Читать книгу Rich Man, Poor Bride - Линда Гуднайт, Линда Гуднайт - Страница 10

Ruthie blew the whistle a second time, then climbed down from her small perch to talk to the teenage boy who seemed intent on killing himself to impress a girl on the other side of the pool.

“Justin.” She caught up to him and blocked him from cartwheeling off the shallow end. “It is Justin, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. So?”

He couldn’t have been more than fifteen, all legs and arms and undeveloped chest. Ruthie didn’t let his teenage arrogance bother her. “I know a way to get her to pay attention to you.”

“Who?” Water dripped from the end of his nose. His stomach was stained red from all the acrobatics and belly flops.

“You know who.” She inclined her head. “Kelley. That cute girl in the striped bikini.”

“Oh. Her.” His words denied his interest, but color crept up his neck. Brown eyes flicked in that direction before returning to Ruthie.

“Instead of all this monkey business around the side of the pool, which could get you tossed out and embarrassed, why not try the high dive?” Before he had a chance to take offense to her threat, she rushed on. “You do an awesome somersault, but from down here no one can tell.”

“You think my somersault is good?”

Ruthie’s smile was genuine. “You’ve got talent.”

The boy’s chicken chest puffed out. “Ya think?”

“Yep. Now go to it. I promise you, Kelley will be watching.”

“Cool.”

Before he could escape, Ruthie placed a hand on his wet arm and said gently, “No more crazy stunts, okay?”

“Sure. Whatever.” And he was off to the diving board, walking this time, strutting his stuff instead of running.

Ruthie sympathized with the love-struck boy, remembering those years of adolescent uncertainty, those times of wanting to act grown-up and having no idea how to go about it. But Justin was in luck. Ruthie knew for a fact that Kelley had been watching him, too, pretending all the while not to.

Ruthie’s lifeguard relief arrived, and after waiting long enough to watch Justin execute an acceptable somersault from the high dive, she gave him a thumbs-up and headed to her room. Leaving Naomi alone for more than a couple of hours worried her.

As she unlocked the door to the suite, the elevator down the hall pinged open and Dr. Diego Vargas stepped out. Remembering the embarrassing scene in his rooms, she blushed and hurried inside, hoping he wouldn’t catch sight of her. She hadn’t been able to get the man out of her thoughts all during her stint at the pool. Eventually, she’d have to run into him again, but today she needed time to regain her equilibrium.

Feeling an instant, slam-dunk attraction to a man was unusual for her. In fact, it hadn’t happened since before her husband’s death two years ago. But this afternoon, the handsome Latino doctor in the penthouse had blindsided her.

Maybe that was the appeal. Dr. Vargas was Latino. Just like Jason.

Tossing her room key and whistle onto the small lamp table, she laughed at the comparison. The rich, spoiled doctor might be a dark and beautiful Hispanic male, but he was nothing like her hardworking, good-hearted Jason.

“Mama,” she called, moving from the living area toward the bedroom the two women shared. Their suite was small compared to some of the others, but she considered herself fortunate to have wrangled this much out of the cranky old resort manager. Only after Ruthie agreed to be at the hotel’s beck and call day and night as a fill-in and floater had Miss Montrose agreed to include the living quarters as part of her salary package. Most employees lived in staff quarters, but Miss Montrose wanted her inside the hotel so she could be on the job at a moment’s notice. Ruthie had accepted the conditions gladly. The more work she did, the more she earned. The living room, kitchenette, bedroom and bath weren’t home, but they were close to Naomi’s doctor, and that’s all that mattered right now.

“Mama,” she said again. “You in here?”

Her mother-in-law, whom Ruthie had called Mama almost from the first time Jason introduced them, sat in a chair next to the bed, her eyes closed. Lips moving silently, her fingers weakly prayed the rosary beads lying in her lap.

“Ah, Ruthie. It is you.”

Ruthie laughed softly. “And who else were you expecting? Prince Charming?”

