A MAN WITH A PAST...

Cruz Rivera is on his last second chance. He can’t afford to blow it by falling for the beautiful blonde widow who just hired him to fix up her family’s New Mexico property. If he’s going to get back on the rodeo circuit, Cruz needs to focus. Besides, a sweet single mom like Sara Mendez can do better than someone with Cruz’s troubled history.

Sara isn’t making it easy for Cruz to keep his distance. He’s a man of many secrets, but Sarah sees only good in his warm brown eyes. Though Cruz knows he should move on before Sara discovers the truth about his past, he can’t leave the closest thing to a home he’s ever known. Cruz is the only man Sara wants—can he become the one she deserves?

“I don’t want you to go.”

Sara inched closer to Cruz and her scent hypnotized him.

“If I stay...” He couldn’t make himself say the words.

“I know.” Her eyes softened. “Let’s take it one day at a time.”

He’d been forced to take it one day at a time in prison, and that was the last thing he wanted to do with Sara. But he was just a man. A man who yearned to be with a woman who would make him feel good inside. And worthy.

“I’m not asking for anything more from you. I just...” She dropped her gaze for a moment, then looked him in the eye. “I just need you here.” Her voice cracked, and he nearly lost the battle to stand firm.

“I can’t stay.” He stepped by her and headed for the barn. He didn’t know whether he was a fool or a coward. The one thing he knew for sure was that he was no saint.

Dear Reader,

In December 2011 A Rodeo Man’s Promise was released as part of my Rodeo Rebels series (the book is available in ebook). I’m thrilled to share that the three delinquent teens in A Rodeo Man’s Promise will get their own stories in my new series, Cowboys of the Rio Grande.

A Cowboy’s Redemption is Cruz Rivera’s story. Cruz showed great potential for rodeo and was set to ride the circuit when one fateful night he made a decision that changed his world and landed him in prison, robbing him of a rodeo career.

We’ve all made mistakes, and many of us would do things differently if we could go back in time. But there are no do-overs in life—we can only move forward. Having served his prison sentence, Cruz is searching for peace and a new purpose for his life when he runs into widow Sara Mendez and her daughter, Dani. They tempt Cruz to believe he deserves happiness, but deep down he doesn’t feel worthy of their love and trust—not when he’s carrying a secret that he’s certain will change the way Sara feels about him.

I hope you enjoy Cruz and Sara’s journey as they show us that the healing power of love redeems us all.

You can find more information on the books I write at my website, marinthomas.com, as well as links to all my social media hangouts.

I love hearing from readers and can be reached at marin@marinthomas.com.

Happy reading,

Marin

A Cowboy’s Redemption

Marin Thomas

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MARIN THOMAS grew up in the Midwest, then attended college at the U of A in Tucson, Arizona, where she earned a BA in radio-TV and played basketball for the Lady Wildcats. Following graduation she married her college sweetheart in the historic Little Chapel of the West in Las Vegas, Nevada. Recent empty nesters Marin and her husband now live in Texas, where cattle is king, cowboys are plentiful and pickups rule the road.

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Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Extract

Copyright

Prologue

“This rodeo won’t be the same without you, Rivera.”

Cruz Rivera’s gaze skipped over the prison warden, Mitchell Bole, who stopped at his side near the bronc-busting chutes. The first rule Cruz had learned on the inside was that you never made eye contact with the warden.

“Your talent has turned our little rodeo into a money-making machine.”

Before Cruz had arrived at the White Sands New Mexico Correctional Facility, the prison rodeo had been nothing more than a two-hour afternoon show for the best-behaved inmates. After Cruz had proved his talents on the back of a bronc, the prison’s athletic director had convinced the warden to grant special privileges to the most agile convicts. As a reward for good behavior the men were allowed to practice their rodeo skills on a weekly basis.

Cruz stood out among the other convicts—most likely he’d inherited his abilities from his father, who’d been a national champion bull rider back in the day. As word had spread through the local community that the prison had a bona fide rodeo cowboy, citizens had begun showing up to watch the practices. The warden saw an opportunity to make a quick buck and opened the event to the public. Over a thousand people had turned out for the first rodeo. Men, women and children sat on the tailgates of their trucks or the hoods of their cars, watching from behind a chain-link fence decorated with razor wire. Each year the crowd grew larger and eventually the warden commissioned a construction company to build a three-thousand-seat arena. That year, sponsors signed up to support the rodeo and pretty soon the inmates who didn’t compete were enlisted to make crafts—leather products like wallets and belts and original prison artwork—that were sold at the event.

“Monroe is your new star,” Cruz said.

“He’s not half as good-looking as you.” Bole winked.

Cruz wasn’t a vain man, but he’d caught his reflection in the sliver of glass that posed as a window in his cell door. He was no longer a fresh-faced kid. Twelve years at White Sands had hardened him. Time had hollowed out his face, making his cheekbones and jaw more pronounced. And thanks to a fall off a nasty bronc four years ago, his nose was crooked. His chiseled looks combined with his dark hair and eyes had garnered plenty of looks from the female rodeo groupies. Each year his buckle-bunny fan club grew in numbers, the ladies taunting Cruz and the other inmates with their skimpy clothing, big hair and lipstick-painted mouths.

“You never know.” The warden chuckled. “You might get caught breaking a rule and we’ll have to extend your stay...”

Again.

After the warden had realized Cruz’s value to the prison’s bottom line, he hadn’t wanted him leaving. When Cruz came up for parole, Bole had made sure he didn’t go anywhere. The warden had sent Scorpion to deal with Cruz. The rapist cornered Cruz, forcing him to defend himself from a sexual assault. The incident had added eight years to his sentence.

“Are you sure you want to do that?” Cruz said.

Bole narrowed his eyes.

“The fans know this is my last rodeo. If I don’t make parole, a reporter might show up at the prison asking why.”

“There are ways to keep reporters from knowing everything that goes on behind these walls.”

“And there are ways to get information to the public without you being aware.” Cruz grinned. “I worked hard to make you the most envied prison warden in New Mexico. I can work just as hard to take you down.”

Bole’s face turned ashen even as the lines bracketing his mouth deepened. “You just make sure you win today. Got that?”

“Yes, sir.”

After Bole walked off, Cruz closed his eyes and cleared his mind of all the trash that clogged it. Years of garbage had accumulated inside his head, and shoving the bad experiences and memories aside wasn’t easy. With extra effort he envisioned his draw—a bronc named High Wire. If he made it to eight, he’d advance to the second go-round later in the afternoon. If he won that one, he’d make it to the championship round in the evening.

He needed three victories today to become the first inmate to win the saddle-bronc event twelve straight years.

Then he’d retire his spurs for good.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the sixteenth annual White Sands prison rodeo!”

Noise from the crowd echoed through the arena as Cruz put on his spurs and riding glove. In the past he’d never worn one of the Kevlar vests the prison supplied—mostly because he hadn’t given a crap if he’d gotten injured or killed. But his parole hearing was next week and he was having second thoughts about wearing the extra protection. Then he nixed the idea—it was bad karma to change his routine.

“This is the event you’ve all been waiting for—our saddle-bronc competition.” Once the crowd quieted, the announcer—a prison guard named Larry—gave spectators a rundown of the event rules.

Cruz stood by himself next to High Wire’s chute. There wasn’t a whole lot of camaraderie among prison rodeo contenders. It was what it was—a group of sex offenders, murderers, armed robbers and drug lords playing cowboy for the day. As soon as the crowd disappeared and they hauled the roughstock away, the cowboys morphed back into society’s outcasts and returned to their cells.

Except for Cruz. He’d get out of this hell hole in three days.

“We know who you want to see ride,” the announcer said. “Turn your attention to chute number three, where Cruz Rivera is getting ready to battle High Wire!”

Cruz climbed the slats and waved the cowboy hat he’d been given for the day at the crowd. He nodded to the buckle bunnies holding signs with their phone numbers. Twelve years was a long time to go without sex and he looked forward to one day holding a pretty lady in his arms again.

