Coming Home to Texas--A Clean Romance Page 9

  “She was two years ahead of you in school,” said his wife. She knew the graduation year and academic record of every student who’d gone through the Limestone Springs school system in the past forty-five years.

  “Oh, yes, I remember Annalisa.” Dalia wasn’t interested in ghost stories, but she opened the book and scanned the table of contents.

  “You’ll see our common ancestor gets a chapter to himself,” said Mr. Reyes.

  Ah, yes. There he was, in chapter eight. Alejandro Ramirez, Texas Revolutionary veteran, firefighting ghost—and great-great-great-great-grandfather to Tony and Dalia both.

  Before dying at the Battle of Béxar, this Alejandro had fathered a son, Gabriel. Gabriel in turn had two surviving sons by two different wives. Juan, the firstborn, was Dalia’s ancestor. Antonio, the younger, was Tony’s. That made Tony and Dalia fourth half cousins.

  Dalia’s line went on to become prosperous ranchers, influential in local politics, while Tony’s side of the family struggled and dwindled.

  Anyway, Alejandro’s career had supposedly not ended with his death. He’d reportedly shown up in spirit form some years later, when a fire broke out at La Escarpa, and helped save people, property and livestock.

  “Oh, right,” said Dalia. “I remember that story.”

  Something must have been off in her tone, because Mrs. Ramirez bristled. “You don’t believe it?”

  Caught between the truth and a deeply ingrained habit of respect for elders, Dalia hedged. “Well, it’s a little hard to verify, is all. It’s just oral tradition.”

  “Just oral tradition? So were the Homeric poems.”

  Yeah, well, the Iliad has some stuff in it that’s probably not strictly factual, either.

  Dalia hedged some more. “A story that old, though, passed down through so many people, is bound to get embellished over the generations.”

  “It’s not that many generations.” Mrs. Reyes jerked a thumb at her husband. “Miguel here had the story from his grandfather Antonio. Antonio had it from his grandmother—Romelia, Alejandro’s widow. An eyewitness. Antonio’s father, Gabriel, was there, too. He was just a little boy, but he knows what he saw.”

  Sure, you bet. Little children always make superreliable witnesses.

  Gabriel had been born after his father’s death. Supposedly Alejandro had vowed, before setting off for the siege of Béxar, to come back in time to lay a sprig of esperanza in the cradle of his child.

  Why had Annalisa chosen to write about ghost stories, anyway? Why not research Romelia’s life and write about that instead? A single woman running a ranch in the mid-nineteenth century? Now, that would be a story worth reading.

  “Well,” Dalia said, “I guess it’s fitting that you have firefighters in the family now.”

  Mr. Reyes smiled. “Yes. Alex is a good boy.”

  His wife gave him a look. “Tony is a good boy, too.”

  “He’s all right,” said Mr. Reyes. “Might not have turned out half-bad if he’d never picked up a football. I hardly ever got a proper day’s work out of him after that. All that muscle and bone, wasted. You were too good for him, Dalia. I always knew it wouldn’t last. I’m sorry he let you get away, though.”

  Mrs. Reyes made an exasperated sound. “You underestimate him. Everyone does. No one understands what a warm heart he has, or what he’d be capable of if he just had a motive.”

  She glared at Dalia.

  Sure, blame me. It’s all my fault he flunked out of college, because I didn’t believe in him hard enough. You probably made excuses like that for your son, too, and look how well he turned out.

  “How are things on your ranch, Mr. Reyes?” Dalia asked.

  The Reyes place was a good piece of property, but a bit small to make a good living off of. It had been whittled down over the years, and even in its heyday it had never been as profitable as La Escarpa.

  “Oh, can’t complain. Got a long list of the usual chores to be done—fence to mend, brush to clear. Should keep me busy ’til Christmastime.”

  “Don’t forget, you promised to paint the house this year for sure,” Mrs. Reyes said.

  He replied in Spanish, and then she replied to him, also in Spanish, a little sharply. Soon a rapid-fire exchange was going on, which Dalia could not understand. Unlike Tony and Alex, she had not been brought up bilingual, and she’d taken German in high school.