“Maybe. Wasn’t he a native of Florida?” Naomi’s brown eyes still snapped with warmth and humor, though since Jason’s death, her sixty-eight-year-old body had grown frailer with each passing week. Lately, she’d been frighteningly ill on several occasions, suffering from blinding headaches, nausea and eye pain.

Naomi’s doctors back in Texas believed her vague transient symptoms were psychosomatic brought on by the tragic loss of her only child. Ruthie knew better. Which was exactly why she’d requested the transfer from her hotel in Texas to La Torchere, its sister resort. She’d been lucky to talk by telephone to Alexander Rochelle himself, the owner of both hotels. The kind and generous man had made the transfer arrangements as soon as she’d explained her dilemma. The only doctor who’d given them hope for a cure was a ferry ride across the water on the mainland of Florida. She’d hated leaving Texas and the only real home she’d ever known, but she would have moved to the moon if that’s where Naomi could find health again.

Someday her mother-in-law would be well. Then Ruthie could think about the home and family and roots she’d always wanted.

Kneeling in front of her mother-in-law, Ruthie grasped one soft, thin hand between her own water-cooled ones.

“How are you?”

“Better now that my daughter is here.” Naomi gently cupped Ruthie’s cheek. “You are gone half of last night and again today since the morning. Even the young must rest.”

Ruthie’s chest filled with love for this gentle Mexican woman who’d become more of a mother than her own had ever been. Working to earn money for Naomi’s medical care was a privilege, a labor of love, though she could never make Naomi understand that. The older woman had tenderly taught a twenty-two-year-old military brat to be a wife, to cook, to make a real home. But, most important, she’d welcomed her son’s wife into her life with open arms and a loving heart. No matter how much Ruthie might do, she could never give as much as Naomi had.

“Have you eaten anything?” Ruthie knew the answer before Naomi shook her head. Most days her mother-in-law barely mustered the strength to move from room to room. And the cup of prepackaged peaches Ruthie had left on the bedside stand remained untouched.

“Mama,” she scolded gently. “You didn’t touch that fruit.”

“Later, chica.”

“Did you see what I brought you from that banquet I worked last night?” Ruthie pumped her eyebrows for emphasis, hoping to generate interest in a special treat. “Chocolate cheesecake. Your favorite.”

“My favorite? Ha. No one loves cheesecake like my Ruthie. You eat it.”

“Mama, look at me.” She tilted back on her knees and pooched out her belly. “One more pound and I won’t fit into this bathing suit. Besides I don’t like cheesecake as much as I once did. And we can’t let it go to waste. You’ll be doing me a favor if you eat it. Please.”

“How is it you bring these sweets and fancy foods from your work and do not like any of them? I know you, Ruthie Fernandez. You buy nothing for yourself. You work, work, work, saving pennies, doing without, all for a sick old lady who is not even your kin.”

“Don’t ever say that, Mama. You are my kin.” Ruthie tapped her heart. “Right here, where it matters most.”

“Always in Texas you say how much you love having a home and a husband. Roots, you say. Yet you are in Florida, living in a hotel. You are a good wife to my Jason, but he is gone now—” she crossed herself “—God rest his sweet soul. This place is full of rich, handsome men. You should be finding a new husband, not spending every minute working or caring for me.”

Ruthie’s heart pinched to hear her mother-in-law talk this way. She wasn’t looking for a husband, especially among the snobbish rich and famous. And even if she were, she couldn’t expect a man to care for Naomi the way she did.

“This is only temporary until you’re well. Remember when you first started seeing Dr. Attenburg? Remember how much better you felt for a while?”

They’d had such hope for those few weeks until the money ran out.

A soft smile creased the wrinkled brown face. “Yes. So much better. I believed Dr. Attenburg was going to cure me.”

“And he will. As soon as we can start the treatments again. I’ve saved up the money for the next round.” Almost. Every day Naomi grew weaker, and Ruthie was terrified of losing her. She had to start those treatments again soon.

“Already?”

Ruthie faked a jaunty grin. “Tomorrow I’ll call for an appointment.” Somehow, some way, she’d manage the expense. “And in no time you will be on your feet making me the world’s best tamales.”

“Better than Mrs. Sanchez’s, sí?”

