Читать книгу One Perfect Man - Lynda Sandoval - Страница 14

After the Garza women, young and old, retreated to their bedrooms, Erica accepted one last cup of coffee and joined Tomás on the back patio to discuss their meeting schedule and some last-minute details. The rural night beyond the light of the stake lanterns loomed black and silent, save the steady insect symphony and the intermittent, far-off howl of coyotes.

Resisting the languor brought on by the ambience, they got down to business immediately. Once they’d plugged a few meeting dates and backup options into their calendars, they sat back with completion. The setting instantly felt intimate to Erica, the company at once comfortable and disconcerting. She found herself determined to keep things friendly with Tomás, to stop shying away from him. She ran her palm along the smooth-sanded armrests of the hand-carved lounger, reveling in her feeling of ease around Tomás and yet not trusting herself for it. She fell back, once again, on small talk.

“I’ll give you one thing.” She patted her stomach. “You weren’t kidding when you said you could cook.”

He smiled, and the play of torchlight on his face showed her that his beard was coming in. A gentle breeze tossed loose strands of his long hair against his cheek. He looked at once rough and serene, unguarded but still emotionally distant. Politely so. He looked…so sexy. Gorgeous and dangerous and inaccessible—an enticing mix no matter the circumstances.

“Well,” he said, a little wryly, “I’m glad you enjoyed the meal. When life throws you into single fatherhood at the age of seventeen, you find the time to learn all kinds of skills. Cooking is second nature to me now.”

Wow. It was the most he’d admitted about his rather enigmatic life since they’d met, and she didn’t quite know how to respond. Luckily, she didn’t have to. Before she’d completed one tight swallow, Tomás went on.

“On that note, there are a couple of things you should know, Erica, since you’re going to be spending time alone with my daughter, which is something I don’t allow many people to do.” He slid her an almost apologetic glance. “I don’t like to think of them as rules, but…”

A small pause. Her wariness returned like a shifting wind. She managed to remain still and keep the apprehension from her tone. At least she hoped. “Okay.”

For a moment, all she heard were the crickets. When he started to speak, his voice was low.

“Her mother left us. We were never married, but then again—” a self-deprecating shrug “—we were kids.” He leaned forward in his chair, elbows on knees, rubbing his palms together slowly. A myriad of emotions crossed his face. Anger, disappointment, sadness, resolve. “Hope doesn’t know her, has never known her. And…we don’t talk about it.” His gaze met hers then, level and full of meaning, and the motions with his hands stopped. “I’d appreciate it if you’d respect that.”

Her stomach tightened. Could she believe what she was hearing? “Ever?”

“What do you mean?”

“You don’t discuss Hope’s mother ever?”

He shrugged. “She was two years older than Hope is now when…when it happened.” He seemed to go pale at the thought but shook it off quickly. “She left when Hope was still nursing, never looked back. Why talk about a mother who never wanted to be involved in my daughter’s life? Who never was involved? What’s the point?”

Closure? Catharsis? Erica could think of a lot of reasons, but none, she knew, that would convince this man. And really, was it any of her business? Still, she couldn’t keep from voicing the questions swirling around in her mind. She moistened her lips, treading cautiously. “Hope’s okay with that?”

He blew out a weary sigh, but his tension seemed to ease slightly. He smoothed one hand slowly down his face. “I don’t know. She never speaks of her mother. Nothing to speak about. I mean, she doesn’t know the woman.”

But wouldn’t that fact in and of itself be something to discuss, Erica wondered? Ah, well. It wasn’t her family, definitely wasn’t her problem. If Tomás wanted her to pretend that Hope had been miraculously born without a mother, she would. And she’d pass Go, and collect five thousand dollars—no problem whatsoever, she decided. “It’s fine. Don’t worry. It wouldn’t cross my mind to probe the child about her parentage anyway.”

But Erica knew herself too well. If Hope brought the subject up…? Ah, well, she’d face that problem if and when it arose. As he said, Hope never talked about her mother anyway. Smiling gently, to put him at ease about her time with Hope, she asked, “Is that all? The only rule?”

“I…I guess so.” Sincerity deepened the color of his eyes as he watched her. “Thank you. For understanding.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Excuse me?”

She tucked her hair behind her ears, staring into the blackness rather than meeting the eyes of this emotionally damaged man. Somehow glimpsing a bit of his vulnerability rendered him an even bigger threat to her senses. “I’m…sorry you went through that. It must’ve been hard.” Silence. She finally glanced toward him.

He took a long, slow sip of his coffee, watching her over the rim of his mug. Not so much suspicious as guarded. Always guarded. When finally he swallowed, he said, “We’ve made do.”

“That, I can see. You’ve done a great job. But still, it must have been difficult for you. That’s all I’m saying.”

He hiked one shoulder. “Hell, no one ever promised life would be easy. And I wouldn’t change one thing if it meant I didn’t have Hope.”

Erica smiled. She never knew a proud papa could be sexy but here sat a prime example. Family men had never appealed before, for obvious reasons. Ready-made mommy, she wasn’t.

Tomás’s expression turned troubled again. “One of the things I promised myself, though, is that she wouldn’t be shorted. That I’d provide a good life for her, everything she needs and wants.” His jaw ticked. “I’ve always dreamed of a beautiful quinceañera, a day just for her.”

“What all fathers would want, I guess.”

“Yes, but…” He pressed his lips together, seeming to struggle for the right words. “What I mean is, a send-off befitting a young lady who didn’t have an impetuous teenage boy for a father…and no mother. A real…event. Something complete. Something…not lacking.”

Her heart jolted, and she understood. She finally understood, once and for all, and it made her heart squeeze with compassion and empathy. She yearned to reassure him, to validate his efforts as a parent who’d overcome tremendous odds. Oh, Tomás, she wanted to say, a party can’t make up for a mother’s absence, and you have nothing to atone for anyway.