“I know Rivera is a favorite among the ladies. Let’s see if this cowboy can tame High Wire—a bronc famous for his acrobatics.”

Cruz slid his leg over the gelding and found his seat. The horse trembled with anticipation. He checked over his shoulder—Bole stood a few feet away, his eyes always moving. Always watching. Cruz adjusted his grip on the six-foot hack rein and willed his racing heart to slow to a steady beat. On the count of three he nodded to the gateman and the chute opened.

High Wire bolted from the enclosure. His back legs extended and Cruz pitched forward but managed to mark out despite the awkward position. Saddle-bronc busting was akin to ballet and Cruz had been born with balance and rhythm. Unlike the other rodeo events, saddle bronc relied less on strength and more on timing and finesse.

Unbeknownst to High Wire, Cruz took control of the ride. With each buck he leaned forward straight up the bronc’s neck to the rigging, then right back down. No jerky movements. He squared his shoulders and held his free arm high and steady.

When the buzzer sounded, the roar of the crowd threatened to disrupt Cruz’s concentration and he doubled down, putting in extra effort while he waited for the right opening to dismount. The opportunity came and went and Cruz remained on High Wire. A part of him didn’t want the ride to end. If he could have stayed on High Wire the rest of his days he might have found his utopia. But that was not how a convict’s life worked—he didn’t get to make the calls.

High Wire was tiring—the bronc had been through enough for one day and Cruz launched himself off the animal. He hit the ground and rolled, coming to his feet in one fluid motion. He retrieved his hat from the dirt, then waved it at the crowd.

One ride down. Two to go.

Then he could get on with the rest of his life—wherever that took him.

Chapter One

On a Monday afternoon in mid-May, Cruz clutched the plastic bag that held his few belongings and waited for the prison guards to buzz the tower. The massive gates yawned open and he walked away from the hellhole that had been his home for far too long.

Ignoring the clanking sound of the iron bars closing behind him, he breathed deeply, filling his lungs with hot, dusty air. Crazy, but he swore the oxygen in the parking lot smelled a whole lot sweeter than it did inside the prison yard behind him.

Let it go, man. You’re thirty-one years old. The best days are yet to come.

From here on out whatever road he traveled would be better than the one he’d been on for over a decade. He shoved his hand inside his pants pocket and clutched the fifty dollars in gate money and the bus ticket to Las Cruces. The Greyhound passed by the prison three times a week. He had fifteen minutes to make the half-mile walk to the highway and catch the bus. But damned if he could get his feet to move. He checked over his shoulder. The guards stood sentry, their faces expressionless. The gray-bar hotel sucked the life out of everyone who worked or lived within its walls.

His cell mate, Orlando, had been in and out of prison most of his adult life and had warned Cruz that he might freeze up on the outside. Cruz had hated prison with every fiber of his being but it had been predictable—even comfortable in a perverse way. He’d been told what to do, how to do it and when to do it for the past 4,326 days. There was no one on this side of the wall instructing him to do anything. From now on every decision was in his hands.

“Need a lift?”

Cruz’s heart jumped inside his chest but not a muscle twitched—years of bracing himself for an unexpected attack had taught him to control his body’s reactions. It took only a few seconds for the familiar voice to register, then Cruz relaxed. Riley Fitzgerald. He grinned at the former world-champion saddle-bronc rider—the only man who’d ever tried to make a difference in Cruz’s life.

“Considering where you just came from, you look good.” Fitzgerald clasped Cruz’s shoulder and gave him a hug. The last hug he’d received had been from Maria Alvarez, Fitzgerald’s wife and Cruz’s former high-school teacher, after he’d passed the tests required to earn his GED. She’d been proud of him that day—too bad he’d let her down. “How’s Maria?” She and Fitzgerald ran the Juan Alvarez Ranch for Boys outside Albuquerque. The ranch had been named after Maria’s deceased younger brother, who’d been killed in a gang shooting when he was a teen.

“Maria’s fine. She’s eager to see you.”

Cruz wasn’t ready to socialize with people. Not yet. Not until he grew acclimated to life outside of prison.

“There’s a job waiting for you at the ranch,” Fitzgerald said.

“What kind of job?”

“Counseling troubled teens.”

Cruz had spent more than a decade behind bars and the experience had left him jaded. He was the last person who should mentor gangbangers.

“Thanks, but I’ll pass.” Last week Cruz had met with his parole officer and had been handed a laundry list of do’s and don’ts—the most important being that he stay the hell away from Albuquerque and gangs. Fine by him. There was nothing left in the barrio but bad memories. Cruz was free to move about the state as long as he reported in to his parole officer on a weekly basis.

“What are your plans?” Fitzgerald asked.

“I don’t have any yet.”

“We both know what you’re qualified to do.”

Rodeo. Cruz had promised himself that when he left prison he’d never ride again. What had once been a dream—becoming a world-champion saddle-bronc rider—had been stolen from him the moment the gun had gone off in his hand.

He’d had a hell of a rodeo run in prison and his prowess in the saddle had earned him the respect of the inmates and guards and those living in the surrounding community. But no matter how accomplished he’d become, he was still a felon cowboy and his victories were tainted.

“I’ve had my fill of rodeo,” Cruz said. All he wanted now was to be by himself and reclaim the sense of peace that had been ripped from him when the judge had handed down his sentence.

“If you won’t accept the job then you’re going to need these.” Fitzgerald dropped a set of keys in Cruz’s hand.

“Shorty wanted you to have his wheels.” Fitzgerald pointed to an older-model red Ford parked next to a Dodge Ram with a man sitting in the front seat—probably an employee from the ranch.

Before Cruz found his voice, Fitzgerald said, “I’d better get on the road. We have a group of boys arriving in a few days and Maria’s got me busy until then.” He shook Cruz’s hand. “I’ll tell her that you’ll visit soon.”

When Fitzgerald reached his vehicle, Cruz called out, “You hear much from Alonso or Victor these days?”

“Come out to the ranch and Maria will fill you in on the guys.” Fitzgerald hopped into the Dodge and drove off, leaving Cruz alone.

Alone was good. Alone was his normal. Even among the thousands of prisoners he’d lived with daily, he’d always been alone.

He stared at the Ford. The sun glinted off the shiny paint, highlighting minor dings and scratches on the doors. Fitzgerald must have run the pickup through a car wash on the way to the prison. As he crossed the lot an image of Shorty popped into his head—gray hair, scruffy beard, bow-legged and cheek swollen with chewing tobacco. The retired bullfighter could spit tobacco juice twenty-five feet through the air.

Cruz pressed the key fob and unlocked the truck. He slid behind the wheel, then remembered he didn’t have a valid driver’s license. He’d have to remedy that sooner rather than later. He rummaged through the glove compartment and discovered the truck’s title—it was in Fitzgerald’s name. Cruz assumed Fitzgerald was paying the insurance on the vehicle. He shut the glove box then started the engine. The needle on the gas gauge registered a full tank—enough fuel to get him the hell away from this place by the end of the day.

He turned on the air conditioning and adjusted the vents toward his face. Freedom was feeling more real every second. When he buckled his seat belt, he noticed the envelope sitting on the passenger seat with his name scrawled on the front. He tore open the seal and removed the handwritten note.

If yer reading this, son, then I must be ten feet under in the boot yard. I was hoping I’d be there to greet ya when ya got out of the slammer but the ol ticker must have quit ticking.

Cruz’s eyes watered. Damn Shorty for dying.

What the hell, man? Did you think life wouldn’t go on for others while you were in prison?

Yes. No. Shit.

I ain’t never spent time in prison, but I had a friend who did and it took a while fer him to get used to being free. Ya gotta stay out of trouble, son. The best place fer ya is the circuit. Ya keep riding just like ya did in prison and before ya know it, yer pent-up anger n pain’ll disappear.

Cruz rubbed his eyes, ignoring the moisture that leaked onto his fingertips.

