Читать книгу Red Rock Cinderella - Judy Duarte, Judy Duarte - Страница 5

Ella Stewart studied the stranger who’d asked her to join him for dinner—and on her dime.

With her current financial outlook what it was, she shouldn’t have stopped for take-out food in the first place, let alone offered to pay for someone else’s meal. But as she’d reminded him, it was the Christmas season, and it seemed only right to help someone who was less fortunate than she was.

“What do you say? Should I let the hostess know we’d like a table for two?” His eyes, a mesmerizing shade of blue, gazed at her as though her agreement might change his bad luck to good with a nod of her head.

She nearly laughed at that, since her own ship had yet to come in. And if truth be told, it seemed to be sailing farther and farther out to sea. But what would it hurt? Since Aunt Aggie was having dinner with one of her nephews, the alternative was for Ella to eat alone in front of the television. So she said, “Sure. Why not?”

The man said something to the hostess, who then left her post. When she returned a moment later, she smiled. “There’s one last table in the courtyard. Apparently, the couple I’d seated there earlier decided it was too cold and went into the lounge to eat.”

“How cold is it?” Ella wondered if she was dressed warm enough to sit outdoors.

“It’s a little chilly,” the hostess admitted, “but we have heaters.”

Ella glanced at the down-and-out stranger, who offered her a wide grin. His eyes glimmered in a way that made her want to look beyond his worn clothing and his scruffy beard to the man beneath.

“Okay,” she said. “That works for me.”

The hostess led them to the quaint courtyard, with a rustic old fountain, its water gurgling. The soft sounds of mariachi music coming from another room made the setting even more romantic than it might have been otherwise.

They took a seat at a small pine-wood table for two, and moments later, a busboy brought them glasses of water, as well as two types of salsa and a woven basket containing chips.

“My name’s Clay,” he said. “What’s yours?”

“Ella.” She was glad he hadn’t shared his last name. They were clearly on the same page about what their dining together meant. On a night when so many couples and families were out on the town or nestled together at home, they wouldn’t have to be alone. Something told her she and this man might be kindred spirits in a way, always standing on the outside looking in.

“So what brings you to Red?” she asked.

“I was hungry, and there wasn’t much in the fridge or the pantry.”

She wondered if he’d really left his wallet in the car—or if he even had a vehicle. But she let it go. It really didn’t matter. They would share a meal, give each other some company, then go their separate ways.

“So what do you do for a living?” she asked, making small talk.

He hesitated, and she realized that if he was between jobs, the question had been a low blow. As a sense of awkwardness hovered over the table, he finally said, “I’m in sales. How about you?”

She wished she could claim to be a doctor or schoolteacher or lawyer. But she’d never gone to college, something she now regretted.

“Actually, my job is ending after the holidays, so I’m looking for work.”

He leaned forward, as if he knew of an open position. “What kind of experience do you have?”

She smiled and gave a little shrug, deciding to own up to it. “I’ve done it all—dog walking, house sitting, waitressing, working at a day-care center. Right now, I’m taking care of my elderly great-aunt, but that’s soon going to change.”

Again, he gazed into her eyes intently, as if everything she said mattered.

As if she mattered.

It was a welcome feeling for Ella, particularly after the past few months. She’d been begging Fred, the trustee of her aunt’s trust, to reconsider his decision to sell the house and move Aunt Aggie into a retirement home, but she might as well have been pleading with a tree stump. None of her relatives would listen to her, and she’d begun to feel like a second-class citizen, at least in her own family.

“Why?” Clay asked. “Is your aunt ill?”

Ella paused, wondering how much to share with a stranger, then decided a man she’d never see again was probably safe. Besides, it was nice when someone asked her opinion without accusing her of having ulterior motives.

So she told it like it was. “No one expected my aunt to live to be eighty-four, and the nest egg meant to last through her golden years has dwindled away. The house needs a new roof, as well as new wiring and plumbing. So her nephew has decided to sell it, rather than fix it up. And he’s planning to put her in an assisted-living facility.”

“How does your aunt feel about that?”

“She’s not happy. And neither am I. She’s really spunky, and I think that moving her out of the only home she’s had for more than sixty years is a bad idea. But she’s not my mother, and I have no say about any of it.”

“I can’t imagine anyone ignoring your opinion, especially since you’re the one who lives with your aunt. If I were the nephew, I’d welcome your thoughts.”

His understanding, his vote of confidence, settled over her like a balm. How nice to have someone in her corner for a change.

Ella reached for a chip, but as she pulled her hand back, the delicate antique bracelet Aggie had given her this morning snagged on the basket and caught.

“Oh, no.” She hated to pull it free. The chain was old and delicate.

“Here,” Clay said. “Let me.”

He placed one hand on her wrist, spiking her heart rate and sending a surge of heat zipping through her blood. Then he fingered the silver chain with the other.