Cinderella in Overalls (27 page)

Tears welled up in her eyes. “I couldn’t. The mailman got his truck stuck in the mud until yesterday.” She blinked back her tears impatiently and lay there for a long time, gripping the edge of the comforter in her fingers and staring out the window, avoiding his gaze and feeling stupid.

“Is that why you were on the road yesterday, without the women or the produce, because you thought we were going to repossess the truck?” he asked incredulously.

She nodded and a tear slid down her cheek. “And now I’ve smashed it.”

“Don’t worry. You have insurance on it. I’ll send somebody to tow it back to town.”

“I should have known better.” She twisted her fingers together, wishing she didn’t have to meet his gaze. She stared out the window without noticing the morning sun shining on the mountain. “It was still raining in the valley when I left. The vegetables were rotting in the fields. There was nothing we could do. And then the letter came. I took off without thinking.”

He sat on the edge of the bed and wiped a tear off her cheek with his thumb. “You’re alive and in one piece. Well, almost one piece. That’s all that counts.”

“What about the payments. We missed a payment. If it doesn’t quit raining, we’ll miss another one and then...”

“And then we’ll sit down and talk about it. Change the schedule, alter the interest rate. We don’t want to take the truck back. We want to see you succeed.”

She met his gaze at last, pressed her lips together and nodded gratefully. The look in his eyes told her more than his words how worried he’d been and how relieved he was that she was all right.

“I probably ought to be getting home now.” She pulled herself up on her elbows. “Everyone will be worried about me.

He shook his head. “I’ll send word back to the village with some of the women in the marketplace. They can come by to see you in a few days.”

“A few days?” She looked around the room, really seeing it for the first time, the huge window with the spectacular view.

“You’re not going anywhere until those ribs heal. And after that I thought I might talk you into staying around.”

“Here in the city?”

“It was just an idea.”

“How would you feel if I asked you to stay around with me on the farm?”

“Is that a proposal?” he asked with a gleam in his eye.

She looked up. His mouth quirked up at the corners, but his eyes turned serious. “No,” she said. “Was yours?”

He nodded. “Yes.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but she couldn’t say a word. She put her hand on his arm. “You don’t mean that. You were scared when you thought I was dead. But I’m alive, and pretty soon I’ll be well and we’ll go our separate ways. You rescued me and I’m grateful, but—”

“But not that grateful.”

“Yes... no. People can’t get married because they’re grateful. They have to be in love.” The more she said, the deeper the hole she dug for herself. Now he’d ask her if she loved him and she’d have to say yes if she were honest. It wouldn’t do any good to lie. She’d been lying to herself too long. She lied to Jacinda, but Jacinda saw through her. All the women did. Josh must see it, too, her love for him shining in her eyes and hear it in her voice.

She closed her eyes and lay back on the pillow, exhausted by trying to keep her secret. Even with her eyes closed she felt his gaze on her, asking the unspoken question. She pressed her lips together to keep from blurting the answer. And then she drifted off into blissful unconsciousness.

She woke up hungry and thirsty. He brought soup and tea and watched her eat. “Where did you get this?” she asked, squinting up at him. “And where are you going?”

He straightened his tie. “I’m going to the bank for an hour. Just to check in and pick up my mail. Here’s the phone. If you need me, here’s the number.”

She slept all afternoon, and when she woke up it was evening. From the bed she could see the lights of the city below. Josh was standing at the window, his body outlined against the glass, so tall, so strong and so wrong for her. How could fate be so cruel as to send her a man she couldn’t have? Even if she canceled her five-year plan, what good would that do? How could he possibly imagine that she could live in the middle of a city, this city or any city?

Sensing she was awake, he crossed the room quietly. As he approached, she saw he was wearing a soft denim shirt and faded jeans. She wanted to feel his shirt against her face, and touch the jeans with her fingertips, feeling the hard muscles of his thighs. She hungered for his touch.

“Hungry?” he asked, as if he’d read her mind.

She smiled and held out her hand to him. He knelt there on the floor, and even in the dim light she could see the warmth in his eyes, the love and the care.

“Dinnertime,” he said, and went to the kitchen. When he came back, he had baked beans and brown bread on a plate.

“These are your emergency rations,” she protested, remembering from her earlier visit.

“This is an emergency,” he said. “And I don’t need to save them anymore. I’m going home at the end of next month. I got my promotion.”

She swallowed a mouthful of beans despite the lump in her throat. “That’s wonderful,” she said. She was proud of her quick response, but not as proud of the way her hands shook or the sudden pounding in her head. Just when she was getting better, she felt worse. Much worse. She set her dish down and pressed her hand against her heart. Bones break, but not hearts. It was just a saying, but it was a lie.

“What is it?” he asked, easing himself onto the bed. He pressed his hand against her chest. “Do your ribs hurt?”

She nodded. “I think so.” She took her hand away, but his stayed, his fingers below her breasts, sending vibrations through her body.

“I want you to come with me,” he said.

“Where, to Boston?” she asked, dumbfounded.