I made sure Fitzgerald set ya up proper-like fer the next go-round. Do me proud, son. That’s all I ask. See ya on the other side—but not too soon, ya hear?

Shorty.

Cruz glanced into the backseat. A Stetson sat next to brand-new rodeo gear, including a saddle for bronc riding. Next to the gear rested a duffel bag. He unzipped the canvas. Several pairs of jeans, shirts, underwear and socks were packed inside along with a Ziploc bag of toiletries. A belt and pair of cowboy boots rested on the floor. Had Shorty paid for all this?

A sharp stab of guilt pricked Cruz. Each year he’d rodeoed for the prison, he’d given the warden a list of people he wanted to deny entrance to—Fitzgerald and his wife, Maria, and Shorty—because he’d let them down and he didn’t have the guts to face them. And his two best friends, Alonso and Vic. Alonso because he couldn’t bear to see the sympathy in his eyes, and Vic because he should have been the one sitting in prison—not Cruz.

Included in the envelope was a list of summer rodeos. Shorty had backed Cruz into a corner. The last thing he wanted to do was ride another bronc, but out of respect for the old man, he’d rodeo until he figured out what to do with his life.

First things first. He needed a job. The fifty dollars in his pocket wouldn’t last long. His best bet was to look for work in a city like Las Cruces. Instead, he drove west, hoping to find temporary employment on a ranch or a farm. As soon as he earned enough money to keep the gas tank filled and pay a handful of entry fees, he’d hit the circuit.

Cruz drove over two hours before giving in to the gnawing hunger in his gut. When he whizzed past a billboard displaying a faded and tattered advertisement for Sofia’s Mexican Cantina in Papago Springs, he took the exit and drove the frontage road for a mile before arriving in the one-horse town.

The two-block map dot consisted of abandoned mobile homes and bankrupt businesses. The gas station’s single pump was missing its hose and the attached convenience store was packed from floor to ceiling with junk. Behind the station an antiques shop and Cut & Dry Hair Salon sat vacant.

The only two places that appeared open for business were The Pony Soldier—a bar with a life-size plaster horse spinning on a pole attached to the roof—and Sofia’s Mexican Cantina, which was located inside an adobe house. Next to the restaurant sat a corral with two donkeys and a horse, a lean-to, a barn and a rusted, windowless single-wide trailer. A newer SUV was parked alongside a battered pickup in front of the home.

He’d dreamed of his first meal as a free man taking place at a Waffle House. His mouth watered when he thought of how long it had been since he’d eaten homemade biscuits and gravy. But it appeared he was destined—at least for today—to eat what he’d eaten in prison, more bland refried beans and rice. He parked next to the SUV and noticed a Help Wanted sign in the window of the restaurant.

He knocked but no one answered. When he tested the knob, the door opened. The smell of chorizo and fry bread assaulted his nose and he forgot all about biscuits and gravy. The front room had been converted into a waiting area. He tapped the bell on the counter to announce his presence. A beautiful blonde with blue eyes and an engaging smile appeared out of nowhere.

“Hello.” Her feminine voice sounded foreign to Cruz and he thought for a moment that he’d imagined it. “Welcome to Sofia’s Mexican Cantina.” She peered behind him. “Are you dining alone?”

Temporarily speechless, he nodded.

“Right this way.”

The subtle sway of her feminine hips mesmerized him as he followed her into another room. She ushered him to the table by the window, which looked out at the donkeys and the lone horse. He cleared his throat. “Thank you.”

She held out a laminated menu. “My name is Sara Mendez.”

Her smile and twinkling blue eyes shot his concentration to smithereens. It had been a long time since he’d been this close to a pretty woman.

“If you’re not in a hurry, José will cook anything you want.”

Oh, man, he was so not in a hurry.

“His specialty is pork tamales and chicken enchiladas.”

Hopefully anything José cooked would be better than the prison slop he’d consumed. “I’ll take a tamale and an enchilada.”

“You won’t be disappointed.” She hurried off, her long ponytail swinging behind her.

Left alone he stared out the window, watching the animals in the corral. He’d thought a lot about the day he’d finally be free from prison and none of the scenarios he’d imagined had been anywhere close to this.

And today wasn’t over with.

His ears caught the sound of shoes scuffing against the floor and he spotted a miniature shadow ducking out of sight behind the doorway. Sara returned with a basket of chips, homemade salsa and a glass of water.

“I apologize for not taking your drink order.” Her cheeks turned pink, and he wondered if he made her nervous—and not in a good way. Could people tell he’d just been released from prison?

“I’ll take a beer—” He’d better not drink alcohol in case he got pulled over by the highway patrol. “Make that a Coke.”

“Coming right up.” As soon as she left, the tiny shadow darted from the doorway and hid behind a chair. He munched on a chip, waiting for the little spy to show herself. He didn’t wait long before she popped up next to him. The sprite had dark pigtails and brown eyes.

“My name is Dani. What’s yours?”

“Cruz.”

“Cruz?” She pulled out the chair next to him and climbed onto the seat. “That’s a funny name. I’m five years old. How old are you?”

“Thirty-one.”

“That’s really old. Do you know my grandpa?”

“No, I don’t.” The child was pure innocence, reminding Cruz not to get too close.

“My papa’s a good cook.”

Cruz pushed the basket of chips toward Dani. “Help yourself.”

She grabbed a chip and took tiny bites with her tiny teeth. “My daddy died.”

Shocked at her blunt statement, Cruz fumbled for something to say. “I’m sorry.”

“Mama wants Papa to come live with us.”

Pity for the child and her mother filled Cruz, surprising him. He hadn’t believed he had any compassion left in him, but the little girl’s sweetness tugged at a place deep inside him—a place he’d shut the door on as soon as he’d been locked up inside the prison walls.

“Dani.” The blonde returned. “I’m sorry. My daughter is a chatterbox and we don’t get many customers.” She set the meal and drink on the table then brushed a strand of hair from Dani’s face. “You miss your friends back home, don’t you?”

Cruz wanted to ask where home was but didn’t.

Dani pointed. “Cruz can be my friend.”

Sara quirked an eyebrow and he felt as if he’d just been reprimanded. He held out his hand. “Cruz Rivera.” She shook his hand and the calluses on her palm surprised him.

“Nice to meet you.” Sara switched her attention to her daughter. “Go into the kitchen and help Papa with the dishes.” Sara grabbed her daughter’s hand and helped her from the chair, then they left him to eat in peace.

Cruz savored his first bite of real food, letting the spices soak into his tongue before chewing. A lump formed in his throat as he swallowed. Once the first bite hit his stomach, he devoured the meal.

“Oh, my,” Sara said when she returned with a water pitcher and gaped at his empty plate. “You must have been starving.”

“It was real good.”

“I’ll make sure to tell my father-in-law.”

Without asking a single question Cruz knew more about the lives of three strangers than he knew about himself anymore. Sara set the bill down and walked off.

He left a twenty on the table, then stood. He didn’t want to wait for his change—a hefty tip would be his first good deed since leaving prison. He snuck out of the house, hopped into Shorty’s truck, then started the engine and flipped on the AC. Then he sat and stared at the damned donkeys.

After five minutes he shut off the truck and entered the restaurant where he found Sara clearing his table. Their gazes met across the room. Man, her eyes were pretty.

You’re asking for trouble.

“You forgot your change,” she said.

He shook his head. “I was wondering about the Help Wanted sign in the window.”

“Are you interested?”

The excitement in her voice startled him. “What kind of help do you need?”

Sara glanced toward the kitchen doors, then closed the distance between them. “Let’s talk outside.” She hustled him out the door and he barely registered the electric shock that skittered across his flesh when she brushed against him.

“I need someone to clean up and make a few repairs so we can list the property.”

“You’re leaving?”

“I’m trying to convince my father-in-law to move to Albuquerque with me and Dani but this place will never sell in its current condition.”

“I could do that.”

