“When the gaucho is out on the pampas, he is completely self-sufficient. Food, shelter, care of his animals…he does it all.”
“And have you always been so capable?”
A strange look passed over his features, but then
he cleared his expression and smiled. The warmth didn’t quite meet his eyes. “Oh, not at all. It was Carlos who taught me. And I’ll be forever in his debt.”
Sophia wanted to ask him what that meant, but he reached down and grabbed a stick to stir the paint.
“Tomas?”
“Hmm?” He didn’t look up from his paint. He kept stirring while Sophia’s heart hammered. Getting the best of Tomas was one thing. But dealing with this relentless…stoicism was another. There was no sound here. Nothing familiar. All that she might have was conversation. It was the only thing to connect her to anything. And the only person she could connect to was Tomas.
“Could we call a truce?”
His hand stilled and he looked up.
“I know this is not what either of us planned. Can’t we make the best of it rather than butting heads?”
His gaze clung to hers and in it she saw the glimmerings of respect and acceptance and something that looked like regret. That made no sense. But it was all there just the same.
“I am not generally very good company.”
Sophia laughed a little. “Shocker.”
Even Tomas had to grin at that. She saw the turn of his lips as he bent to his work again.
He handed her a can and a brush. “I thought you could start on the trim. You probably have a steadier hand than I do.”
The shed wasn’t big, but it did have two doors that opened out and a window on each of the north and south sides. Sophia held the can in her hand and wondered where to start. The door and windows had been taped to protect against errant brush strokes. She stuck the brush into the can and drew it out, heavy with the white paint.
“You’ve never painted before, have you?”
She shook her head.
Tomas sighed. Not a big sigh, but she heard it just the same and felt a flicker of impatience both at him and at herself for not being more capable. “It was never…” She didn’t know how to explain her upbringing. Or her mother’s philosophy on what was done and what wasn’t. You hired people to do things like painting and repairs. They were the help. It had been made especially clear after Sophia’s father had moved out. It was then that Sophia’s mother had put her foot on the first rung of the social climbing ladder.
“We weren’t much for do-it-yourselfing,” was all she could bring herself to say.
He came over and put his hand on top of hers. “You’ve got too much paint on the brush. It will just glop and run. This way.”
Sophia bit down on her lip. His hand was strong and sure over hers, his body close. Her shoulder was near his chest as he guided her hand, wiping excess paint off the bristles. “There. Now, if you angle your brush this way…” He showed her how to lay the brush so the paint went on smoothly and evenly. “See?”
“Mmm hmm.” She couldn’t bring herself to say more. She was reacting to his nearness like a schoolgirl. His body formed a hard, immovable wall behind her and she wondered for a moment what it would be like to be held within the circle of his arms.
She pulled away from his hand and applied the paint to the trim, chiding herself for being silly. The purpose of the trip was to do something for herself, to show her independence. It was not to get besotted over some grouchy gaucho.
Tomas cleared his throat and went back to pick up his own brush.
As they put their efforts into painting the shed, Sophia stole a few moments to look around. The morning was bright, the air clear and fresh. The area around the barn was neat and trimmed and beyond it she saw a half-dozen horses or so seeking shade at one end of a corral, their hides flat and gleaming. Birds flitted between bits of pampas grass, singing a jaunty tune.
No traffic. No horns honking or elbows pushing. Also no shops, no conveniences, no restaurants.
It was stunning, but it was very, very isolated.
“How long have you been at Vista del Cielo?”
“Three years.”