What Madeline Wants Read online

  But…he’d said this was it. She shuddered, drew in another breath and smiled. “That’s great. For a while I thought I might be lost, and my car—well, that doesn’t matter right now. Is Ethel Devereaux here?”

  He shifted his weight to one leg, muscles taut, his expression even more surly than when he’d first answered the door.

  A man with a grudge against the world.

  “I said you found it, lady. It, meaning the ranch. But whatever brand of mumbo jumbo you’re selling, we don’t need any.”

  Oh, for goodness’ sake. He thought she was a salesperson.

  While she was formulating an answer, he waved a hand in front of her face. “You hear me?”

  “Yes,” she said, the hair on the back of her neck bristling at his sharp tone. “Yes, I did, but I’m not selling anything. I’m here because I—”

  He groaned suddenly, then grimaced as if in extreme pain and lifted both hands to his temples. His knuckles were raw and crusted with blood, and near his hairline was a huge lump and more dried blood. Good Lord. “Are you all right?”

  “Do I look all right?” he retorted.

  Maddy pursed her lips. “No. No, you don’t.” And given his attitude, he wasn’t getting any sympathy from her. All she wanted to do was meet with her new employer and start working. Whatever problems this man had, they weren’t hers.

  Focus on the goal.

  “Ms. Devereaux is expecting me. I’d appreciate it very much if you’d tell her Madeline Inglewood is here.”

  He scowled.

  Though reluctant to give out any more information than necessary to a total stranger, she started to add, “She hired me to—”

  “Okay, okay.” He stopped her with a raised hand and nodded as if he’d just remembered something. He stepped closer, so close she could feel his body heat, and then he bent down a little, his face aligned with hers. “I guess you’d be the teacher, then.”

  “Yes. Yes, I am.” She smiled, relieved that he’d heard about her arrival. Maybe he worked for the woman, too, though she couldn’t imagine what kind of job would allow him to traipse around half-naked and stinking of alcohol in the middle of the day.

  He wasn’t the woman’s husband because the lady who’d hired her wasn’t married, and was at least forty years older than this guy. It was hard to judge his age, but Madeline guessed mid to late thirties.

  He took a half step back. “Well, Teach. You’re too late.”

  “Oh, no. Today is the date Ms. Devereaux and I agreed on.”

  “That’s not what I meant. I think you better come inside for this.”

  His manner seemed a little less hostile as he motioned her in, but still, she looked beyond him to see if anyone else was there. Not that she had a choice; her car was dead, her cell phone needed recharging and this was the place she’d been looking for.

  Prodding herself forward, Madeline stepped over the threshold and into a dimly lit but expansive entry. It took a few seconds for her eyes to adjust to the low light inside and little more than that for an unsettling awareness to lodge inside her.

  She was alone with a bloody, half-naked man—who could be a serial killer for all she knew.

  Lord. She’d prepared for many eventualities, but not for anything like this.

  Think it. Feel it. Believe it, she recited her new mantra, thank you, Mr. Michael Bruchetti. Or was it her former therapist who’d given her that bit of advice?

  The man gestured to the left toward an archway leading into another room, an old-fashioned parlor. As she entered, he motioned for her to sit.

  Her choices were a brown threadbare couch and a rickety-looking wooden chair. “Thank you,” she said, choosing the chair because it was closer to the door.

  She assumed he would summon her employer while she waited, but instead, he propped himself against the archway wall, his navel at eye level.

  Unnerving as that was, she noticed he seemed remarkably fit. He was tall and tightly muscled and might even be handsome if his face wasn’t such a mess—and if his attitude wasn’t so…awful.

  He had a tattoo on his right arm, but she couldn’t make out what it was, and there was a trace of another on his left arm, too. Military, maybe. Or gang member.

  And you’re staring, Madeline. She redirected her attention to her tote bag, which she’d stocked with emergency supplies, just in case. She drew the bag to her lap, pulled out a Wet-Wipe and dabbed at the moisture traveling down her neck.