“José doesn’t want to sell. He won’t be much help to you,” she warned him. “I can pay ten dollars an hour. I know that’s not much but you can stay in the trailer and use the shower in the house. Meals are free.”

She hadn’t even asked for a reference. Lucky for you.

Cruz figured he could spruce up the place and be back on the road in less than a week with a few hundred dollars in his pocket. “That’s fine.”

Her smile widened but then she suddenly frowned. “You don’t carry a gun, do you?”

Unless he wanted to violate his parole and land back in prison, he didn’t dare possess a weapon. “No, ma’am. You’re welcome to search my truck and my personal belongings.”

“I trust you.”

She shouldn’t.

“I don’t like guns.” She hugged herself and stared into space, then shook her head. “I’m afraid the trailer doesn’t have air-conditioning and most of the windows are broken or missing.”

“Not a problem.” He’d rather breathe fresh air at night.

“While you settle in, I’ll break the news to José.” She squared her shoulders. “He won’t like you being here, but he doesn’t have a say in what I do with my money.”

Yet it was José’s property. Cruz kept his mouth shut and watched Sara’s swinging hips disappear inside the house.

That was the dumbest thing he’d done since he’d been released from prison and considering that he’d only been a free man for a few hours, his future looked more uncertain than ever.

* * *

“WE DON’T NEED HELP,” José grumbled.

Sara removed the clean enchilada pan from his hands and dried it. She wasn’t sure what to make of Cruz Rivera showing up out of the blue asking for work, but she wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. “He’s only staying until the property is de-cluttered.”

The guarded expression in the new handyman’s eyes should have scared Sara away, but she was at her wits’ end trying to deal with her stubborn father-in-law. If there was any cause for concern it was her reaction to Cruz—just saying his name in her head made her stomach flutter. He was the first man to have her counting back the months since she’d last had sex—seventeen, to be exact.

Cruz was cowboy and bad boy wrapped together in one sexy, dark, dangerous package. She’d noticed him studying her and the appreciative gleam in his brown eyes had contradicted his distant attitude.

“There’s nothing wrong with this place.” José wasn’t a hoarder but after the death of his son, the sixty-five-year-old had grown depressed and had little energy or enthusiasm for chores. As a result, boxes and empty bulk-food containers had piled up. Papago Springs didn’t have trash service and the handful of residents either burned their garbage or hauled it to the dump. José hadn’t made a trip to the landfill in ages.

When she and Dani had arrived a month ago, she’d had all she could handle cleaning the house, which hadn’t seen a dust rag or mop in forever. She’d taken a leave of absence from her pediatric-nurse position at The Children’s Center at Presbyterian and she had only four weeks left to convince José to move to Albuquerque before the clinic filled her position.

“Cruz will take the garbage to the dump and tackle what needs fixing before we list with a Realtor.”

“I’m not moving.”

“Dani and I miss you.”

Her father-in-law made an angry noise in his throat but held his tongue. She understood his reluctance to leave. Tony had been his only child and had been born in the house. And José’s wife, Sofia, had died here. There were decades of memories within the walls, but that was all that remained—memories. Sara wanted José to make new memories with her and Dani.

Since Tony’s death a year and a half ago, Dani could use the extra attention. And it would be such a relief not to have to pay for after-school care or babysitters when Sara worked overtime and weekend shifts at the clinic. With only her income to cover the rent and bills, money was tight. She had Tony’s life insurance in case of an emergency, but she didn’t want to use any more than she had to, because it was earmarked for Dani’s future college tuition. Education had been important to her husband—he’d been the first member of his family to attend college and he’d wanted his daughter to follow in his footsteps.

“You and Dani could move here,” José said.

They’d had this discussion before. “I’ve got a good job in Albuquerque and Dani loves her school.” Her daughter had been three and a half when her father died, and although she professed to love him, she didn’t really remember him. Tony had spent the majority of his spare time volunteering at the free medical clinic in the barrio. When he’d died, Dani hadn’t felt his loss as sharply as Sara had.

“If I leave, who will run the restaurant?” José asked.

She swallowed her frustration. One, maybe two people a week stopped in to eat at the cantina.

“And I can’t leave the animals behind,” he said.

Animals that other people had asked him to watch while they took vacations but then never returned to claim. “We’ll find good homes for the mules and the horse.” When he remained silent, she said, “What can it hurt to give the place a face-lift whether you move or not?”

“It’s a waste of good money.”

“It’s my money. I’ll decide if it’s wasted or not.”

“How come Antonio never mentioned how stubborn you are?” The corner of José’s mouth lifted in a shaky smile.

Sara’s heart ached for the old man and she hugged him. He’d been more of a father to her than her own. Her parents had divorced when she’d been a teenager and she’d had no contact with her father since. When Sara had graduated from high school and entered college, her mother met and married a Frenchman, then moved overseas with him. She only saw her mother and stepfather every few years.

“Things will work out, José. You’ll see.”

José and Dani were all that was left of Sara’s real family and she was determined to keep them together.

Chapter Two

As far as rusted-out single-wide trailers went, this one was a five-star accommodation compared to where Cruz had laid his head last night. The windowless tin box allowed for plenty of airflow and made the mobile home feel less confining. There were no appliances in the kitchen and only a trickle of rusty water ran out of the faucet when he flipped it on.

Still better than a prison cell.

“My mom says you’re gonna help Papa.”

The high-pitched little voice startled Cruz. He spun so fast he lost his balance and crashed his hip against the Formica countertop. Unbelievable. He’d faced down gangbangers and thugs, yet this pip-squeak had managed to sneak up on him.

He took the stack of clean sheets that were weighing down her arms. “Thank you.”

Without waiting for an invitation, Dani walked over to the built-in dinette table and slid onto the bench seat. “My papa doesn’t want you to help him.”

“Is that right?”

She nodded.

“Why doesn’t he want my help?”

Her narrow shoulders moved up and down. Cruz doubted Sara would approve of him being alone with Dani. “Isn’t your mother looking for you?”

Dani’s gaze darted to the living room, where a coffee table covered in an inch of dust sat in front of an olive-green sofa. Then her gaze swung back to Cruz and she blurted, “Are you a daddy?”

“No.” Several homies in the barrio had gotten their girlfriends pregnant in high school but after seeing how their lives had changed, he’d promised himself that he’d never let a girl trap him with a pregnancy. He’d always carried condoms in his wallet—that is, before he’d landed in jail. He supposed one of the first things he should do when Sara paid him was buy a box of rubbers—in case he ended up in a buckle bunny’s bed when he returned to the circuit.

An image of Sara flashed before his eyes. She was the furthest thing from a rodeo groupie and way out of his league. A guy like him wasn’t good enough for a widow trying to raise a child on her own.

“A bad man shot my daddy.”

“Dani?” José poked his head inside the trailer and glanced between Cruz and his granddaughter. “Did you give Mr. Rivera the sheets?”

Dani nodded.

“Go on, now. Your mama’s looking for you,” José said.

Dani rolled her eyes and Cruz kept a straight face as she scooted out from behind the table. She stopped in front of him, her big brown gaze beseeching. “If you feed the donkeys, can I help?”

Cruz glanced at José. The suspicious glint in the older man’s eyes warned that he wasn’t making a social call.

“We’ll talk about the donkeys later.” José took Dani’s hand and helped her down the steps.

Cruz watched the kid scamper across the dirt and duck inside the back of the house. When she was safely out of hearing range, he gave his full attention to Sara’s father-in-law.

“I don’t want your help,” José said.

“Say the word and I’ll leave.”

Cruz watched the old man struggle—his lips moved but only a harsh breath escaped his mouth, then the fire in his eyes sputtered out. “My daughter-in-law is too trusting.” He waved a hand before his face. “Did she ask where you’re from?”

“No, sir.” Cruz would answer José honestly if he wanted to know, but he wasn’t volunteering any information.

“Did she ask where you were going?”

“No, sir.”

“Did she ask why you wanted a job?”

“No, sir.”

