“Papa uses this.” She handed him the scrub brush already sitting in the sink and he cleaned a plate and rinsed it. “I guess you need a towel.”
Dani pointed to the drawer next to his hip.
He handed her a towel and they worked side by side.
“My daddy never washed dishes.”
“Guys don’t like to do dishes.”
“Papa does dishes.” She dried off a plate and placed it next to her on the counter.
“You’re lucky to have a papa.” The only extended family Cruz had been in contact with growing up had been his paternal grandmother and she’d died when he turned twelve. Probably a good thing, because she would have been disappointed that Cruz had followed in his father’s footsteps and landed in prison—no matter that he’d taken the fall for his friend.
A horn beeped, alerting Cruz that Sara and José had returned.
“Mama’s home!” Dani jumped down from the chair and raced outside.
Cruz made quick work of finishing the dishes and wiping off the countertops.
“Thanks for cleaning up,” Sara said when she entered the kitchen and spotted the dish rag in his hand.
“Thanks for supper.” He nodded to the fridge. “Dani hasn’t had dessert yet.”
“Would you like a piece of cake?” She dropped her purse on the table.
“No, thanks. I’ll grab my laundry and get out of your way.” He scooted past her, holding his breath so he wouldn’t inhale her perfume. On the porch he stuffed his still damp clothes into his bag and left. He spotted Dani and José at the corral but ducked inside the trailer before either of them noticed him.
He spent the next ten minutes spreading his damp jeans across the counter and kitchen table, then he hung his T-shirts in the closet and left the door open. Without air-conditioning they’d be dry in no time.
Restless, he paced across the room. When José and Dani went back into the house, he’d sit on the trailer steps and enjoy the night air. He didn’t mind sleeping in the single-wide—it was bigger than his prison cell—but the tin box didn’t cool off until after the sun went down. It wasn’t until he sat on the sofa that he noticed the three one-hundred-dollar bills along with a note on the table.
Thanks for all your help this week. Hope it’s enough to cover your entry fee wherever you rodeo tomorrow. Sara.
The money was more than enough, but Cruz didn’t want to rodeo. Yeah, he’d promised Shorty he’d hit the circuit and he was determined to make good on that vow, but not yet. He hadn’t pictured himself as a handyman, but the hard work this week had been therapeutic and had kept him from thinking about his time in prison and why he’d ended up there. He’d never be able to ward off the memories during a long drive to a rodeo.
Memories of his buddies Alonso and Victor. A part of him yearned to reconnect with the guys. But he wasn’t sure he could handle seeing them, especially Victor. Cruz was still pissed that he’d followed Vic to Salvador Castro’s house. If Cruz had let Vic go by himself to confront the gang leader, he wouldn’t have ended up in prison. But Vic wouldn’t back down and their friendship demanded that Cruz be his wingman. Vic had wanted Salvador to take responsibility for getting Vic’s sister pregnant. Threats and insults were exchanged at the Five Points intersection in downtown Albuquerque. When Vic had pulled a gun from beneath his jacket, no one had been more surprised than Cruz. Fearing his friend would take things too far, Cruz wrestled the gun from Vic’s hand, but then the weapon had discharged accidentally, the bullet hitting Salvador in the shoulder.
The police arrived and Cruz was put into the backseat of a patrol car and whisked away.
What’s done is done.
Yeah, there was nothing he could do to change the past. He could only move forward. And he would. Eventually. He’d finished everything on Sara’s to-do list, but he didn’t want to leave her, José or Dani. Not yet.
He’d been in Papago Springs less than a week but already Sara’s kindness, Dani’s chatter and even José’s moodiness had begun to fill the hollow feeling he’d carried in his gut for longer than he could remember. Each day the lost feeling inside him shrunk a little. For now he was right where he needed to be—safe from the outside world, sleeping like a baby at night.
Tomorrow he’d find a chore that needed doing, so he’d have an excuse not to rodeo.
* * *
SARA WOKE AT the crack of dawn Saturday morning worried Cruz would take off without saying goodbye. He’d been a huge help in cleaning up the property and the three hundred dollars’ pay was hardly much money, but the man could eat—oh, could he eat. Their grocery bill for the week had skyrocketed. José was an incredible cook, but good grief, Cruz acted as if he’d been deprived of decent food for years.
As soon as the coffeepot stopped dripping, she filled a foam cup with the hot brew and put a plastic lid on it so Cruz could take it on the road with him. She left the house certain she’d find him packing his belongings in the back of his pickup. In the four days he’d been in Papago Springs, she’d learned very little about him. She admitted she was nosy and wanted to know where he’d grown up. Did he have family? A girlfriend? A child from a previous marriage?
Does it matter?
No, she supposed not, but feminine curiosity had gotten the best of her and she secretly wanted him to stick around longer. So did Dani. Last night when she’d tucked her daughter into bed, Dani had chatted about her and Cruz doing the dishes together and how he’d promised to play a board game with her but Sara and José had come home and interrupted them.
Cruz’s truck still sat parked at the side of the house, so Sara veered off toward the trailer. She knocked softly on the door. No answer. She poked her head inside. “Cruz? Are you up?” Silence. The faint sound of hammering echoed in the air and she headed to the dilapidated barn across the property. There were gaping holes in the structure and part of the roof had caved in a decade ago.
When she entered the structure, she stopped in her tracks and stared at Cruz’s shirtless, glistening bare torso as he sorted through lumber. With each board he tossed onto a nearby pile, his biceps bunched and his pecs winked at her. She swallowed hard when desire gripped her gut. The hot sensation spread through her limbs, leaving her weak and trembling.
He must have sensed her scrutiny, because he froze, his arms above his head, a board balanced in his hands. His gaze collided with hers and no matter how she tried to shift her attention to his face, her eyeballs remained glued to his dark nipples and hairless chest.
Too bad rodeo cowboys didn’t ride without their shirts on—she just might give up nursing and become a buckle bunny.
Someone had to speak. “What are you doing?” she asked.
“Sorting through the wood pile.” He dropped the piece in his hands, then removed his work gloves and wiped his sweaty brow. He stared at his T-shirt a few feet away but made no move to put it on.
“I thought you were rodeoing today.” She lifted the cup. “I made your coffee