  “Dalia! Come over here and give me a hand with this, please.”

  It was Claudia, calling from the display of raffle prizes.

  “Excuse me, Mr. Reyes, Mrs. Reyes,” Dalia said. “It was lovely to see you both.”

  “Are you going to pay for that book?” asked Mrs. Reyes.

  Dalia pulled out a twenty and handed it over. “Keep the change.”

  She made her escape and hurried over to Claudia.

  “What can I help you with?” she asked.

  Claudia chuckled. “Nothing. You just looked like you could use an extraction.”

  “You got that right. Tony’s grandmother sure can hold a grudge.”

  “Ah, yes. Family loyalty. It does keep life interesting around here.”

  “Yep. One of many reasons I like living in the city.”

  Dalia had already seen Claudia once since arriving back in town, when she’d brought over some mole poblano for dinner. Unlike most of her mother’s friends who’d brought food, Claudia hadn’t asked about Dalia’s love life. She’d asked about her job. She’d seemed truly interested in Dalia’s work in finance, and she asked intelligent questions.

  “I can understand that,” Claudia said. “It might be nice to live someplace where people don’t know your family history for the past five generations.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Any idea how much longer you’ll be in town?”

  “None whatsoever. Tony has been pretty vague about the rebuild timetable, but it’s clearly not going to be a quick job.”

  Claudia looked at her with those piercing black-browed eyes. “It must be hard.”

  Dalia knew Claudia didn’t mean just the rebuild.

  “I don’t know how I’m going to get through it, Claudia,” Dalia said. It was no use trying to pretend with Claudia, and Dalia didn’t even want to. It was kind of restful, being seen through so completely.

  “I look at him now, and it’s been so many years and so much has happened, we’re light-years apart. But then at other times it feels like it was all yesterday. When I came down here to help my mom, I was not expecting to have to deal with him. Honestly, I don’t know if I would have come at all if I’d known. I was just blindsided by the whole thing. I didn’t even know Tony was a general contractor.”

  “Yes, he’s really gotten his life in order these past few years, and I’m so glad. I was worried about him for a while, when he first moved back and was living with Carlos.”

  “I didn’t know he moved in with Carlos. That must have been a train wreck.”

  “Oh, it was. But at some point he seemed to wake up and come to his senses and stop circling the drain. I think it was a rock-bottom kind of thing. He worked hard, kept his nose clean and slowly climbed out of the hole. Started working construction and turned out to be good at it.”

  “I’m glad,” Dalia said, and she was. It hurt her to think of Tony falling to pieces. “I just hope he keeps it together long enough to finish my mom’s house.”

  “He will. Not as quickly as you’d like, but he will finish, and he’ll do beautiful work.”

  “If he’s so good, you’d think he could set a schedule and keep to it.”

  “Oh, mija, builders always go over schedule, at least in my experience. If they don’t, they’re probably cutting corners.”

  She trailed off as her eyes strayed past Dalia’s shoulder, then gave a bright smile. “Hello, mijo.”

  Dalia�
�s heart gave a painful throb. She steeled herself for a Tony encounter, but it was Alex’s voice that said, “Hello, ladies. Enjoying the day?”

  “Oh, yes,” said Claudia. “Raffle ticket sales are going strong.”

  “Glad to hear it. Hey, Dalia, would you like to dance?”

  “Um...”

  Dalia scanned the dance floor. Tony was twirling the ringleted girl and smiling down at her.

  “Sure,” she said.

  She took Alex’s hand, walked him briskly to the dance floor and got right down to business.

  “Hey, who’s leading here, anyway?” Alex asked.

  “Sorry.”

  It took a lot of effort, letting Alex lead and keeping her eyes off Tony, but somehow she managed it.

  After a few minutes, she said, “So?”

  “So what?” said Alex.

  “What do you want to say to me?”

  “Nothing. I just wanted to dance, and you’re a good dancer. So I asked you. Why?”

  “It just seems like everyone is on a talk-Tony-up-to-Dalia kick today.”

