“It has really good food,” Brent added to entice her.
She was tempted. Ken could tell. But just when it seemed she’d agree to join them, she threw back her shoulders. “I am not a prostitute. I will no trade sex for money. Or…or food. Or coat.”
“Oh, we don’t expect that!” Brent said. “We only want to make sure you—”
Ken cut him off before he could put his foot in his mouth. Brent didn’t understand that their help couldn’t come across as a handout any more than it could come across as an attempt to get laid. “We’re not asking for sexual favors. We were actually, ah, wondering if…” What could he have her do that she’d find acceptable? “If you could clean the cabin so I could get settled in.” Now that they’d lost so much time driving her to town, they really could use an extra pair of hands. And it would be a fair trade. She’d work for what he gave her, which would keep her dignity intact. And she’d have food and shelter until he could figure out where the hell she was supposed to go, which would appease his conscience. “What do you say?” he asked.
“You are offering work for me?” she clarified.
The hope in her face put a guilty knot in his stomach. Even when his mother was primarily raising him and Brent on her own, with their father making life a lot more difficult than it needed to be, he’d never lacked the necessities. “Yes. In exchange for food and shelter.”
“I clean. You will see no one speck of dirt,” she assured him.
He managed a smile. He had no doubt she’d take as much pride in her work as everything else. “Great. That’s what I’m looking for. Do we have a deal?”
When her gaze strayed to the diner down the street, he felt a fresh pang of remorse for not giving her a bite to eat at the cabin. “Sí. A deal,” she said. Then she thrust out her hand to shake on it.
CHAPTER FOUR
TWO WOMEN WHO ARRIVED after they were seated kept staring at the three of them while they ate, but Cierra didn’t care. She was too hungry to be distracted. She’d never had a meal, not in America, that tasted better than the meat loaf and mashed potatoes she’d been served. And just when she’d finished everything on her plate, Ken decided he couldn’t eat all his steak. He’d said it would go to waste if she couldn’t eat it for him, so she’d polished that off, too.
His actions proved how spoiled he was. Who ordered an expensive entrée and ate only a few bites of it? Brent had no trouble downing his lasagna. Like her, he seemed to be hungry.
But she didn’t mind saving Ken’s meal from the trash. She could’ve eaten five steaks. Or…maybe not five. By the time she’d swallowed the last bite, she actually felt full, but was able to make room for the banana cream pie Ken ordered for dessert.
It wasn’t until Cierra had scraped every delicious crumb off her plate that she realized she’d eaten her pie even faster than Brent had eaten his. Self-conscious again, she lifted her gaze to find Ken watching her, his fork dangling halfway between his mouth and his plate, only a small portion of his pie gone.
“What? It is no good for you?” she said to cover her breach in etiquette. Throughout dinner she’d been careful to eat slowly and calmly, as a lady should, but when the pie arrived she’d grown sleepy and relaxed and wound up embarrassing herself.
“No.” He pushed it toward her. “Go ahead.”
She picked up her fork—then imagined how she must’ve looked shoveling that pie into her mouth a moment earlier. “I am…satisfied. Thank you.” Pushing it away, she put her fork back on the table with a determined clink.
“It’ll go to waste if you don’t eat it,” he threatened.
He said that about everything, and she was beginning to understand why. “Like the steak?”
“Like the steak.”
“And the coat?”
He shrugged.
“Do you always throw away good clothes and food?”
“Easy come, easy go,” he mumbled.
She probably would’ve given in, despite her fear of looking like a pig, but Brent spoke up before she could respond. “I’ll eat it,” he said, then yelped. Cierra guessed his brother had just kicked him under the table.
“Or…actually, no,” he said. “I’m stuffed. You have it.”
Cierra studied Ken, then Brent. Brent reminded her of the dog she’d had as a child. He was big and kindhearted, but a little goofy and oblivious to nuance. He had nothing to fear, no reason to be wary, because the world had always been a safe place for him. That was probably true of Ken, too, and yet…Ken noticed things. He’d given her his coat because she needed it, just as he’d had her eat his meal because he knew she was still hungry.
She’d have to be careful around him, watch her every word, every move, or he’d soon know far too much about her business.
“Please, let him eat,” she said, deferring to Brent.
“Fine,” Ken responded, and she smiled as she moved the pie over to Brent, who ate it with the same gusto with which he’d eaten everything else. Meanwhile, Ken took a plastic card from his wallet and reached for the bill.
“How much?” Cierra asked.
His eyebrows slid up in question.
“Dinero?” She held one hand to her chest. “For me?”
“Doesn’t matter. You’ll work it off, remember? I’ve got it.”
“I just…need to know.” How could she make sure she kept her end of the bargain if she didn’t know how much she owed him?
He waved away her concern. “Don’t worry about it.”
She was about to insist he tell her when the two women she’d noticed earlier walked over. One, a blonde at least five inches taller than Cierra, was the prettiest white woman she’d ever seen. The other, a curvy brunette much closer to her own five foot three, was almost as pretty.
“Ken, it’s so great to see you again,” the blonde crooned as they embraced.
“It’s been a long time,” he responded. “How’ve you been, Tiff?”
“Fine. Busy with my new flower shop. And you?”
“I’m in transition right now, but…hanging in.”
Eyes filled with avid curiosity, “Tiff” looked at Cierra, then flashed a brief smile at Brent before returning her attention to Ken. “Are you home for the holidays or…”
“I’m home for good.”