  “So,” she said, focusing on his face. “Will Ms. Devereaux be along soon?”

  “No. My dear aunt is dead.”

  Madeline’s hand froze at her throat. Her voice did the same. Finally she managed to say, “I—I’m so sorry.” For more reasons than one—she needed the job. Desperately.

  But here she was thinking of herself when he must be grieving. She felt awful that she’d jumped to the conclusion he was being rude when he was really distraught.

  “I didn’t know,” she said softly. “If I’d known, I—I could’ve made other arrangements. This has to be a terribly difficult time for you. I’m so sorry.”

  “No need to be. The old lady and me, we weren’t exactly buddies,” he said flatly. “But since I’m the owner of Tripplehorne now, your business is with me.”

  Oh-kay. So he wasn’t broken up over his aunt’s death, and he really was a rude, obnoxious man. A man who looked like he’d been in a fight—a struggle maybe? Something that had to do with his aunt’s death?

  “It’s my understanding that you’re gonna teach Juana and Carlos some English. Right?”

  “I was hired to teach basic English to Ms. Devereaux’s cook and gardener, but—” she flung out a hand and glanced around “—there must be some mistake.” Obviously. The Tripplehorne Ranch didn’t look as if it could support anyone, much less a cook and gardener.

  “No mistake. Juana and Carlos are both here.”

  “But—” She glanced around again.

  “Juana is the cook and Carlos is the gardener,” he said, his tone impatient. He gazed at her critically. “If you don’t think you can handle the work, I won’t hold you to the contract.”

  Her nerves went taut. She could handle the job just fine. The bigger question was, would she have to contend with him to do it? That, she might have some difficulty with.

  “I’m not a teacher per se, but I’ve studied teaching English as a second language. I speak four languages, Spanish, French, German and English, and I can teach the basics in any one of them.” The last part was perhaps a slight overstatement.

  He continued assessing her—probably thinking she was out of her element. She couldn’t really blame him for that; somewhere between Tucson and the turnoff at Ajo, she’d come to the same conclusion herself. And after trudging down the gravel road in this god-awful heat, her silk blouse was ringed under her arms with sweat, her once-crisp, linen pants hung like potato sacks around her knees and her new shoes were scuffed and coated with brown dirt.

  Despite all that, she couldn’t possibly look as awful as he did.

  As if she hadn’t uttered a syllable, he added, “Things being the way they are, my aunt’s death and all, I’ll understand if you don’t want to stay.” The words, while sympathetic, belied his tone and expression. He seemed almost eager to get rid of her.

  Favoring his right leg, he crossed to the couch opposite her, and after settling himself on the arm, he opened a drawer in the old oak library table next to him and pulled out a piece of paper.

  “This is the contract you signed.” He stared at her. “You want to leave, just repay the retainer and I’ll tear it up.”

  Maddy’s spine ground into the back of the wooden chair. She’d like nothing more than to tear up that contract and tell him to stuff it. She wanted to go back to her comfortable, safe home. But she couldn’t do it. Because then she’d prove everyone right. Again.

  Madeline Inglewood, daughter of Senator Randall Inglewood and his socialite wife, granddaughter of George Epiphany III
, the mayor of Epiphany until he died, had been given everything she’d ever wanted. But now she was thirty years old, profoundly single, her career nonexistent and her family was trying to consume her life.

  She needed help. Desperately.

  Oddly, that help had come from a tattered book she’d bought at Kayla’s garage sale. After reading Take Control of Your Destiny—written by the internationally known king of self-help books, seminars, audio and video tapes, all of which she’d subsequently purchased—she was excited, and more than ready to take control of her life.

  “I hope I didn’t give you the wrong impression, Mr…. Devereaux, is it?”

  “Rivera. J.D. Rivera.”

  “Well, Mr. Rivera, I came here to do a job, and it’s my intention to do that.”

  He was silent for a moment. Then he said, “I just thought under the circumstances, you might want to leave.” He held out the paper. “Your choice.”