  “Oh, yeah? Like who?”

  “Mad Dog, Claudia. Your grandmother.”

  “My abuela talked to you about Tony? Bet that was fun.”

  “Yeah, it was a blast.”

  “Well, I can talk Tony up if you want. It’s not hard. He’s a good guy. Maybe not the steadiest guy you’ll ever meet, but...”

  “Brilliant when he shows up,” Dalia finished. “Yeah.”

  Alex frowned. “It’s not like that. It’s not that he’s unreliable. He just likes excitement. He’s had some rough patches for sure, especially after...you know. But he’s evened out. When I remember how things used to be, when he first came back home and was living with my dad, I know I have a lot to be thankful for.”

  “I can’t even imagine what it must have been like, the two of them living together, as alike as they are.”

  “They’re not that much alike.”

  She gave him a look.

  “No, I mean it. Yeah, they’re both charming and fun-loving and all that, but in one way at least, they couldn’t be more different.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Tony’s not all smooth and slick like my dad is. Talking to my dad is like trying to rope an eel. He’s slithery and slippery enough to get out of anything. You know who he is and what he’s done, but somehow he manages to make it sound like he’s the victim and everyone else is to blame. But not Tony. When he messes up, he says so, and he’s sorry. And he’s a terrible liar. He can keep a secret, sort of, but if you ask him point-blank, he blurts out the truth.”

  Dalia thought of Tony in the lumberyard, looking her straight in the eye and saying he’d never cheated on her. He’d looked and sounded like he meant it. But if he was telling the truth, why didn’t he follow up? Why had he been in such a hurry to get away?

  And why had he ever let Dalia go to begin with?

  Then something in Alex’s expression changed. Dalia followed his gaze.

  Tony was dancing with two girls now—Short Skirt and Too Much Eyeliner.

  Short Skirt’s curls were the artificial kind, sleek and crisp and perfect—not much like Dalia’s natural soft waves. Tony used to be wild about her hair, though. He would run his hands through it and wind his fingers through the waves and beg her to never cut it short. She had no intention of cutting it short, but it was nice to be begged.

  Maybe his tastes had changed. Or maybe he’d never meant it at all.

  She didn’t say another word for the rest of the song, and neither did Alex.

  “Thanks for the dance,” she said when it was over. “I’d better go. Almost time for the first hayride.”

  The hayrides weren’t scheduled to start for another hour, but it was as good an excuse as any to get away.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  TONY WASN’T SURE how he came to be dancing with two women at the same time. One minute he was watching Dalia steer Alex to the dance floor, and the next thing he knew someone had taken hold of his free hand, and suddenly he was twirling her, too.

  They were both very pretty in their way. But something about Dalia made other women seem overdone.

  Why was he thinking about Dalia now, anyway? What was wrong with him? Here he had not one but two very attractive women working hard for attention. Why couldn’t he just go with that, instead of stealing glances at his ex-girlfriend?

  What were she and Alex talking about? Whatever it was, she sure looked serious about it. Course, with Dalia, that could mean anything, because she almost always looked serious. But maybe this really was. Maybe she was thinking what a good, solid guy Alex was. Smart, hardworking and handsome.

  It made sense, the two of them together, Alex and Dalia. A lot more sense than Tony and Dalia ever did.

  No. No! Alex would never do that to him. It was a time-honored rule that you never, ever dated your bro’s ex—and that went double when the bro was your actual brother.

  Didn’t it?

  But all’s fair in love and war. And any guy with eyes and a brain would have to be crazy not to get with Dalia if he had the chance.

  The sick feeling in the pit of Tony’s stomach made it hard to smile, but he did it, anyway.

  Then one of his dance partners, the newer one, stumbled and fell against him. He tried to steady her, but she kept wobbling and clutching him and laughing in a breathless way.

  “Oh, I’m so dizzy! All that spinning around made my head go funny!”

  Clarissa fake-laughed and rolled her eyes at Tony. “Sure, that’s the reason,” she said.