He shook his head. “For all I know, you just got out of prison.”

The blood drained from his face, but Cruz held José’s gaze.

“I’m keeping an eye on you.”

“Yes, sir.”

José left, following the path Dani took to the house.

José didn’t trust Cruz and he was smart not to. For all intents and purposes, Cruz had lied when he hadn’t confirmed José’s suspicions about being released from prison. If that wasn’t enough incentive to head down the road, then learning that Sara was too trusting of strangers and her husband had been shot should have been. He didn’t need trouble and these folks didn’t need him.

He grabbed the sheets off the counter, intent on returning them before hitting the road, but a whiff of their clean scent paralyzed him. He buried his face in the cotton and closed his eyes. The sheets smelled like spring, not chlorine and musty body odor. He pictured a room with a queen-size bed covered in the blue flower print. Then he imagined himself sinking onto the mattress and burying his face in a cloud of blond hair.

He set the linens on the counter—it was best if he left without saying goodbye. Tonight he’d sleep in his truck in a parking lot far away from Papago Springs. Halfway to his pickup Sara crossed his path.

“There you are.” She offered a smile. “Dani mentioned helping you with the donkeys and that reminded me that I needed to discuss the repairs I’d like you to tackle.”

Tell her you changed your mind.

Then she set her hand on his arm and any thought of leaving vanished.

“You aren’t afraid of stubborn donkeys, are you?” She smiled.

He would have laughed at her teasing if her fingers hadn’t felt like a lit match against his skin.

Chill out. You haven’t touched a woman in over a decade. No wonder his testosterone was jumping off the charts. He wanted to believe that any woman he came in contact with would produce the same physical response, but he suspected not. Sara was different from any female he’d known. Pure goodness shone from her eyes, tugging at his protective instincts. And the best way to protect her was to beat it.

“I’d like you to replace the missing slats on the corral, and several windows in the house won’t open. And it would be great if you could not only clean up after the animals, but feed them, too.”

“I don’t think—”

She talked over him. “I’m hoping that once the place is picked up and a Realtor tells my father-in-law what he can get for the property, he’ll change his mind about selling. He’s all alone now and it’s better if he lives with me and Dani in Albuquerque.” She spread her arms wide. “But we won’t find a buyer for this place in its current condition and I’m afraid I only know how to fix children, not corrals, sheds and fences.”

“Fix children?” Her eyes lit up and he wished he’d kept his mouth shut.

“I’m a pediatric nurse.”

No wonder José claimed she was too trusting of others. She took care of kids—honest, loving, innocent little people.

“Are you a rodeo cowboy?” She nodded to his worn boots. His twelve-year-old Justin boots had sat in a brown paper bag until he’d reclaimed them earlier today.

“Saddle-bronc rider.”

Her eyes twinkled. “Are you any good?”

“Decent.”

“I’m sure the things on my list won’t take more than a few days to complete. I’ll pay you in cash on Friday before you head off to your next rodeo.”

“You know much about rodeo?” Why was he encouraging conversation?

“A little. When my husband was in med school, he got suckered into entering a bull-riding competition by his friends and I got a crash course in emergency medicine.” She rubbed the toe of her sandal over a pebble in the dirt. “Antonio died a year and a half ago.”

“I’m sorry.” For a lot more than Sara would ever know.

“I think the best place to begin would be the corral and the livestock pens. The garbage cans are in the storage shed and the burn barrel is at the back of the property.”

Tell her you’re leaving.

“The dump is twenty-five miles north, so anything that’s too large to burn will have to be taken there.” She drew in a breath, then exhaled loudly. “Whether you believe it or not, you’re a godsend. I don’t know if He sent you—” she pointed at the sky “—or if fate made you stop for a bite to eat. Whatever the reason, you being here will help us all move on.”

Dumbfounded, Cruz watched Sara return to the house. How the heck could he walk away from her, Dani and José now? He’d stay—until he cleaned up the property, then he’d get the hell out of Dodge before he did something he’d regret. Like kiss Sara Mendez until the sadness disappeared from her eyes.

* * *

“WHAT ARE YOU staring at, Mama?”

Sara jumped back from the window. “Nothing.” Her daughter had caught her spying on Cruz—more specifically, admiring the way his snug jeans fit his muscular backside. She could have stood there for hours, watching him work.

“I’m bored.”

“Did you finish your work sheets?” Sara had purchased a preschool book for Dani before leaving Albuquerque. Since she’d had to withdraw her from class in order to spend the summer in Papago Springs, she didn’t want Dani falling behind the other kids before she entered kindergarten in the fall.

“I don’t wanna do work sheets. I wanna help Mr. Cruz feed the donkeys.”

Two days had passed since she’d hired Cruz and she’d been amazed and pleased by how much he’d accomplished. The cowboy was up at the crack of dawn and went to work without breakfast, only stopping to eat when she brought him a plate of food.

“You might get in Mr. Cruz’s way.” This morning he’d removed several broken boards from the corral and replaced them with wood he’d found in the storage shed. Tools and hardware littered the ground and Sara didn’t want Dani accidentally cutting herself or stepping on a rusty nail.

“Pleeease...”

“Stop whining, Dani!” Sara rubbed her brow, regretting that she’d snapped at her daughter. She blamed her short temper on José. Every chance he got, her father-in-law grumbled and complained about the work Cruz did. He thought the broken boards gave the corral character. Then, when Cruz had removed all the donkey poo from the ground and thrown it in big trash bags to take to the dump, José had grumbled that it was a waste of good manure and should be used for composting. “C’mon.” She reached for Dani’s hand. “Let’s see if there’s something Mr. Cruz can find for you to do.”

Dani’s expression brightened and Sara’s heart swelled with love. Tony had been taken from them too early, but she drew strength from her daughter and she credited Dani with helping her move on.

When they stepped outside, Sara shielded her eyes from the midday sun. Keeping hold of Dani’s hand, she led her over to the corral, where Cruz worked with his back to them. She stopped short of the tools strewn on the ground and waited until he quit hammering to speak.

“Mr. Cruz,” Sara said.

He glanced over his shoulder and Sara sucked in a quiet breath at the way his gaze rolled down her body before returning to her face.

“Is there any chance you might have a chore Dani could help with?”

He crossed the enclosure, stopping in front of them. His shirt was soaked through and for an instant she wished he’d take it off and give her a glimpse of the muscle hiding beneath. The temperature was rising but it hadn’t gotten so hot that her mouth should feel like a dry riverbed.

“I’m a good helper,” Dani said.

His lips quivered and Sara was disappointed when he didn’t smile. She suspected a full-blown grin from him would knock her feet out from under her.

“I found two cans of white paint in the shed. Dani can help paint the corral.”

Her daughter tugged on Sara’s T-shirt. “I wanna paint. Can I paint? Please can I paint?”

She brushed Dani’s bangs out of her eyes. “Go change into the shorts with the tear in the pocket and the T-shirt with the Cheerios box on the front. If you get paint on those clothes, it won’t matter.”

“Yay!” Dani raced into the house.

“Are you sure she won’t be in your way?” Sara studied his face, wondering about his age. The lines etched next to his eyes and his chiseled jaw had her guessing between thirty-five and forty.

“I can’t guarantee she’ll keep the paint off herself, but if that’s okay with you, then I don’t mind,” he said.

She tore her attention from his face and stared at the pearl snaps on his sweaty cotton shirt, then her gaze dropped to the worn leather belt that hugged his hips.

“I’m collecting a pile of garbage for the dump if you have anything to add to it.”

She snapped out of her trance. If he noticed her ogling him, he was too much of a gentleman to mention it. “I’ll go through the house and see.” There was nothing left to say, but Sara’s feet remained firmly planted. If that wasn’t perplexing enough, she didn’t understand why he hadn’t gone back to working.

His eyes shifted to the house, then to her, then to the ground before returning to her face. “Dani said her father was shot.”

Sara’s breath caught in her throat and suddenly the roots on the bottom of her shoes broke off, and she swayed.