“It doesn’t have to be right in Boston. People do live outside of town and commute.”

“Have you ever lived in a suburb?” she asked.

“No, but I thought it might be a good compromise,” he said, outlining the opening of her hospital gown with his finger.

Trying to think rationally, she pulled the gown to her chin and tied the strings together. “How could I use everything I know, everything I’ve learned—grafting mutations, crop rotations—in a suburb? Besides I’m not ready to go back to the States. I can’t stand to see how my parents live or what’s been done to our land. Not yet.”

“I’ll wait.”

She sighed. He had that determined look in his eyes, his chin set at a stubborn angle. She remembered how he got what he wanted. By patiently waiting. He said no more about going home or getting married or living in the suburbs. She finished her beans and bread, and he carried her out to the balcony, put her in a lounge chair and spread a blanket over her.

They listened to Andean folk music on his stereo, the reedy flutes and the stringed gourds reminding her of the outdoor restaurant. She’d never be able to hear this music without thinking of him.

What would life on the farm be like if she couldn’t share with him the progress of her potatoes? How would she get along without him coming by the stall when she least expected him, sending her pulse racing and the color flooding into her cheeks?

Tears filled her eyes and blurred the lights of the city below. Fortunately he was standing at the railing of the balcony, looking out, and couldn’t see that she was crying. If he did, he might think she was sad about his leaving, when she was really just sad about being stuck here in town with a bump on her head. That was all it was. Really.

When he carried her back to bed, she fell asleep and dreamed of living in the suburbs with a husband who came home at night with a newspaper under his arm and talked about banking. It wasn’t a dream. It was a nightmare. Josh went to work in the morning after fixing her a piece of toast and putting the telephone next to her bed.

She tugged at the drawstrings of her gown. “I want to get out of this.”

“Your clothes are in the plastic bag. But I don’t think you want to wear them. Besides, you should stay right where you are.”

She looked at the sliding doors of his closet. “Do you have an old shirt I can wear?”

“Help yourself,” he said, and kissed her softly on the lips.

She put her arms around his neck. A pain hit her in the chest, but she ignored it. He deepened the kiss and she drank in the taste of him, memorizing the lines and angles of his face for the future. Then she sank back on the pillow, her mouth curving up in a smile.

“I’ll be back for lunch,” he promised.

“You come home for lunch?” she asked, surprised.

“Now I do.”

After he left, she took a shower and washed her hair, very slowly and very carefully. Afterward she put on a shirt from his closet that hung down almost to her knees. It wasn’t an old shirt. He didn’t have any old shirts, it seemed, but she borrowed it, anyway. Exhausted from her activities, she went back to bed and fell asleep again.

She woke up when she heard the door open, then footsteps and hushed whispers. She sat up in bed. The door to the bedroom opened, and Jacinda’s face appeared, followed by Doña Blanca, Margarita and the others. Josh stood behind than, looking pleased.

“How did you get here?” she asked, flinging back the blankets and swinging her legs to the floor.

They crowded forward, throwing themselves at her to exclaim over the bump on her head and the bruise on her cheek. Josh was looking at her as if he were afraid she’d break. She gave him a reassuring smile. They explained that they’d come to town with Tomás in his truck. They had come as soon as they could. They’d been frantic until they’d gotten Señor Bentley’s message. Now they were relieved to see her for themselves. The rain had stopped and they had brought her some food. She must be starving. She looked so thin. They held up sacks of cheese, eggs, peppers, lettuce, potatoes and bread.

Before they left they went out onto Josh’s balcony and leaned over the railing, calling to the people below. Then they looked into his giant refrigerator and turned the stove on and off to see how it worked. And as suddenly as they had come, they hurried to the door, anxious to get back to the market. Josh offered to drive them.

He stood in the doorway as they filed out. “Sorry about the lunch,” he said with a rueful smile. “They appeared at the bank just as I was leaving. I didn’t have time to get anything for you.”

“Don’t worry,” she assured him. “There’s enough here to feed an army.”

His gaze drifted down the shirt she was wearing to her bare legs, and he nodded. “I’ll be home as early as I can.”

Her heart thumped against her chest. Home. It had such a nice ring to it.

It took her an hour and a half, resting often, to make a cheese soufflé and a salad for dinner. When Josh came in the door, he was carrying a newspaper under his arm just as in her dream. She gulped. Maybe dreams did come true. No, she reminded herself firmly, it wasn’t a dream. It was a nightmare. He paused in the doorway to look at her, and she raised the spoon to give the salad a final toss. He came up behind her and enclosed her waist with his arms.

“Didn’t I tell you you’re not supposed to do anything that requires concentration or vigorous movement?” he warned. He kissed the top of her head and she closed her eyes.

“Cooking doesn’t require any concentration. And I’ve been moving very slowly. It’s taken me ages to make this simple dinner.”

His hands moved up to cup her breasts under the cotton fabric of the shirt she was wearing. “I could get used to this,” he said, nuzzling her neck with his lips.

“It’s just a  soufflé,” she said breathlessly.