But that was difficult when excitement tingled through her from studying him in his black polo shirt and khaki slacks.
She stood aside to let him in.
As soon as he stepped into the casita’s small living room, she realized just how hard keeping her distance would be. Tall, fit and broad-shouldered, Ben seemed to take up the entire room.
“This is nice,” he remarked, assessing the space. A tan ceramic-tiled counter separated the appliances from a table for four and a hutch displaying artifacts. The house had an alarm to protect them and other treasures her aunt had gathered over the years.
“It’s been my home as much as any place has,” Sierra admitted.
“You said you lived with your aunt when you attended high school.”
Apparently he’d listened and remembered. “Yes, and since I returned to Albuquerque a few years ago.” She went to the sofa to pick up her garment bag.
“You didn’t say much about where you lived before returning here.”
Avoiding his gaze, she lifted her duffel. “We can talk about that in the car if you want to get going.”
Before she could guess what he was going to do, his hand reached out for her bag. “I’ll take that.”
“I’m stronger than I look,” she joked.
He stood very close, so close she could catch the scent of his aftershave. “I imagine you are. But if you want to lock the door, you’ll need a free hand.”
He was right and one step ahead of her.
Somehow in passing the duffel’s strap to him, their hands brushed. His skin was hot, slightly rough. She remembered exactly how his hands had felt on her skin.
When their gazes collided, neither of them breathed for a moment. But then Ben motioned to the door. “Ladies first.” His expression was unreadable as she set the alarm, then stepped outside.
After he stowed her duffel on the floor in the backseat of his SUV, he hung her gown across from his tuxedo. Sierra had already fastened her seat belt when he climbed in. He stared at her for a few seconds and didn’t start the ignition.
“What?” she asked.
“I’m surprised you don’t have more luggage.”
“We’re just going overnight.”
“Yeah, but with the wedding and all…”
What had he expected? A huge cosmetics case, a suitcase filled with alternate outfits? “I’m a traveler, remember? I’ve learned to pack light.”
“You’re one of the few women on earth who can do that.” He turned the key.
“Actually, my mother is another. That’s one handy trait she taught me.”
After he pulled out onto the street, he drove to the intersection. But at the stoplight, he glanced at her again. “You said your parents were anthropologists and you traveled with them until you came back here to live with your aunt while you were in high school.”
“That’s right.”
“You were an only child?”
“I was.”
“Then why did they let you return here to live during your most formative years? Why didn’t they want to see you go out on your first date, drive your first car, attend a prom?”
Ben might have an edge sometimes—she’d sensed a cynicism about him from the moment she’d met him—but he was much too perceptive, too. Had that talent come from perfecting interrogation skills? Or from trying to read witnesses and criminals?
“My parents are a little unusual.”
“How so?” He turned onto a main street and headed for I-25.
In the past she’d never let anyone but her aunt see how her childhood years had affected her, how lonely she’d been, how the feeling of not being wanted superseded all others. Now that she’d set foot in this conversation, she didn’t know quite how to step out of it.
Sticking to the basics, she explained, “My parents were totally engrossed in their careers.”
“Lots of parents are,” he remarked.
“I suppose so.”
Ben wasn’t going to let that be the end of it. “So how did their preoccupation with their careers affect you?”
“Are you trying to psychoanalyze me?”
Again he tossed her a quick look. “No, just trying to understand your background.”
“Are you going to tell me about yours? I mean, I know you’re from Minnesota, but that’s about it.”
“Are you evading my question?”
She had to remember she was dealing with a lawyer, a man who was used to getting answers. She had the feeling he wouldn’t give up until he did.
After another few moments of hesitation, she agreed, “Yes, lots of parents are engrossed in their careers. That’s true. But to explain my parents’ lives…” She hesitated again.
He waited, expecting her to go on.
She could just clam up, but if they were in this for the long haul, she should give him a hint of what her childhood had been. “You told me your work is demanding and you’re busy even nights and weekends.”
“I did.”
“Well, imagine this. Imagine that you married another A.D.A. whose dedication and work ethic was the same as yours. On top of that, imagine that you worked with her on every case, all day, every day. Then picture your wife having a baby and the two of you still wanting to work every case together and wanting to go back to the way things were before the baby was born.”
He went silent for at least a half mile until they veered off the main road onto the interstate and headed for Santa Fe. Finally, he offered, “If I imagined that scenario, then I’d also imagine a nanny raising the baby, right?”
“Mom and Dad were researchers, so I had lots of nannies.” Usually native women whom she’d come to love and respect. But she’d felt so separated from her mom and dad as they’d interviewed villagers, discussed their theories, written up their findings.
Ben’s mouth tightened. “Where were you born?”
“In France. My father was French and his mother was living then. From the accounts I’ve heard, my parents went there in my mom’s ninth month and we stayed for three months after I was born.”
“And then?”
“Then they went to Africa, then Bali, India and South America.”
“How many languages do you speak?”