“Hey, are you okay?” Cruz grabbed her arm. “Sorry. It’s none of my business. I shouldn’t have asked.”

It took her a moment to find her voice—not because of his question. It wasn’t her deceased husband’s memory, but Cruz’s touch that had rendered her temporarily speechless.

“Antonio volunteered at a free medical clinic in a tough area of Albuquerque. One night while he was closing up, two local gangs got into a shoot-out and a stray bullet came through the window and struck him in the chest. When he hadn’t arrived home by ten o’clock, I called the police, but he was already dead when they arrived.”

“I’m sorry.”

She cleared her throat. “The next day the police decided it had been a stray bullet from a Los Locos gang member that had killed Tony.”

Cruz stiffened. “I better get to work.” He disappeared inside the shed, leaving Sara gaping after him.

She made him uncomfortable. All the signs were there—he barely made eye contact. He always took a step back when she approached him. And he answered her questions with as few words as possible. She sensed he was hiding something. But what?

It’s none of your concern. Turning off her desire to help others wasn’t easy. Cruz isn’t asking for your help. If there was ever a man who should wear an approach-at-your-own-risk sign around his neck, it was Cruz.

When Sara entered the kitchen, Dani raced past her. “Mind your manners, young lady, and do what Mr. Cruz says.”

“I will!” A slamming door punctuated her daughter’s exit.

Sara went into the dining room and stood in the shadows near the window facing the corral. She watched Cruz place a can of paint on the ground at Dani’s feet. Next, he demonstrated how to dip the brush into the can and wipe off the excess paint. Dani followed his example and whatever he said to her made her beam at him. Cruz might be uncomfortable around Sara but he didn’t seem to mind Dani’s company.

He carried the second can of paint to another section of fence and worked there. The corral should be torn down but the animals had to be contained somewhere. After a few minutes, Dani set her brush aside, then walked over to Cruz and sat in the dirt. While he worked, she chatted and Sara wished she could hear their conversation. Dani was a friendly child and had inherited her outgoing personality from her father. Antonio had believed helping the needy would make him immune to violence and crime in the barrio. He’d been wrong. Dead wrong.

“Are you lonely, hija?”

Sara’s father-in-law had an uncanny ability to read her mind. Forcing a smile, she turned from the window. “A little.” In truth she was beyond lonely and it had begun long before Antonio had died. Once Dani had been born, her husband had mistakenly believed their daughter would keep Sara so busy she wouldn’t notice the long hours he put in at the hospital during the week and then at the clinic on weekends. But Sara had noticed and she’d begged him to spend more time with her and Dani, but her husband had chosen to help strangers over his family.

“He’s not the right man for you,” José said.

She swallowed a gasp and glanced at the window. “I’m not interested in Mr. Rivera.” At least not in a happy-ever-after way. “Why would you think that?”

“Because your eyes follow him everywhere.”

This was not a conversation she should be having with her father-in-law. “I want to be sure Dani doesn’t make a nuisance of herself.”

“And I will make sure you don’t bother Mr. Rivera.” José turned to leave but Sara stopped him.

“Wait.” She didn’t want this subject hanging between them when they returned to Albuquerque. There would come a time when she brought a man home, and she didn’t want her relationship with José to be adversely affected by that. “Antonio has been dead for over a year and half.”

José’s stern face crumbled and she rushed to his side, coaxing him to sit in a chair before taking the seat next to him. She didn’t have the heart to tell him that the son he’d put on a pedestal all these years had been human and full of faults just like them. “I loved Antonio very much.”

“I fell in love with Sofia in high school.” He waved a hand in the air. “When she got sick I stayed by her side.”

“You were a devoted husband.” Sara hadn’t been around when Antonio’s mother had suffered a stroke and lingered almost a year before passing away.

“Those were hard times, but I never stopped loving her.”

“Antonio will always own a piece of my heart, José. But I have to think about Dani’s future.” At his confused expression she said, “I don’t want her to grow up without a father.” To be honest Dani didn’t know what she was missing since she’d hardly seen her father the first few years of her life. But Sara wanted more for Dani than to be raised by a single mother. Her years working with sick children and their families had proven that kids with two loving parents fared far better facing adversity than those with only one caregiver.

“Dani has me,” he said.

“Does that mean you’ve changed your mind about living with us in Albuquerque?”

He dropped his gaze.

Sara didn’t push the subject. “I’m not looking to marry anytime soon, but I do plan to start dating again, if the right man comes along.” She resisted the urge to check the window. Cruz Rivera was not the right man, but he was a man who made her pulse race. And he was the first man since Tony’s death who made her think of herself—her own needs and yearnings. It was probably best that he clean up the property and leave. Even if José approved of her desire to date again, Cruz was more than she could handle.

“I will think about moving to Albuquerque.” José shoved his chair back and shuffled from the room. His footsteps echoed in the hallway that led to the bedrooms at the back of the house. Anytime Antonio came up in conversation, the talk drained José and he retreated to his room.

Sara returned to her post by the window. A good portion of the corral had been painted and it appeared Dani had given up helping, preferring to follow Cruz around and talk his ear off. Her gaze homed in on the handyman. His movements were sure and efficient—he’d have the wooden slats painted in record time. The speed at which he worked had her believing that he couldn’t get away from Papago Springs fast enough, which made it all the more interesting that he was still here.

Maybe he has no place to go.

She’d love to learn more about him—where he came from. Where he was headed. If there was a woman in his life.

She knew one thing—he wasn’t sticking around because she did his laundry. She’d offered to wash his clothes, but he’d declined.

Maybe he was still here because of the food. José was an amazing cook. Each night she piled Cruz’s plate high with food, which he ate in the trailer by himself. And each morning she’d find the previous night’s empty plate sitting on the bench by the back door.

It really didn’t matter why Cruz was here. It mattered only that with his help she’d be able to convince José to let go of this place. But by then Sara had a sneaking suspicion Cruz Rivera would be long gone.

Chapter Three

Cruz spent Friday afternoon repairing the lean-to for the donkeys and the horse. He’d straightened the once-sagging overhang and set two additional posts in the ground that allowed him to extend the covering, providing more shade for the animals.

“Cruz.”

Wiping his sweaty brow across his shirt sleeve he glanced in the direction of Sara’s voice. Then he almost swallowed his tongue. She wore a bright turquoise sundress and pretty silver sandals with rhinestones. She’d done something different with her hair—instead of her usual ponytail she wore it loose, the long strands falling over her shoulders in gentle waves.

“I’m taking José into Las Cruces to see his doctor.”

“He’s not feeling well?”

“He’s fine. He has a follow-up appointment to check his blood pressure.” She nibbled her lower lip then blurted, “Would you mind if I left Dani here?”

Before he had a chance to object, she rushed on. “It’s a long ride and then a long wait in the clinic. Dani’s watching a video. She shouldn’t be any trouble. She knows to stay in the house and I’ve put the Closed sign in the front window and locked the door.”

“I still have work to do out here.” He hoped she’d take the hint that he’d rather not keep an eye on her daughter.

“Dani will be fine in the house. And I made supper. There’s a casserole in the fridge. All you have to do is put a serving on a plate and microwave it.”

The back door banged open and José stepped outside, wearing a grumpy face. Sara would have her hands full with her father-in-law, so he caved. “Sure. Dani can stay.” He’d finish the lean-to then head inside.

“Thank you.” She spoke to José. “Ready?”

Cruz couldn’t hear what the old man grumbled. Once they drove off, he nailed the final board in place and cleaned up his mess. Toolbox in hand, he entered the house through the back door.

“Dani?”

“Yeah?”

He followed the voice down the hall and poked his head inside the first bedroom. Dani was sprawled across the bed, watching the TV on the dresser.

“I’ll be inside the house fixing the windows. Holler if you need me.”

“Okay,” she said, her gaze glued to the program.

