“Really? When did that happen?”
Cierra was so taken with this woman’s light eyes and hair, she didn’t immediately notice that Brent seemed equally impressed with her beauty. He couldn’t stop fidgeting. He put his hands in his pockets, took them out again, shifted his weight from one foot to the other, tugged on the bottom of his shirt….
“Just this week.”
Cierra knew that these women found Ken as attractive as she did. Any woman would. Again, she remembered the feel of his smooth skin against her cold hands, the solidity of his body, and felt an uncharacteristic twinge of jealousy…
“Where’ve you been staying?” she asked.
“My parents’ house.”
A crease marred her otherwise smooth forehead. “Not Russ’s…”
“No, he and Roxanne have split up again. I’ve been at Mom and Gabe’s. But I’m moving into Gabe’s old cabin today.”
She gestured at the snow coming down outside. “If you plan on going up the canyon, I hope you have four-wheel drive.”
This woman was obviously quite familiar with Ken and his family. Was she his girlfriend? She couldn’t be, or she would’ve known he was coming back to town. But they had some history. Cierra could sense it.
“I’ve got a Land Rover,” Ken was saying. “Hopefully, we’ll make it.”
“Tiff” finally bestowed a polite smile on her, but Cierra got the feeling she’d been leading up to her next question the whole time. “And who is this?”
After Ken cleared his throat, he made a formal introduction. “This is Cierra. Cierra, Tiffany Wheeler and Stephanie Jernigan.”
Stephanie nodded and smiled but it was Tiffany who continued to speak. “Cierra what?”
Assuming Ken had forgotten her last name—she didn’t even know his—Cierra filled in the blank. “Romero.” Then, feeling woefully inadequate and homely by comparison to these sparkling creatures, especially in her damp and dirty clothes, she added, “It is a pleasure to meet you,” in formal English, just as she’d rehearsed with her tutor.
The crease in Tiffany’s forehead deepened. Cierra’s response had somehow confused her. “Likewise,” she said. “So…where are you from?”
The question elicited a pang of homesickness, probably because Cierra couldn’t even say her village’s name. She had to call the place where she’d been living with Charlie Spanos home—a sprawling metropolis she considered brown and ugly by comparison. The colorful lights that glittered at night served as its only redeeming feature. She’d liked it when Charlie drove her down what he’d called “the Strip.”
“Las Vegas.”
Tiffany turned to Ken. “Is that where you met?”
Cierra became conscious of the fact that she was wearing Ken’s coat. Because it hung past her fingers and went down to her knees, and Brent was wearing his own coat, Tiffany would be unlikely to mistake its real owner. Cierra almost removed it and handed it back. She suddenly felt she was in the way of something happening, something she didn’t understand, and didn’t want to be. But it was too late. Returning Ken’s coat would only make wearing it seem more significant.
“No,” Ken said. “I…I have a friend who…recommended her to me, as a housekeeper.”
Cierra wasn’t sure why he’d lied, but she was grateful he hadn’t embarrassed her by telling these women that she’d fainted on his doorstep.
“I see.” Tiffany leaned toward her and lowered her voice conspiratorially. “Well…good luck with that. I hope he picks up after himself better than he did in high school.” Straightening, she gave them all a charming smile. “I’ve got to get back to the shop. Brent, you’re looking good, as always. Ken, call me when you get the chance.”
“Sure,” he said. “Nice seeing you.”
They basked in the wake of her perfume for several seconds after she’d left. Then Brent seemed to snap out of his earlier hypnosis. “Man, she’s gorgeous! Are you going to ask her out again or what?”
That flicker of jealousy bothered Cierra again—inexplicably—but Ken didn’t answer. He walked over to the cash register and paid their bill. Then he waved them out ahead of him. But Brent kept talking. “I’m still not sure why you two ever broke up,” he said. “You were so in love with her. Even Mom thought you were perfect for each other.”
Ken pressed some button that unlocked the Land Rover. “I wasn’t ready for marriage, and it didn’t seem right to string her along if we weren’t going to make the big commitment.”
“She’s had plenty of opportunities to get married since then and she hasn’t,” Brent said. “Word is she’s been waiting for you.”
“You’re not the first person to tell me that,” he said. “Get in.”
They were climbing in when a big red truck stopped beside them.
“It’s Gabe,” Brent said.
Ken lowered his window and so did the driver of the truck. Although older, in his fifties, Gabe was a startlingly handsome man. Other than a touch of gray at the temples, he had hair that was even darker than Cierra’s—black—but his eyes were as blue as Tiffany’s.
“What’s up?” Ken had to shout over the wind and the engine noise of both vehicles.
“Your mother sent me to the store,” Gabe hollered back. “She didn’t want to come out in this mess.”
“Sure is ugly,” Ken acknowledged.
Gabe shielded his face with one hand. “I thought you were at the cabin, getting moved in. What are you doing in town?”
“Errands.”
Cierra saw a wheelchair fastened to the side of the truck but was distracted when she realized Gabe had spotted her—and was looking at her curiously.
“Where’s Brent?” he asked.
Ken jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “In back.”
“Here, Gabe,” Brent called, and stuck his arm between the seats to wave.
“Hey.” Gabe waved in response, but the way he used the handholds above him to adjust his position afterward suggested he was crippled, as Cierra had begun to suspect.
“Then, who is…”
Ken leaned back to accommodate his stepfather’s attempt to get a better look at her. “Dad, meet my housekeeper, Cierra Romero.”
Gabe’s eyebrows shot up. “Did you say housekeeper?”