ryan asked. “Why don’t you let me buy you lunch?”
“Roy and Ralph need me back at the office. I’m working on a big parental abduction case and I’ve got a lot of work to do before I leave for the weekend.”
Ryan didn’t want to let her go and searched for any excuse to get her to stay. But in the end, he accompanied Jennifer to the lobby and watched as she walked out. Then he strolled back to his office, stepped inside and closed the door. A satisfied smile quirked the corners of his mouth.
Once again, Jennifer Rodriguez had barged into his life and turned it upside down. Only this time, he planned to make sure she stayed a little longer.
* * *
“MAMÁ, I promise, I’ll be there in time for Tía Yolanda’s arrival. We’re leaving right around lunchtime and we’ll be there before dinner Friday night.” She reached for the spoon and gave the pozole a stir, then bent down and adjusted the heat.
“We?” her mother asked. “Who is this we?”
Jennifer drew a deep breath, all too familiar with her mother’s nosy nature. “I’m bringing a friend home.”
“Ah, you’re bringing that sweet Elena? That girl from your building? I like her. She’s a good girl. She listens to her mother.”
“No, Mamá, not Elena. I’m bringing a…a friend. A friend who’s a…boy. A man, actually. A man—I mean, a boyfriend. I’m bringing home my boyfriend, all right?” A long silence echoed over the phone lines between El Paso and Odessa. “Mamá?”
“Who is this boy you’re bringing? What’s his name? Who are his parents?”
“He’s not a boy, Mamá. He’s a man. His name is Ryan. Ryan Madison. He’s very nice and very successful. Papi will love him.”
“Madison?”
“Yes, Mamá, Madison. Not Ruiz, not Hernandez, not Castillo. Madison, like the fourth president of our country.”
“Does he go to church?”
The doorbell rang and Jennifer glanced down at the dish towel tied around her waist. “Mamá, that’s him at the door. I’m cooking dinner for us tonight. You can interrogate him on his religious beliefs when we get there.”
“Well, I’ll tell your Papi that he isn’t in danger of losing his daughter,” Carmen said.
“And why is that?”
“Because once this man tastes your cooking, he won’t be back.”
“Goodbye, Mamá. I’ll see you on Friday evening. We’ll see you.” She dropped the phone in the cradle, then hurried over to the table and adjusted the colorful hand-painted Mexican stoneware on the bright tablecloth. She reached for the matches to light the candles, then decided candles might not send the right message.
After all, this agreement they had was strictly between friends. But they really weren’t friends yet. Perhaps acquaintances was a better description. But then, they were more than—
The doorbell rang again and Jennifer threw the dish towel onto the kitchen counter next to the stove and hurried to the door. At the last second, she raked her fingers through her hair and smoothed her palms over the skirt of her new dress. Though it wasn’t a maternity dress, it did have an empire waist. Her clothes had suddenly stopped fitting yesterday, as if she’d swallowed a basketball for breakfast, and she’d been forced to buy something new. Pasting a smile on her face, she pulled the door open.
Jennifer’s breath caught in her throat at the sight of him. She knew he was handsome—in a suit, in faded jeans, it didn’t really matter. Tonight, he wore immaculately pressed khakis and a pale-blue cotton polo shirt that set off his dark tan. His hair was still damp from a shower and it looked like he’d combed it with his fingers. “Hi,” she murmured, her knees going soft.
He pulled a bouquet of sunflowers from behind his back and held them out. “Hello, mi prometido. I’m sorry I’m a little late. I got tied up at the site.”
Jennifer laughed and took the flowers from his hand. “Come in. And it’s promitida. That’s the feminine form of fiancée. You’re my prometido.”
Ryan shrugged. “My Spanish is pretty lousy, isn’t it? I’ve been trying to learn. That way, when the guys on the drilling site are talking about me, I’ll know what they’re saying.”
“Come. Sit down. Dinner is almost ready.”
“How are you feeling?” he asked as he closed the apartment door behind him.
“Fine,” she said, grabbing a vase from an end table near the window. “No more dizzy spells.”
“Did you see your doctor?”
Jennifer shook her head, secretly pleased by his concern. “No, it’s nothing. I just have to be more careful about how I eat. Now, sit down and I’ll get you a drink. Would you like a beer?”
He nodded, slowly sat down, then frowned. “Do you smell that?”
“That’s my pozole,” Jennifer said proudly.
Ryan stood and stepped around her. “No, I really think something is—” He cursed and hurried over to the kitchen, where flames rose from the stove.
Jennifer screamed and hurried after him. “¡Ay, Dios mío! I’ll call the fire department. No, there’s a fire extinguisher… .” She paused, trying to remember where she’d put it. “Throw some water on it!”
Ryan calmly grabbed a stockpot from the rack over the breakfast bar and dropped it on top of the burning dish towel. Then he grabbed a saucepan and filled it with water, holding out his arm to keep her back. “It’ll go out in a few seconds.”
When he was satisfied that the fire was out, Jennifer hurried to the stove and pulled the cover off the pozole. But in her haste, she forgot to use a pot holder and the lid burned her fingers. She cried out and let it clatter to the floor, where it hit her big toe, which was sticking out of her sandal. The kitchen filled with the smell of scorched hominy and burned terry cloth as Jennifer’s eyes filled with tears.
Once again, the baby inside her seemed to hold the controls over her emotions, turning her from a babbling idiot to a blubbering fool in the blink of an eye. She couldn’t stop the tears from coming even though she wasn’t sure why she was crying. It wasn’t the ruined meal or her stinging fingers or even the smoke stain on her kitchen ceiling. It was…everything.
Jennifer buried her face in her hands and slid down to sit on