  “I think we better get you to a seat,” Tony said. “Wouldn’t want you to take a spill.”

  Clarissa fake-laughed again. “He’s right, Kenzie. You’d better sit down before you turn an ankle in those flimsy shoes.”

  Kenzie put up a protest, but she still let Tony take her to a seat. Clarissa went along, keeping up a stream of talk to Kenzie that sounded sweet and mean at the same time. How did girls do that? Guys didn’t act that way. To be fair, though, not all girls did, either. Dalia didn’t. She was never catty to other girls, and never fake nice, either.

  Kenzie kicked off her shoes. “There! Now my ankles are safe. I can dance fine now.”

  “Your toes aren’t safe, though,” said Clarissa. “They’ll get stepped on.”

  “Oh, Tony won’t step on my toes. He’s too good a dancer for that.”

  “How’d you even know my name?” Tony asked. “Have we met?”

  “You’re in the calendar! And I already knew you anyway from the trophy case at the high school. So you’re practically an old friend. Come on, let’s dance.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Tony said. “I think you’re done dancing for the day.”

  “Well, then I’ll let you buy me a drink.”

  “I think you’re done drinking, too.”

  Clarissa laughed like this was the funniest thing anyone ever said. “He’s right, Kenzie. You can’t help it. It’s not your fault you’re a clumsy drunk. That’s just how you are.”

  “Well, you’re an amorous drunk,” said Kenzie.

  “Mmm-hmm, I am, I really am.” Clarissa cocked her head at Tony. “What sort of drunk are you? No, wait, don’t tell me. I can see it in your face. You’re a happy drunk.”

  “Wrong. I’m a reckless drunk.”

  “Ooh, that sounds intriguing,” said Clarissa. “What does reckless look like to you?”

  “If I told you, it might make you cry.”

  “Awww! Now I really want to know.”

  “Well, you’re not gonna find out.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because when you’re a reckless drunk, the best thing you can do is not get drunk anymore.”

  Alex wasn’t any kind of drunk. Alex
always kept himself under control. Alex was perfect. Everyone loved Alex.

  “I gotta go,” Tony said. “There’s a thing I gotta do.”

  “All right,” said Kenzie. “We’ll catch you later.”

  I hope not.

  He left fast, not caring where he went as long as it was away. He heard another female voice calling, “Hey there, Mr. July!” But he just kept walking.

  He could still hear the Chicharrones playing way behind him by the dance floor. They finished one song and started another. Was Dalia still dancing with Alex?

  “Tony. Hey, Tony!”

  A thickset bull of a man, with a shaved head and a handlebar mustache, waved at him from over by the mechanical bull. He held up a big can with a slit cut in the lid and a label on the side that said Bull Rides $10.

  He shook the can at Tony.

  “Get over here and support your community! We’re raising money for firefighters here!”

  “Mr. Mendoza!” Tony went over and gave him a good strong handshake. “It’s been a while. You weren’t at Trivia Thursday last week.”

  “I had a job that went late, making a pad site for a guy’s barn in Schraeder Lake. Looks like I’ll be working out here pretty soon, though. Land clearing.”

  “Yeah, I noticed the low acreage was getting pretty brushy. So you’re the one manning the mechanical bull, huh?”

  “Not just manning it. I’m the owner-operator. Been renting it out for parties and such. But for the FFF, I waived my fee.”

  “Business venture, huh? Dirt work and land clearing not keeping you busy enough?”

  “More than that. I’m actually hoping my grandsons might show some talent. None of my boys ever did, but maybe it skips a generation.”

  “What? You used to ride? I didn’t know that.”

  “Oh, yeah. Wasn’t half-bad, either. Cleared ten grand my best year.”

  “No kidding? When was that?”

  “Same year Rigoberto was born.” Rigoberto was what Mr. Mendoza called Tito, his youngest son, owner of Tito’s bar. “Then I tore up my shoulder and broke my cheekbone, and Rose said just what did I think I was doing, and was I trying to get myself killed and leave her to raise five boys on her own, ’cause that wasn’t her idea of a good time. So that was the end of that.”