  Her choice. Hardly. She had no place to go, and no money to get there. She’d used the retainer to pay the deposit on her new apartment in Manhattan, and the rest of her salary was slated for her move to New York. If she left now, she wouldn’t be able to afford the move plus she’d lose the deposit.

  But, of all the reasons for her to stay, the most compelling was to prove to herself—and everyone in Epiphany—that she could do it.

  She scanned the room. Old beat-up furniture, scuffed and splintered wood floor, wallpaper that was faded and peeling and, God only knew what the rest of the house was like. Not exactly the excitement and adventure she’d dreamed of. Not even close.

  But she’d have all of that soon enough. In the meantime, she had to do this. If she couldn’t do six measly weeks in Arizona, how could she handle a far more difficult job in one of the most exciting cities in the world?

  “You know about the stipulation in the contract, don’t you?” she asked.

  “Stipulation?”

  She nodded. “It says if the job I’m waiting on comes through before the contract period ends, I can leave without penalty.”

  He studied the paper in his hand.

  “It’s all there.”

  He looked up. “So it is.”

  “And you’re okay with that?”

  His eyes narrowed. “No. If it’d been up to me, I wouldn’t have hired you in the first place. But, according to my aunt’s will, I’m obligated to honor all the contracts she had in place.”

  Maddy didn’t believe it was possible for her to get any hotter, but she felt as if someone had cranked up the furnace. Contract or not, she didn’t like the man. He was rude and uncouth, and his confrontational attitude made it hard for her to think—and even harder for her to breathe.

  Her mother’s words played in her head. What will you do if something unexpected happens and we’re not there to help?

  No doubt this was the kind of thing her family expected she wouldn’t be able to handle. She couldn’t have set up a more perfect challenge if she’d tried; this was her crucible.

  “May I ask why you wouldn’t have hired me?”

  He pushed to his feet, sauntered over and stopped at her side. “You can ask anything you want, Petunia.”

  Petunia?

  “Doesn’t mean you’ll get an answer.”

  The tops of her ears burned. She wanted to melt into the faded wallpaper behind her. She wanted to leave. Focus on the goal, she reminded herself, otherwise all the positive steps she’d taken so far would be for naught.

  Her resolve strengthened, she forced herself to say, “I’m sorry. It’s really none of my business. I shouldn’t have put you on the spot like that.”

  He scratched the stubble on his chin, then hooked both thumbs into the front pockets of his jeans.

  She was ready to say something else when he reached out, touched the collar on her blouse and rubbed the silky fabric between his long, tanned fingers. After a moment he stopped and lifted up her right hand, turning it over, front to back. He flicked the tip of one freshly manicured fingernail and gave a snort.

  “You ever do any real work?”

  She yanked her hand away. “Mr. Rivera—”

  “J.D.”

  “J.D.” Her blood pounded in her veins as her irritation soared. “Since my job is to teach, I don’t think whether I’ve scrubbed floors on my hands and knees or laundered my clothes on a rock at the river makes any difference. I’ve performed well in the positions I’ve held, even those not in my field of expertise. The job references I sent your aunt will verify all that.”

  “What kind of jobs?” His tone was dubious.

  Apparently J.D. Rivera thought he knew everything about her from the way she looked. And if he thought that, he was not only wrong, he was stupid.

  Furthermore, if looks were a gauge of character, the man was indictable.

  “The most recent position, for the past two years, was as an administrative assistant, and before that, while in school, I worked at a video store.”

  He moved back to lean against the archway again. “You learn all those languages from watching foreign flicks at the video store?”

  She wanted to smack him. But that was hardly an option if she was going to work for him.

  “It helped,” she said, raising her chin. “It also helped that I majored in language at Iowa State, and later received a graduate degree from Georgetown University.”

  “Ah, Iowa. The Corn Husker State,” he said, completely ignoring her qualifications. “Or is that the Cheese Heads?”

  “Iowa is the Hawkeye State,” she said, happy to correct him. “Nebraska is the Corn Husker State. But I really don’t understand the logic in that because Nebraska isn’t the biggest corn producer. Iowa is.”