“Sí, Mama. The best.” Ruthie fought a smile. Naomi and their former neighbor Mrs. Sanchez had a good-natured battle over who was the best cook. In the past two years, the battle had been on hold as Mama’s condition worsened.

Her print dress, once snug on a rounded body, now draped limply over her knees. Ruthie hugged those bony knees and stood. Leaning down, she kissed Naomi’s soft cheek. “Let me grab a shower to wash off this chlorine, and I’ll fix you something good to eat. Okay?”

“Rest, child.” Naomi’s fragile eyelids drooped.

“You rest, Mama,” she said, swallowing the lump that formed in her throat every time she looked at the woman who’d been so vital, so energetic before this strange illness took over. “I’m not the least bit tired.”

As Ruthie showered and dressed, she justified the tiny untruth with the knowledge that more work meant more money. Because of the experimental nature of Naomi’s expensive treatments, Dr. Attenburg required cash—a commodity in short supply in the Fernandez coffers. And now the good doctor said Naomi needed more intensive—and more expensive—therapy, a fact she wouldn’t share with her mother-in-law. The money was her problem to solve. Naomi had to concentrate on getting well.

Gnawing on her bottom lip, Ruthie yanked her hair into a loose knot on her head and headed into the kitchen area. If only there was some faster way to earn more…Or perhaps Dr. Attenburg would consider extending a little credit.

Fretting, planning and mentally counting her pennies, she rummaged through the refrigerator trying to hustle up a healthy meal to tempt Naomi’s decreased appetite. She sprinkled cheese on a simple noodle casserole and was sliding it into the microwave when her pager went off.

A glance revealed Merry Montrose’s phone number. Ruthie tapped the number into her telephone. Holding the receiver between her shoulder and chin, she tossed together a green salad while listening to the manager’s voice.

“One of the waiters can’t make it in. He claims to be sick, though I have my doubts about that unless laziness is now a recognized malady. So I need you down here. Six sharp.”

“The Banyan Room? At six?” Ruthie checked the digital clock on the microwave. Twenty-five minutes to finish dinner and make sure Naomi ate before reporting for duty. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll be there.”

“And don’t be late.”

“I won’t. I appreciate the work.” An understatement.

“There’s a very special couple with reservations tonight, and I want you to see that they have the best of everything.” The manager’s voice took on an intense edge.

“Of course. I’ll take good care of them.” Ruthie scrambled around for a piece of paper. She didn’t want to call an important guest by the wrong name. Finding a pen, she poised, ready.

“I’ve reserved table five, the cozy corner table with the perfect moonlit beach view, for Dr. Diego Vargas and Sharmaine Coleman.”

Ruthie’s insides took a nosedive. Not Dr. Vargas, the naked hunk in the penthouse! Swallowing hard, she jotted down the woman’s name then tossed the pen aside. Try as she might, she couldn’t forget the man. Though she wanted to request another server for that table, Ruthie knew better than to cross the resort manager.

Merry Montrose made her nervous, always sharp-tongued and on the alert as though looking for a reason to fire her. Losing this job was not an option, so Ruthie did everything possible to please the demanding old lady.

She had worked the Banyan Room numerous times and liked the atmosphere. Posh, quiet and expensive, the five-star facility only attracted the very wealthiest patrons. And the tips were incredible.

But the insulting Dr. Diego Vargas was the one person in the resort she did not want to see. Not yet. Not until she’d wiped away the vision of his smooth dark skin. And his perfect masculine chest. And his gorgeous face. And his—she slammed her eyes shut and tried not to think at all.

Tips or no tips, tonight was going to be a long night.

Ruthie spotted him the moment he walked in the door. If such a thing was possible Diego Vargas looked better in a suit than he did naked. And the woman at his side, Sharmaine Coleman, was exquisite in a short blue sleeveless dress cut down to there.

Fighting back the zip of interest in a man she didn’t even know, Ruthie waited until the couple had been seated before approaching the table. From the explicit instructions she’d received from Merry Montrose both before and after her arrival at the restaurant, Ruthie knew the manager had some sort of interest in Dr. Vargas and his date. Perhaps they were personal friends, although it wouldn’t be the first time the manager had requested special services for a particular couple. In fact, several of those couples had gone on to marry.

