ALEX FOLLOWED LAUREN into the house, taking the opportunity to check her out without having to be stealthy about it. She was tiny—dainty, even—with slender wrists and ankles. She wore grayish sweatpants—the clingy kind, not the baggy kind—and a purple T-shirt that somehow managed to hit all her curves in spite of being oversized. Her hair was a sort of bright brown, not quite red and not quite gold, like a chestnut horse. It hung halfway down her back, thick and full, like a mane.
In spite of being so small, she was strong. And capable. She’d worked beside him without complaint in the cold and handled the tools like a pro. They’d worked well together, anticipating each other’s movements.
They’d danced well together, too, at the wedding reception two years earlier, but that didn’t seem to have made much of an impression on her.
“Power’s still out,” she said. “But I have a propane camp stove out in Vincent.”
“Vincent?”
“That’s my van, Vincent Van-Go. He’s a Ford Transit.”
Right. The van she traveled around in and lived out of. Tony had told him about that. The thought of this tiny woman zipping around North America and camping in remote spots by herself blew his mind. What was she thinking?
Probably not thinking at all. Just looking for thrills. Rootless and shallow. The sort of millennial that gives millennials a bad name.
She picked up a turquoise sweatshirt from the back of a chair. It was a pullover hoodie; she had to stretch up to get her arms in the sleeves and then wriggle her way inside of it. This should have been an awkward process, but she made it look graceful. Everything she did was graceful. Fixing fence. Taking pictures at Tony and Dalia’s wedding, crouching and twisting and kneeling with her fancy camera, moving around silently without getting in anyone’s way. Dancing with him at the reception, her hands light and cool and impossibly small.
“Cars are supposed to be female,” Alex said. “Like ships.”
She reached both hands inside the hoodie’s neck and flipped out her hair. It tumbled over the hood in a glorious shower of color.
“Well, Vincent is a boy.”
He swallowed hard.
“We don’t need the camp stove,” he said. “This range is propane, too, and I can light the burner manually.”
He opened the fridge. “Are you a vegan?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Because you kinda look like a vegan, and I can’t make my Mexican hot chocolate with almond milk or soy juice or whatever it is that vegans drink. And, anyway, we don’t have any of that stuff. Just whole milk and cream from a grass-fed Jersey cow.”
“I don’t know what you think vegans look like, but I happen to love full-fat dairy products.”
He set the milk and cream on the counter. “Good. Now just how authentic an experience would you like? Should I go full-on Aztec or what?”
“I’ll take mine without the human sacrifice, thanks.”
He chuckled. “Nah, Aztec just means it isn’t sweetened.”
“Seriously, that’s an option? Never mind authentic, then. I want it sweet.”
“So do I.”
He was unwrapping the baking chocolate when he heard her suck in her breath. He glanced over and saw her staring into the living room.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
She pointed to the cradle. It was rocking.
“Do you see that?” she asked.
Durango let out a low growl. He was staring at the cradle, too.
“Quiet, Durango,” Alex said. “Leave the kitty alone.”
“Kitty? What kitty?”
“Calypso, the old calico. She loves that cradle. Dalia keeps a pillow in there for her. I guess she’s got to move around every few minutes and resettle her old bones to stay comfy. I don’t know what Tony and Dalia are going to do when it comes time to put an actual baby in there. I guess they’ll have to make another cradle for the cat.”
Lauren walked over to the cradle and looked inside.
“I remember now. Dalia did say there was an old barn cat in the house that had earned herself a cushy retirement. Why does Durango growl at her? He doesn’t bother the other cats.”
“Oh, those two have history. Calypso once stole a piece of brisket right out of Durango’s mouth, and clawed him across the nose. He’s never really gotten over it. He won’t hurt her, though.”
Alex set up the double boiler on the stove, and Lauren straddled a barstool. Suddenly she seemed very close, right there across the range from him, with her forearms resting on the bar and her hair tousled around her face. It was a heart-shaped face, wide in the forehead, pointed at the chin, with dark eyes in creamy clear skin. The nose ring was new since the wedding—not a ring, actually, but a tiny diamond chip, barely visible. He wasn’t one for piercings, but she did make it look good.
He took a long match out of the kitchen drawer.
“What, no tinderbox?” Lauren asked.
“Ha ha. I don’t really think you’re in a position to mock me for being eccentric, Miss Nomadic Van-Dweller. I do own a tinderbox, though. It’s very nice.”
He lit the match and turned the burner dial. The burner flame caught with a soft roar. He set the double boiler over the flame and started chopping chocolate.
“The house is getting cold,” Lauren said. “We should start a fire.”
“I’ll get to it as soon as I finish here.”
“That’s all right. You’re already busy. I’ll do it.”
He wished she’d leave it to him. Starting a fire from scratch was easier than coming along later and fixing someone else’s clumsy attempt.
But just as the last chunk melted away in the thick chocolaty mixture in the double boiler, a healthy blaze in the firebox caught his eye. She’d built a respectable kindling teepee and was just adding a couple of large sticks.
She came back to the bar and peered into the double boiler. “Is that cinnamon I smell?”
“Yep, two whole tablespoons, and a pinch of chili powder.”
“Chili powder!”
“Yep. The Aztecs invented hot chocolate, and they liked it spicy. They called it xocolatl—‘bitter water.’ It took the Europeans to think of adding sugar, though. One of their better contributions to mestizo culture.”
He turned off the burner and poured the chocolate into two mugs. “You want a jigger of rum in yours? That’s Día de Muertos style.”
“Day of the Dead?”
“Yeah, it’s a Mexican holiday. It started out with the Aztecs and eventually got combined with Halloween, which is today.”
“Is it? I’d forgotten. How appropriate.”
“Why is it appropriate?”