Cruz returned to the kitchen where he’d left José’s toolbox and pulled the note paper from his pocket. Yesterday Sara had handed him a list for the house. The windows in her bedroom at the end of the hall needed his attention. He opened the door to the room and the smell of her perfume washed over him. His gaze zeroed in on the bed’s bright yellow comforter and sheets. His imagination took off and he dreamed of easing Sara onto the mattress and doing things with her and to her that he had no business thinking. He shifted his attention to the perfume bottles and beauty supplies littering the top of her dresser.

Still he hesitated to enter her private sanctuary, not wanting to contaminate it with his presence.

“What’s the matter?”

Cruz glanced down. How long had Dani been standing next to him? Man, the kid was quiet. “I thought you were watching TV?”

She shrugged. “I’ve seen Frozen a hundred times. Have you?”

“No.”

“How come you’re just standing here?”

He couldn’t very well confess that he felt as though he’d violate all that was pure and good about her mother if he entered the room. “I can’t remember which window is stuck.”

“Both of ’em.” Dani squeezed past him, then tried to push the window next to the bed open. She groaned and grunted and her face turned red with effort, then she gave up and crawled onto the bed.

Careful not to touch anything, Cruz crossed the room and set the tool kit on the floor, then tested the window.

“Told you so,” Dani said when the window didn’t open.

Someone had painted the frame with the window closed and the paint had sealed it shut. Using a flathead screwdriver and a rubber mallet, he chipped away at the paint.

“You’re making a mess.”

“I know. Can you bring me a dust pan and a broom?”

“What’s a dust pan?”

“How about a broom and an old newspaper?”

Dani slid off the bed and left the room. After scraping off the layers of paint, he used his muscle to pry the window open.

“You did it.” Dani dragged a small apartment-size vacuum into the room. “My mom uses this to suck stuff up.”

“Smart girl.”

“I know.” She crawled back onto the bed.

When Cruz finished vacuuming the paint chips, he noticed Dani’s glum expression. “Do you miss your friends back home?”

“I only have two friends.”

That’s all Cruz had. Or used to have. Maybe one day he’d look up Alonso and Victor. For now he was leaving his past alone. “What are your friends’ names?”

“Tommy and Marissa. We sit together during story time and Tommy always shares his pretzels with me at lunch.”

There was something about Dani that relaxed Cruz. Maybe because she was just a child and when she looked at him, she only saw a man trying to help her mother and grandfather. Not a man with a secret.

“Looks like I’m finished here.”

“What else are you gonna fix?” she asked.

“That’s it for now.” He wanted to take a quick shower, then throw in a load of laundry and warm up supper for him and Dani before Sara and José returned.

“Will you play Hi Ho Cherry-O with me?”

“What’s that?”

“A game.”

“Why don’t you set up the game on the kitchen table while I grab a shower.”

“Okay.” Dani went to her bedroom and Cruz headed to the trailer for his toiletries and the bag of dirty laundry, then returned to the house.

He showered with his own soap and shampoo. Sara had given him a clean towel at the beginning of the week and he knotted the terry cloth around his waist. Standing in front of the mirror, he studied his face. He didn’t know who the man staring back at him was anymore. He recognized the face, but he felt different inside. A huge pit rested at the bottom of his stomach. And it had nothing to do with finally being free. The pit had Sara written all over it—she almost made him forget his promise to Shorty.

After he shrugged into his briefs and jeans, he realized he didn’t have a clean T-shirt. He’d have to go bare-chested while he did laundry. He left the bathroom with the duffel and went out to the screened-in porch where the washer and dryer sat. He shoved all his clothes—whites and darks—into the machine, then set the temperature on warm and closed the lid.

“What’s that?”

Damn. Cruz knew without asking what Dani was referring to. He should have put on a dirty shirt while he waited for his clothes to finish. He faced the munchkin with pigtails and noticed they were askew. She must have been tugging on them again. “What’s what?” he asked, hoping to buy time.

“That picture on your back.”

“It’s a sun.” When he’d turned seventeen, he’d had the ancient Zia sun symbol used on the New Mexico flag tattooed on the back of his shoulder. A capital L had been etched into his skin above the symbol and below it—for the name of the gang he’d been trying to pledge. At the time he hadn’t known a school teacher would throw a wrench in his plans and he’d never complete his gang initiation.

“It’s not a very pretty sun.”

“You’re right. I should have it taken off.”

“Can I see it again?” she asked.

Sara and José wouldn’t be pleased with Dani’s interest in the tattoo, but maybe if he didn’t make a big deal of it, she wouldn’t blab to her mother. He crouched down.

“How come there’s two letter Ls?”

“It’s the letter of my mother’s and grandmother’s names,” he lied.

“What’s their names?”

“Lina and Lolita.” Time to change the subject. He didn’t want to think about his family, who’d written him off when he’d gone to prison. “Are you hungry?”

She nodded.

“Let’s find out what your mother made for supper.” He followed Dani into the kitchen where she opened the refrigerator.

“What is it?” Her big brown eyes blinked.

“A casserole.”

“What kind?”

“I don’t know.” After scooping a spoonful onto a plate, he put it in the microwave. While the food warmed he poured Dani a glass of milk and got out silverware. When he set the meal on the kitchen table next to the board game, he said, “Blow on it first so you don’t burn your tongue.”

She climbed onto the chair and pushed the food around on her plate. “It’s crazy noodle casserole,” she said. “It’s got a bunch of different noodles in it and spaghetti sauce and cheese.”

“I like spaghetti sauce.” He put a second plate with a bigger serving into the microwave for himself.

Dani slurped her milk. “How did you know I like milk?”

“Don’t most kids like milk?”

She nodded.

He brought his plate to the table and joined her. He was uncomfortable sitting at the table without a shirt. When he heard the washer stop, he said, “Be right back.” He put a single T-shirt into the dryer, then, after a few minutes, took it out and tugged the damp material over his head before tossing the rest of the load into the dryer. When he returned to the table Dani had finished her meal.

“You want seconds?” he asked.

“I want cake.”

“Did your mother bake a cake?”

“Papa did.”

“What kind?”

“Chocolate. I helped frost it.”

A sharp pain caught Cruz in the chest. Chocolate cake had been his younger brother’s favorite. Their mother had stopped baking cakes after Emilio had been killed in a drive-by shooting. “What do you say we wash our dishes first, then I’ll cut you a piece of cake?”

Dani slid off the chair and carried her dish to the sink. “Are you gonna have a piece, too?”

“I’m full from supper. I’ll have one later.” He set his dishes in the sink, too. “Do you want to wash or dry?”

“Dry.”

Cruz moved a chair closer to the counter and lifted Dani onto the seat. “Where’s the dish soap?”

“In there.” She pointed to the cabinet below the sink.

“Dishcloth?”

“Papa uses this.” She handed him the scrub brush already sitting in the sink and he cleaned a plate and rinsed it. “I guess you need a towel.”

Dani pointed to the drawer next to his hip.

He handed her a towel and they worked side by side.

“My daddy never washed dishes.”

“Guys don’t like to do dishes.”

“Papa does dishes.” She dried off a plate and placed it next to her on the counter.

“You’re lucky to have a papa.” The only extended family Cruz had been in contact with growing up had been his paternal grandmother and she’d died when he turned twelve. Probably a good thing, because she would have been disappointed that Cruz had followed in his father’s footsteps and landed in prison—no matter that he’d taken the fall for his friend.

A horn beeped, alerting Cruz that Sara and José had returned.

“Mama’s home!” Dani jumped down from the chair and raced outside.

Cruz made quick work of finishing the dishes and wiping off the countertops.

“Thanks for cleaning up,” Sara said when she entered the kitchen and spotted the dish rag in his hand.

“Thanks for supper.” He nodded to the fridge. “Dani hasn’t had dessert yet.”

“Would you like a piece of cake?” She dropped her purse on the table.