For some reason the thought of Diego Vargas marrying Sharmaine Coleman bothered her. But she knew her job and would perform it to perfection. She had to. Her paycheck was Naomi’s lifeline. For a woman with little education, service work was the best Ruthie could hope for.

Complaining guests could get her fired, and after her run-in with Dr. Vargas, that was a distinct possibility if she upset him again. Even though he’d insulted her with his insinuations, the customer at La Torchere was always right.

Nestled in a corner amidst a tropical minigarden of bougainvillea and ponytail palms, table five looked out toward the beach. Ruthie had seen to the place settings herself, so she knew the silver gleamed, the polished crystal reflected the candlelight, and the napkins were perfectly fanned. No couple could resist the romantic ambience. Ruthie had even made certain that a fresh orchid centered the white linen tablecloth. Now if only she could manage to serve them without Dr. Vargas recognizing her. Hopefully he hadn’t gotten as close a look at her as she had him.

Ruthie suppressed a nervous giggle. That much was a given. She’d definitely seen much more of him than he had of her.

Gathering her courage, Ruthie straightened her bow tie, smoothed tense palms over her red fitted vest and black pants, then moved unobtrusively through the softly lit room.

With a deep breath, she thought, Ready or not, here we go.

“Good evening, Dr. Vargas, Miss Coleman. Welcome to the Banyan Room. My name is Ruthie and I’ll be your server tonight.”

Diego turned his attention from the lovely blond woman to her. Ruthie tried to keep her expression professional and friendly, but the minute Diego’s eyes met hers, recognition flared.

“Well. Hello again.” The corner of his mouth twitched beneath coal-black eyes that studied her intently.

Darn. Darn. Darn. Why did he have to have such a good memory?

She inclined her head, hoping to move on without further acknowledgment but couldn’t stop the hot flush sweeping over her.

Sharmaine didn’t miss the reaction. “You two have met?”

“In my suite this afternoon,” Diego said, his expression a mix of suspicion and curiosity. “Delivering towels.”

“Oh. How…interesting.” With a single glance and those choice words, Sharmaine dismissed Ruthie as an inconsequential servant.

Ruthie didn’t know why that bothered her. She’d never considered any honest work as menial, but something in Sharmaine’s tone struck at her self-confidence. For the first time in her life, Ruthie felt second-class.

Add to that, Dr. Vargas’s insinuations that she’d gone into his room for reasons other than those stated, and Ruthie knew she should be insulted. But she took it all in stride. Serving spoiled, not-so-nice guests was part of the job.

She also recognized the subtle need for Sharmaine to put her down. The claws were sheathed but Ruthie suspected that the pretty blonde was conveying a proprietary interest in the doctor. Ruthie found that almost laughable. Even if she were in the market for romance, which she was not, a man like Diego Vargas was out of her league and she knew it.

To salvage her pride and follow her boss’s orders, Ruthie concentrated on her job.

“The manager of La Torchere, Merry Montrose, wishes to extend her personal welcome, and as a token of her good will, offers you a complimentary bottle of wine.”

She sounded as stiff and pinched as a starched corset. How awful to have to carry on a conversation with a man when visions of his slender, masculine body kept flashing in her head.

“Would you care to see the wine list, sir?”

Dr. Vargas hesitated a minute, looking as if he’d say more, then seemed to take pity on her. He ordered wine—Californian, she noted—and said nothing more, but as she hurried away to turn in their order, she felt his intense black gaze follow her.

Once inside the kitchen, she longed to bolt for the back door, head up to her rooms and hide under the bed. Since when had she allowed a snooty guest to get to her? Or worse when had she ever been so oddly affected by a man—a man who’d insulted her, no less? Sure, he was handsome. And yes, she’d love to know if he wore that leather necklace underneath his crisp blue shirt. But something more than sexy looks and an embarrassing moment drew her to Diego Vargas. And whatever it was would simply have to go away.