“Oh, you know, the cold front and howling wind and wildly waving tree limbs and all. It’s just kind of a spooky night. And I’ll pass on the rum.”
“That’s probably smart, not drinking with a strange man.”
“Are you a strange man?”
“So I’ve been told.”
He added rum to his own chocolate, and they took their mugs to the fireplace.
Durango was already lying close to the hearth. As Alex took a seat in the wing chair, Calypso the cat poked her head out of the cradle and gave a hoarse meow. Durango growled a little without opening his eyes.
Lauren set down her mug on the hearth, added a midsize log to the fire and pulled off her boots. Then she curled up in the overstuffed armchair and picked up the mug again.
She held it in both hands and breathed deep, letting the steam warm her face. One leg was drawn up to her chest; the other was draped over the arm of the chair. Her body was one curving line after another: calves and ankles, hips and thighs.
She took a sip and shut her eyes. “Mmm.”
Alex realized he was staring, like some sort of creep. He made himself look away.
A book was lying on the floor.
“Ghost Stories of the Texas Hill Country! My cousin wrote that. It’s good, you should read it.”
Lauren gave a choked laugh that turned into a coughing fit. She had to set down her mug until it passed.
“What? What’d I say?”
“Nothing.”
“Then why’d you laugh? What are you, some sort of ghost-story hater?”
“No.”
“What, then?”
She picked up her mug, took another sip and gave a last cough.
“Tell me,” Alex said.
“Only if you promise you won’t tell Dalia and Tony. Or anyone else. Ever.”
“I can’t promise unless I know what it is. You might be a dangerous person. Or a dangerous ghost.”
“I’m not! It’s nothing bad, just kind of embarrassing. You can safely promise not to tell.”
“I don’t know that. I don’t know you. And I take promises seriously.”
She gave him a look like...he didn’t know what. Like he’d said something profound and a little sad.
“Okay, fair enough. This afternoon I fell asleep reading about Alejandro Ramirez. You know Alejandro Ramirez?”
“Sure. Me and him go way back.”
“And when I woke up the weather had changed and everything was all freaky, and when I saw you in the goat pen in those clothes, lifting that mesquite branch...”
“Whoa. You thought I was him? Alejandro Ramirez?”
“I know how dumb it sounds. But it was such a beautiful story, and I guess my imagination was kind of stoked.”
“Are you kidding me? It’s not dumb at all. It’s the best compliment any woman has ever paid me in my life.”
“Seriously?”
“Heck, yeah. I love that story. I was named for Alejandro Ramirez. He was my great-great-great-great-grandfather. He’s the character I portray in my reenacting. He’s who I’m dressed up as right now.”
“I thought he was Dalia’s however-many-greats grandfather.”
“He’s both of ours. Our families used to be related—well, still are, but distantly. Not in a way that makes it weird for her and Tony to be married. Her branch of the family got La Escarpa. Our branch sort of fell off the tree and landed in the septic runoff and got struck by lightning and eaten up by termites. But it’s still my heritage, too, and it means just as much to me as it does to Dalia. Maybe more. You don’t really know the value of something until you lose it.”
“That’s true.”
He felt a hard-core goofy smile stretching his face. “Wow! Me, mistaken for the actual ghost of Alejandro Ramirez. This is the best thing that’s happened to me in a long time. And don’t worry, I’ll keep it to myself. Your secret is safe with me.”
“Thanks. I’m not usually prone to ghost sightings. I just... I guess I was feeling a little down today, and then I fell asleep, and I got mixed up. It’s such a sad story, and it hit me hard. A baby without a father. A mother on her own.”
“Nothing to be embarrassed about. I mean, what are ghost stories, really? They’re all about people who died before their time, or left things undone, or didn’t get justice. That’s why they hit us so hard. Because we’ve all got stuff like that. Things that didn’t go right, that we wish we could change. Things that haunt us.”
She looked into the fire. “You’re right.”
Suddenly she looked smaller than ever, curled up in the big armchair with her mug cupped in both hands. The firelight made little golden flashes in her hair. She seemed sad and a little lost, and Alex thought about how it would feel to have her in his arms, telling him her troubles.
Instead, he downed the last of his hot chocolate and stood up.
“I’d better go. Rain’s slacked off, and I ought to get the tractor unloaded now in case it picks up again. I’ll call the power co-op for you and report the outage. They’re pretty quick about fixing things. Is your phone charged? Do you have a flashlight?”
She smiled. The smile looked a little put-on, but at least she didn’t look like she was about to cry anymore.
“Oh, yeah, I’ll be fine. Believe me, I’ve camped a lot rougher than this. Do you need help unloading the tractor?”
“Nah, you stay inside where it’s warm.”
The truth was, he needed to get away from this woman, with her gorgeous legs and ridiculously good hair and whatever it was that was making her sad. Alex had his own ghosts to deal with, and they took time and energy enough.
She walked him out as far as the edge of the porch. He took a couple of steps down and reached into the esperanza bush. Most of its blossoms were gone or blown to shreds, but he managed to find one intact spray.
He plucked it and turned around to face Lauren. Looking solemnly up at her, he put the yellow flowers in her hands and said, “Yo prometo volver mañana a tiempo para arreglar la cerca del corral de cabras.”
He could see the wheels turning in her head as she worked out the translation, a variation on Alejandro’s parting words to his wife. I promise to return tomorrow in time to fix the fence of the goat pen.
Smiling and scowling at the same time, she planted a hand on his chest and pushed. He mock-stumbled down the remaining steps, laughing uproariously.
A few minutes later, heading down the driveway with an empty trailer, he had a feeling of “and not a moment too soon.” Something about Lauren made him feel kind of off-kilter. She was an interesting woman, and good to look at. But she wasn’t right for him, and he sure wasn’t right for her.