“Wherever those people go, darling. They have legions of family. For all I know they’re back in Mexico now.”
“But they were Texans.”
“Then I imagine they’re around somewhere.” She puts a hand on my shoulder and rises to kiss my cheek. “You don’t need to worry yourself about all that. Like I said, it’s ancient history.”
She puts her teacup in the sink and starts for the door. “Are you sleeping here tonight? I’ll make a note for cook to fix you breakfast, and maybe you’ll consider joining me at church?”
My lips are tight. I’m not happy with her version of events, but my phone vibrates in my pocket, and I need to go. “I’ll sleep here, but don’t worry about breakfast.”
I head for the door. She calls after me, something about night owls and eagles, but I’ve got to get to my girl.
The catering van is the last to leave. I sit under a pavilion just down from Beto’s house, watching as they load up, slam the back doors, and finally drive away into the damp night.
It’s been raining since I left, and I traded my car for my bike, which means I’m soaked. The Apple store was closed, so I picked up a burner phone at Best Buy for now. I haven’t heard from Angel, but Lourdes texted me a basic description of where her room is located in the house.
According to the description, Angel’s window looks out over the lake, just above a small cottage with an oak tree that has low branches. I walk my bike to the end of a separate driveway and leave it parked. In this neighborhood, for as long as I’ll be here, it should be fine.
As soon as the last light in the downstairs area is extinguished, I stroll up the sidewalk then dash across the dark lawn to the line of trees surrounding the back yard, hoping Beto doesn’t have a security system filming the perimeter.
Voices on the patio pull me up quick, and I press my back to a large crepe myrtle near the side porch.
“She didn’t grow up here.” I recognize Valeria’s voice, and my ears strain to hear what she’s saying. “She doesn’t understand the way things work.”
“She knows to respect her family.” Beto’s angry voice is unmistakable. “How could she have done this right under your nose?”
“Your sister is a grown woman, Roberto. I don’t follow her everywhere she goes. I have two children to raise and a full-time job.”
“Ah.” Beto makes a dismissive sound. “Then I came back at the right time. I’m willing to keep an eye on her. I’ll guide her in the right direction.”
Anger tightens my chest. So much for making friends. My jaw clenches, and I scan the area, looking for the tree Lourdes described. I’ll have to cross the back yard to get to it, and with these two on the patio, I have to wait.
The noise of a chair scraping on stone catches my attention. “It’s late,” Valeria sighs. “The party was a success in spite of it all. I’m going to bed.”
“We’ll discuss this with her in the morning…” Beto’s follows her inside, and I lean forward, peeking carefully to see the door close before I streak across the yard to the giant oak tree behind the cottage.
It’s an easy climb to her balconette. I have no way of calling her, and I can only hope Lourdes told her I was coming as I swing a leg over the balustrade and tap lightly on her window.
Misty rain settles in the air around me, and I’m glad for my leather jacket, even on this warm night. It keeps me somewhat dry underneath, and it’s black. A few moments pass, and I’m about to tap again when I hear her soft voice. “Deacon?”
The curtain swishes away, and bright eyes meet mine. The glass double-doors wobble and open, and I cross into her room, closing them quickly behind me.
“You’re here.” Her voice breaks, and I cup her cheeks in my hands, lifting her pretty face.
Her eyes are glassy with unshed tears, and I lean down to cover her lips with mine. Hers part, our tongues lightly touch. It’s a gentle kiss, soft and warm, and emotion squeezes my chest. I want to wrap her in my arms, take her away from this mess, but she stops me.
“You’re all wet.” She holds the lapels of my jacket, pushing it off my shoulders. “Were you riding in the rain?”
Shrugging out of the soaked garment, I put it at the base of her window. “I didn’t want anyone to recognize my car.”
She goes to a large, stone bathroom, returning with a plush, white towel. “Here. Give me your shirt.”
Catching the hem, I whip it over my head, and when our eyes meet, she blinks quickly as if she’s stunned.
Her cheeks flush, and I’m acutely aware we’ve only been together once since my homecoming. The memory of our white-hot reunion in the tower has my cock rising to attention.
“It’s not the first time you’ve seen me without a shirt, beautiful.” I can’t help teasing her.
She shakes her head and goes to her bedroom door. “I’ll put this in the sink to dry. Give me your pants, too.”