Diego couldn’t believe his eyes. All afternoon he’d wondered about his mystery woman in the pink Speedo. And now here she was again. This time, he’d discovered her name. Ruthie.

He’d been startled to look up and recognize the fresh-faced waitress as his afternoon intruder. A waitress acting as a maid dressed like a lifeguard. If anything, seeing her again had raised more questions.

The familiar sense of wariness shifted through him. How was it that the same woman who’d come uninvited into his suite was now his server in the restaurant. A waitress with her sights set on a better life could gain access to information about each guest. She would have known he was single and alone, and the fact that he had money was evident in his use of the penthouse suite. Perhaps she’d come to his room, hoping he’d welcome her. Or more likely she’d thought he wasn’t in the room and had come snooping. Although he couldn’t decide what purpose that would serve.

Yes, she remained an enigma, and he would be very careful about solving that puzzle.

Sipping at the glass of fine wine, he watched her move with speed and grace between his table and two others near by. While she’d been stiff and formal taking his order, she appeared more relaxed everywhere else, smiling, talking in a soft drawl that tickled his ears. He wondered about that. Why would she finagle her way into his room under false pretenses then behave as though she didn’t want to see him at all?

Sad for a man to become so jaded that he believed he represented a trust fund to all females. But that was the truth, as hard as it was to swallow sometimes.

Perhaps Ruthie was, as she claimed, a hotel employee who’d made a mistake by entering his room un-announced and unbidden. He wondered why he couldn’t leave it at that, just as he wondered why she’d stayed in his head all afternoon.

“Diego.” Sharmaine tapped one finger on his arm.

Reluctantly he drew his thoughts away from the mysterious young woman and back to his date.

“The beach in moonlight is beautiful, isn’t it?” he offered, hoping Sharmaine had not noticed his mental lapse.

Sharmaine tilted her wineglass in a toast. “Aren’t you a smooth one? Staring at the waitress one minute and talking about moonlight in the next.”

“Waitress?” He feigned innocence. “What waitress? I was looking for the magician who made you so lovely.”

That much at least was true. Sharmaine was a beautiful woman.

She cocked an eyebrow and laughed. “Good answer.”

Stroking the front of her dress, she toyed with the pendant dangling between her breasts. As red-blooded as any man, Diego followed the movement and recognized the invitation. But he wasn’t ready to RSVP. Not yet, anyway.

“After dinner maybe we could walk along the beach. The water looks calm and peaceful.” Peace. Something he craved right now.

“In this dress and these shoes? No suga’, not this little girl. Now, dancing might be fun.”

Disappointment filtered through Diego. He’d much rather have taken dinner at the outside café so he could feel the breeze and smell the ocean. They were at a gorgeous resort with miles and miles of wild subtropical island around them. Sharmaine had recommended the elegant Banyan Room, but in his estimation, nothing man invented could beat the beauty of nature.

“Dancing it is.” His reply was polite if not enthusiastic. He liked dancing, was good at it, thanks to lessons as a child, but tonight he longed for something more…natural.

In his peripheral vision, he saw his waitress at the table on the opposite side of a small border of plants. For reasons he couldn’t understand, his radar went up and he overheard a man’s voice coming from that direction. He couldn’t catch the words but he caught the inflection. Her soft drawl murmured something in return. The man’s voice, slurred as if he’d had too much to drink, elevated. Harsh words followed a near-insulting turn of phrase.

The hairs on Diego’s arm rose to attention. No man, regardless of his status, had a right to speak that way to a woman. And he sure had no business hitting on the waitress in a posh restaurant. If the fellow didn’t shut up, he might have to cut his vacation short to visit an orthodontist.

“Sir.” The waitress’s voice, though strained, remained ever so polite. “I would appreciate it if you’d let go of my arm.”

He had hold of her arm!

Diego fisted his napkin, thrust it onto the table and started to rise. Fire boiled in his belly.

“Diego?” Sharmaine looked up at him with startled blue eyes. “You look positively fierce. Whatever are you doing?”

“I’m going to instruct the man at the next table in some badly neglected manners.”