  He did a double take, as if she were an alien or had two heads or something. Then he gave a dry snort of a laugh. “You’re actually serious, aren’t you?”

  “Of course. Iowa really is the national leader in corn production.” She gave him the wide smile she’d practiced for weeks after Dr. Cravatz removed her mouthful of braces. “And the Cheese Heads, I believe, are located in Wisconsin—America’s Dairyland.”

  He smirked. “You’re just chock-full of information, aren’t you?”

  She felt her nose twitch, which it often did when she got angry or upset. Trouble was, she couldn’t afford to be angry or upset. Her future hinged on making this job work.

  Unfortunately, everything this man said infuriated her, and—unless she could control her temper—whatever came out of her mouth next would likely get her fired before she even started. She forced a smile. “Useless trivia, my family tells me. But for some reason weird facts stick in my head.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest, eyes narrowed, as if assessing her.

  He was going to ask her to leave. She was sure of it.

  “You think you can handle it?”

  She thought she’d misheard, but realizing she hadn’t, she answered, “If you mean teaching your employees English—absolutely. I’m ready right now.”

  She would most definitely handle it. She had to. This was her one chance to get out of Epiphany.

  “Well, I’m not convinced, but you’re here, so you might give it a try as well.”

  She didn’t react to the dig. It didn’t matter if he was convinced or not—as long as she had the job. “I’ll be more than happy to do that. Just give me my instructions and I’ll start right away.”

  “Tomorrow is soon enough. C’mon. I’ll show you to your room.”

  “My luggage is in the car, stalled down the road.” She waved an arm in that direction. “So I guess I’ll need to call the rental place, too.”

  “What’s wrong with the car?”

  “Steam was coming from under the hood, and it was leaking all over the road. Maybe one of the hoses.”

  He rolled his eyes. “There’s a phone in the living room if you want to call. I’ll wait here.”

  She hurried back to where she’d come in, made the call and was told someone would
retrieve the car the next day. By the time she returned to where her employer was propped against the wall waiting, her nerves were shot.

  “I’ll get your suitcase and have Juana bring it to you later.”

  Juana was the cook, she remembered, so the woman must be around somewhere. Which meant it should be safe to stay.

  Still, following him down the long, dim hallway with its yellowed, peeling wallpaper and musty scent, her mind conjured one dark scenario after another.

  CHAPTER TWO

  DON’T. DON’T EVEN THINK like that, she reprimanded herself as they continued down the hall. Her over-active imagination could wreak havoc if given free rein, and was the reason she’d spent too many years playing it safe. Finally, three months ago, she’d made the decision to change her life—and now she was on the road to doing exactly that. No matter what.

  “So, why are you here?” Rivera asked, stopping near a door halfway down the long hallway.

  She glanced up at him. He was at least a foot taller than her five-three. “I needed a temporary job until the permanent position I’ve applied for comes through.”

  He raised one dark eyebrow. “And what’s your other reason?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “No one comes to a place like this because they want to. You running from something?”

  Was she that transparent? She shook her head and shrugged. “Sorry to disappoint you. I’m just waiting to hear about another job and want to keep busy.”

  The look in his eyes said he didn’t believe her, but then he gave a careless shrug, as if it didn’t matter. “What’s the other job?”

  “Interpreting. Simultaneous interpreting. At the UN.” Her fantasy job. Travel, adventure and excitement, everything she’d ever dreamed of.

  “But it won’t come through till late October because they’re required to interview a specific number of applicants before hiring.” She didn’t add that she felt confident about getting the job. The human resources director had been very impressed with Maddy’s qualifications.

  She took another breath. “And as I said, I wanted to do something in the interim.”

  She had to do something in the interim. When she’d told her parents about her decision to move to New York, they’d gone on the defensive—just as they’d done every other time she’d tried to make a move from Epiphany. If she’d stayed at home while she waited for the other job to materialize, her family would simply have had more time to convince her they knew what was best for her.