“I’m very sorry to barge in,” Alejo said, striving to sound polite and cool and calm, and not blurt out,Will you marry me now?
“You are?”
“Oh! Sorry, sorry. Alejo Tzama. This is my mother’s house, right? Godiva Hidalgo?”
“Oh! You’re her son!” The delightful, gorgeous woman had begun trying to wrestle herself out of the giant chicken costume. Her top half popped free—Alejo caught sight of a deliciously full figure, then shifted his eyes firmly to her face, though he wanted to look, and caress, and touch, and kiss. Her beautiful face took on a strange expression as she hastily pulled the costume back up over her waist. “Excuse me,” she said huskily, a tremor of laughter still in her voice, then she hustled out of the room, clutching the horrible costume around her lower half.
He bit back the words, “Don’t go.”
What to do now? Technically he had not been invited in—but she hadn’t seemed too alarmed, and she knew who he was, which meant she’d also know that Godiva would have told him to go on in.
He wheeled his suitcase to one side, and glanced around, trying to get hold of his spinning thoughts. He got an impression of white plaster walls and big wooden beams and broad windows that looked out into a spectacular garden. He had decided to proceed carefully, having learned that his mother had welcomed into her home a few women who had encountered some rough road in their lives, and had no home to go to. Which one was she?
He reached for his pocket, then remembered that his phone was dead. He couldn’t text the ranch and find out which of Godiva’s guests liked to dress up as a chicken. And what if his guess was wrong? He’d been wrong before—
YES! MATEMATEMATE—
Let’s ask her name first.
His heart leaped at the sound of footsteps, and the delightful, delectable, lovely woman—
MATE!
—came back, the chicken costume bundled under one arm. Take it slow, he reminded himself.
“Sorry! I ran out without introducing myself. I’m not usually this rude! Wendy Poulet,” she said quickly, her gaze fleetingly touching his then dropping away. “Very glad to meet you. Godiva has said a lot of great things about you.”
Wendy. Wendy Wendy WENDY. A beautiful name. Once again stars burst within him—he now knew her name!
“Uh, Godiva might have told you that I act as sort of a caretaker here, while she’s away.”
“She did,” Alejo said, catching himself firmly. “Ah. Um. If I’m in the way, I can grab a room at a local motel.”
“No, no. There are more than enough rooms. I know without even asking that Godiva would want you to stay here,” Wendy said quickly, her gaze going from the costume to his suitcase to the floor and then to the ceiling. Did he make her nervous? He had spent a good deal of his life with rescue horses, and had learned most of the signals that skittish creatures, whether four-footed or two, tended to reveal.
His instinct had been right: slow and easy does it. “Thank you,” he said. “I’m probably in your way here. First off, is it all right if I leave my pickup in the driveway out there?”
“Certainly! Feel free! You notice there’s plenty of space.” She blinked. “Uh, pardon my asking, but it sounds like you are new to her house?”
There was doubt again, and he said quickly, “Long story, but the short answer is that my mother and I lost touch for a while there, BC. Before Cellphones.”
“Oh, right! Welcome.” There was the relief he’d hoped to see.
“Thanks. Why don’t I chuck my gear into the guestroom, if you’ll just point it out, and I’ll take a look around? Godiva is very proud of her garden, that much I know. I can also set up my laptop and send them an e-mail to know I arrived.” At a questioning look, he said, “I forgot just how hot the desert gets, and left my phone on the dashboard while I was getting gas and hitting the restroom. When I came out, it had fried.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. I can let Godiva know you’re here, if you like? The guestroom is through that door, and to the left. It’s got its own bathroom, and—but you’ll find everything. If not, ask! I’ll get going on supper. Ah, is there anything you don’t eat?”
“I like everything,” he said. “Thank you.”
She had been stuffing the chicken costume back into a bag as she spoke, her gaze low. He wanted to put his arms around her, to smooth the tension he could see in her forehead and her shoulders, but he smiled, backed up, and took his suitcase and himself away, though he could feel his serpent, one of the fastest and most formidable of the mythic warrior beasts, sulking like a two-year-old.This is not a lightning attack situation, buddy. You’re going to have to trust me.
The serpent sank below the surface of his mind in silent protest.
The guestroom was large and inviting. He left the suitcase and stepped through the French doors on the far wall, which opened onto a circular terrace with ironwork seats around the perimeter, and at its center, a fountain lined with cobalt blue tile. Beyond that, a glorious tangle of trees and shrubs and vines and flowers grew in profusion. He’d heard Godiva talk about her garden. She hadn’t exaggerated, he thought as he paced along, pushing aside vines and branches. If anything, she had gone the opposite way. This was an entire habitat all to itself, full of hidden life—
A lot of hidden life, he amended mentally, catching the flick of what looked like a squirrel tail along a venerable old California Black Oak. Another flickering, squirrel-shaped shadow. A chipmunk poised in a jacaranda, almost like a sentinel.
Alejo kept walking. His mind was full of Wendy—whose house Godiva had asked him to fix up.Wasshe his mate? He reminded himself of his mistakes before. The first was understandable. He’d been eighteen at the time, in a haze of sexual awakening. The first time a girl smiled back at him he’d flipped out, pursuing her with the conviction that she was his mate, until her fading interest convinced him that what he was feeling was lust, not the mate bond.