“Oh, don’t be silly.” She waved off his concerns. “Girls like that know how to take care of themselves.”

He wanted to ask what she meant by “girls like that,” but he was much too focused on the other table. “She shouldn’t have to.”

Before he could think the matter through he was standing next to the waitress glaring down at a twenty-something surfer boy with I-get-what-I-want written all over him. “Is there a problem here?”

The blond man snarled. “Butt out, buddy.”

“Please, Dr. Vargas, don’t concern yourself.” Her soft drawl was laced with tension, her pretty green eyes worried. “Return to your table and I’ll be with you shortly.”

“Not until this guy takes his hands off you.”

“I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t make a scene,” she said firmly. “Everything here is under control.”

“Doesn’t look that way to me.” He speared the surfer boy with a challenging glare. “Hands off. Now.”

The man let go of her arm and scraped his chair back. He was at least six feet tall but looked as soft as an old pillow.

The young woman’s eyes widened in alarm. “Gentlemen, please sit down before the manager is alerted and we disturb other guests. This is a restaurant, not a barroom.”

“That’s right, Vargas. If Ruthie here wants to spend some extra time with me, that’s our business. Right, Ruthie?”

“Mr. Peterson, if you’ll take your seat, we’ll talk again after your meal. Okay?”

The surfer considered her suggestion for a moment, posturing a bit for Diego’s benefit, then he shrugged. “Sure, baby. Why not? Later works better, anyway—if you get my drift.”

Fire still burned inside Diego. He really wanted to punch the insulting little twerp, but Ruthie seemed bent on making peace.

“Dr. Vargas, let me escort you to your table and pour you another glass of wine.”

Reluctantly, Diego turned back toward his table but couldn’t resist a final glare at the other man. Ruthie was at his elbow.

“Please, sir,” she hissed, green eyes wide and anxious. “You’re going to get me fired.”

Incredulous, he stopped and stared at her. “I was trying to help you.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“Didn’t sound that way from where I was sitting.”

“Keeping guests happy is part of my job. If one of them has a few too many cocktails and misbehaves, that’s my problem. I cannot afford to offend a guest.”

Diego couldn’t believe this woman. “You’re making me the heavy?”

“I’m just asking you to please stay out of my business. First you insult me in your suite and now you’re jeopardizing my livelihood.”

“I didn’t order those towels.” The denial sounded petulant, childish.

“Well, somebody did.”

“Then I owe you an apology.”

“Apology accepted. Would you care for an appetizer before dinner?”

Smooth as silk she brushed him off and left him feeling like an idiot for offering his help. Sharmaine was right. Ruthie could take care of herself.

Tension knotted in his neck, he settled back into his chair.

Ruthie topped off his wineglass as if nothing had occurred, but her hand shook the tiniest bit.

When she moved away, Sharmaine pouted. “Really, Diego, you’ve paid more attention to that waitress tonight than you have to me.”

He couldn’t deny the truth. He had been far more attuned to Ruthie than he had to his lovely date. And he could offer no logical explanation for his behavior.

“That, sweet lady, is because the waitress served the prime rib.” Tilting his head, he gave her his most charming and disarming grin. “Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve had prime rib?”

Sharmaine found that amusing. “So,” she said, “the way to a man’s heart really is through his stomach?”

Diego struggled to keep his mind on the conversation and off the most disturbing urge to follow Ruthie into the kitchen and apologize again. Considering Ruthie’s reaction to his offer of help, he was not on her list of all-time favorite males.

“That’s what they say.”

“Oh, pooh. Now I’ll have to learn to cook.”

“Or hire one.”

Sharmaine responded with a throaty chuckle, and Diego knew he’d been forgiven for being less than the perfect dinner partner. To tell the truth, he was hard-pressed to understand himself tonight. He was sitting with a beautiful woman who fit into his social world. A woman who obviously enjoyed men and who would lead him on a merry chase if he would let her. Her game was clear. There was no subterfuge, and his heart was in no danger.

But he couldn’t take his mind, or his eyes, off a certain green-eyed waitress.