“No, thanks. I’ll grab my laundry and get out of your way.” He scooted past her, holding his breath so he wouldn’t inhale her perfume. On the porch he stuffed his still damp clothes into his bag and left. He spotted Dani and José at the corral but ducked inside the trailer before either of them noticed him.

He spent the next ten minutes spreading his damp jeans across the counter and kitchen table, then he hung his T-shirts in the closet and left the door open. Without air-conditioning they’d be dry in no time.

Restless, he paced across the room. When José and Dani went back into the house, he’d sit on the trailer steps and enjoy the night air. He didn’t mind sleeping in the single-wide—it was bigger than his prison cell—but the tin box didn’t cool off until after the sun went down. It wasn’t until he sat on the sofa that he noticed the three one-hundred-dollar bills along with a note on the table.

Thanks for all your help this week. Hope it’s enough to cover your entry fee wherever you rodeo tomorrow. Sara.

The money was more than enough, but Cruz didn’t want to rodeo. Yeah, he’d promised Shorty he’d hit the circuit and he was determined to make good on that vow, but not yet. He hadn’t pictured himself as a handyman, but the hard work this week had been therapeutic and had kept him from thinking about his time in prison and why he’d ended up there. He’d never be able to ward off the memories during a long drive to a rodeo.

Memories of his buddies Alonso and Victor. A part of him yearned to reconnect with the guys. But he wasn’t sure he could handle seeing them, especially Victor. Cruz was still pissed that he’d followed Vic to Salvador Castro’s house. If Cruz had let Vic go by himself to confront the gang leader, he wouldn’t have ended up in prison. But Vic wouldn’t back down and their friendship demanded that Cruz be his wingman. Vic had wanted Salvador to take responsibility for getting Vic’s sister pregnant. Threats and insults were exchanged at the Five Points intersection in downtown Albuquerque. When Vic had pulled a gun from beneath his jacket, no one had been more surprised than Cruz. Fearing his friend would take things too far, Cruz wrestled the gun from Vic’s hand, but then the weapon had discharged accidentally, the bullet hitting Salvador in the shoulder.

The police arrived and Cruz was put into the backseat of a patrol car and whisked away.

What’s done is done.

Yeah, there was nothing he could do to change the past. He could only move forward. And he would. Eventually. He’d finished everything on Sara’s to-do list, but he didn’t want to leave her, José or Dani. Not yet.

He’d been in Papago Springs less than a week but already Sara’s kindness, Dani’s chatter and even José’s moodiness had begun to fill the hollow feeling he’d carried in his gut for longer than he could remember. Each day the lost feeling inside him shrunk a little. For now he was right where he needed to be—safe from the outside world, sleeping like a baby at night.

Tomorrow he’d find a chore that needed doing, so he’d have an excuse not to rodeo.

* * *

SARA WOKE AT the crack of dawn Saturday morning worried Cruz would take off without saying goodbye. He’d been a huge help in cleaning up the property and the three hundred dollars’ pay was hardly much money, but the man could eat—oh, could he eat. Their grocery bill for the week had skyrocketed. José was an incredible cook, but good grief, Cruz acted as if he’d been deprived of decent food for years.

As soon as the coffeepot stopped dripping, she filled a foam cup with the hot brew and put a plastic lid on it so Cruz could take it on the road with him. She left the house certain she’d find him packing his belongings in the back of his pickup. In the four days he’d been in Papago Springs, she’d learned very little about him. She admitted she was nosy and wanted to know where he’d grown up. Did he have family? A girlfriend? A child from a previous marriage?

Does it matter?

No, she supposed not, but feminine curiosity had gotten the best of her and she secretly wanted him to stick around longer. So did Dani. Last night when she’d tucked her daughter into bed, Dani had chatted about her and Cruz doing the dishes together and how he’d promised to play a board game with her but Sara and José had come home and interrupted them.

Cruz’s truck still sat parked at the side of the house, so Sara veered off toward the trailer. She knocked softly on the door. No answer. She poked her head inside. “Cruz? Are you up?” Silence. The faint sound of hammering echoed in the air and she headed to the dilapidated barn across the property. There were gaping holes in the structure and part of the roof had caved in a decade ago.

When she entered the structure, she stopped in her tracks and stared at Cruz’s shirtless, glistening bare torso as he sorted through lumber. With each board he tossed onto a nearby pile, his biceps bunched and his pecs winked at her. She swallowed hard when desire gripped her gut. The hot sensation spread through her limbs, leaving her weak and trembling.

He must have sensed her scrutiny, because he froze, his arms above his head, a board balanced in his hands. His gaze collided with hers and no matter how she tried to shift her attention to his face, her eyeballs remained glued to his dark nipples and hairless chest.

Too bad rodeo cowboys didn’t ride without their shirts on—she just might give up nursing and become a buckle bunny.

Someone had to speak. “What are you doing?” she asked.

“Sorting through the wood pile.” He dropped the piece in his hands, then removed his work gloves and wiped his sweaty brow. He stared at his T-shirt a few feet away but made no move to put it on.

“I thought you were rodeoing today.” She lifted the cup. “I made your coffee to go.”

“I decided not to.” He stepped forward and took the drink. “Thanks.”

“Why the change of heart?”

He ignored her question and waved at the wood pile. “I noticed the boards earlier in the week. Most of them are in decent shape. You should be able to get some money for them.”

“I appreciate the thought, but...”

“If you want, I can leave.”

She didn’t want him to leave. The thought of never seeing him again had kept her up all night. Her mind scrambled for a way to keep him with her a little while longer. “I’m driving into Las Cruces later to meet with a Realtor.” She shrugged. “I didn’t want to do it yesterday because it would have only upset José. You’re welcome to come with me and while we’re in town we could check into selling that wood at the lumberyard.”

“Sure. I’ll load the boards in my truck.”

“How long do you need?”

“An hour.”

“Okay.” She left the barn and rushed back to the house, where she fussed with her hair and makeup, then spent the next few minutes staring at the clothes in her closet. She needed to look respectable and business-like for her appointment with the Realtor, but today’s temperature would be in the nineties. She settled on a pair of khaki linen pants and a colorful tank top. Maybe after the appointment she could convince Cruz to stop for lunch before they returned to Papago Springs.

“Where are you going dressed like that?” José asked when he almost plowed Sara over in the hallway.

“I have a few errands to run in Las Cruces.”

“We were just there. How come you didn’t pick up what you needed then?”

“I forgot.” She hoped her father-in-law couldn’t tell she was lying. “Cruz is going with me and we’re taking the old wood in the barn along to see if we can sell it at the lumberyard.”

“What if I need the wood to fix something?”

He hadn’t fixed anything on the property in eons.

“Can you think of any groceries that you need?”

“Milk for Dani.”

“I’ll take the cooler, then.” She retrieved the ice chest from the porch and set it outside by Cruz’s truck. “If Dani gives you any trouble today, she can do her work sheets.”

“You make her study too much. Let her enjoy her childhood.” José was stuck in a time warp in Papago Springs. He had no clue what went on in the world and how important it was for children to be prepared before they entered kindergarten.

“The work sheets are fun and keep her busy. There’s nothing wrong with exercising the brain.”

José made a growling sound in his throat and walked into the kitchen.

“I’ll call if we won’t be home for supper.” She hurried outside before José protested. She understood that he was suspicious of Cruz because they knew so little about him. But from the moment Sara had looked into his brown eyes, instinct had kicked in and she knew he was trustworthy and meant them no harm. Years of being a nurse and questioning parents when they brought their sick or injured children to the clinic had taught her to read between the lines and decipher facial expressions and body language. She could spot a liar before they opened their mouth to speak.

Too bad Antonio hadn’t listened to her when she’d insisted he quit working at the clinic in the barrio because it wasn’t safe. The night he’d been killed he’d called her before leaving the hospital to head to the clinic and she’d asked him not to go. She’d had a bad feeling that something would happen. And it had—Antonio had ended up dead.

She always trusted her gut—it had never let her down. By the end of the day she’d know a lot more about Cruz and could put José’s worries to rest.

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