Patti Standard - Family Of The Year

“Stop!” Ben slammed down the faucet lever. Maria jumped and then froze, hands still covered with soap. She looked up at him, dark eyes huge. Damn, he hadn’t meant to bellow like that! And here he was, towering over her, her head no higher than his shoulder. No wonder she’d jumped out of her skin. But Benjamin Calder, fourth generation owner of Calder Ranch, was used to being in charge of a situation, and so far his new housekeeper had treated him pretty much as if he was just one more of that passel of people out in his guest house. It was time to get to the bottom of this.

Maria held her breath. Here it came. He was going to send them packing. She ached, stiff and sore from the long drive up in the heat, the last twenty miles over a washboard dirt road that jarred the very teeth from her head. Her temples pounded from hours in a cramped car listening to children fight in the back. And now this man, the man who had the power to send them back to the purgatory that was Phoenix in the summer, had her pushed up against a sink—and didn’t look as if he planned to move anytime soon.

Benjamin Calder was big—tall and broad shouldered. He wore faded jeans and a denim work shirt with the sleeves rolled up away from his wrists. Every inch of visible skin was richly tanned and a sweat-stained cowboy hat covered dark brown hair. From hat to scuffed leather boots, he was sifted with a fine layer of the reddish dust that made up the earth in this part of Arizona, a dust that Maria could already feel on her, gritting between her teeth and itching in her nose. His physical presence was overpowering enough; it didn’t help that he glowered down at her, thick eyebrows joined to form a forbidding slash across his forehead.

“All those people out there—” he jerked his head in the direction of the window “—are they visiting?”

Maria slowly, consciously, let out her breath and tried to school her features into a look of innocence. “I guess you could say that. Sort of a three-month visit.”

“Now just hold on here! When I talked to you on the phone, you never mentioned—”

“The ad said ‘Family OK,’“ Maria interrupted. Quickly, she wiped her soapy hands on a rag and dug into the pocket of her jeans. She pulled out a folded scrap of newsprint and smoothed it open. “Look. ‘Household help needed for summer on ranch sixty miles outside of Wyberg. Hard work. Family OK.’“

“But I meant—”

“I specifically asked you on the phone—”

“But I didn’t mean—”

“And you specifically said it was all right to bring up my family.”

“I meant a kid or two. Not a station wagon full.”

“They’re my family,” Maria said simply. “I promise you, they won’t be any trouble at all. My mother and my sister will watch the children while I work. We’ve brought our own food, we won’t be any bother and we won’t cost you any extra.”

But Ben shook his head, making fine red dust motes sparkle in the afternoon sun coming through the kitchen window. “It won’t do.”

“Come on, now,” Maria chided, “what do you want for supper?” She shifted and reached out to turn on the water.

“I said it won’t do!” He grabbed her hand and spun her around.

They stood facing each other, eyes locked, his hand still on hers, wills engaged in a battle without words. Maria was uncomfortably aware of the breadth of him as he stood so close. He smelled of horse and sage and leather, male smells foreign to her city senses. His eyes were as gray as the haze against the mountains on a summer afternoon, and, even full of anger, they reflected an instinctive, masculine awareness of her.

She tried to pull her fingers from his grip, but her efforts were laughable. Although not painful, the calloused hardness of his hand only emphasized her fragile position. The silence lengthened. The fine dust spun between them, dancing on unseen currents. It was finally too much for her; her nose twitched, twitched again…and she sneezed, a short, sharp achoo.

Maria stared at Ben. In the startled silence that followed, the rumble of his stomach was very audible, long and distinct, fading away slowly like distant thunder.

Her laugh joined with his snort of mirth. He dropped her hand and moved back a step.

Maria smiled. “I tell you what, let me make you some supper and get the children a good night’s sleep, all right? Then we’ll see about being out of your hair in the morning.”

“Sounds fair.” He nodded, looking relieved. “Sorry for the misunderstanding.”

“That’s all right. No hard feelings.”

She moved to the refrigerator and peered inside, seemingly intent on its well-stocked contents, but Ben had seen the white lines of tension that had appeared around her mouth in spite of her smile and accepting words. As for there being no hard feelings, the look that had come into those expressive Mexican eyes was as close to panic as Ben Calder had ever seen.

“Are those crickets, Mama?” Tina asked, snuggling back between her mother’s open knees as they sat on the porch steps of the little guest house and listened to the sounds of a desert night.

“I think so.” Maria continued her rhythmic brushing of the little girl’s hair, the repetitive motion soothing to them both.

“They sound awfully loud for crickets. They aren’t so loud in Phoenix.”

“They get drowned out by the sirens.” Juanita Romero’s voice creaked through the darkness, drier even than the creaking of the rocking chair she kept in motion with an occasional nudge of her walking stick against the wooden floorboards.

Trisha, Maria’s oldest daughter, looked up at the night sky, her head tilted so far back her long hair touched the step behind her. “And there’s a lot more stars up here, did you notice that, Mama?”

“I think you might be right.” Maria’s eyes filled with a sudden rush of tears. She wanted crickets for her children. She wanted stars. They had to stay, there must be a way.

“Mama, not so hard! You’re hurting me,” Tina tried to pull her head away from Maria’s unintentional increase in pressure.

“Sorry, sweetheart.” Sighing, Maria resumed the gentle movement. Of course Mr. Calder was right, she admitted to herself. She knew she was stepping over the line to bring everyone up here and foist them on him. But what choice had she had? She was still haunted by that look on Veronica’s face that horrible morning last week. The cool evening around her faded, replaced by the interior of her Phoenix apartment, as Maria remembered.

“He’s gone.” Veronica had wearily leaned her head back against the top of the sofa, her dark hair fanning out to cover the worn spot in the avocado tweed. The baby she held in her arms listlessly nuzzled her breast, too hot to suckle.

“Tucson isn’t exactly the ends of the earth, you know.” Maria had tried her best to keep her tone low and soothing, both for her sister’s sake and not to disturb the fussy infant, quieted for the first time that morning.

“He won’t be back.” Veronica’s voice was as flat as her dark eyes. “I’m surprised he hasn’t bolted sooner. This family doesn’t have the best luck keeping men around.”

Maria’s lips turned up in a mirthless smile of agreement.

“He said the job’s just for the summer, but I know he’ll keep right on going.” Veronica shifted, trying to pull her blouse away from her sweat-sticky back. The movement caused the baby to let out a wail of protest and Veronica froze, then carefully leaned back against the sofa again. Both women let out a sigh of relief when the baby began to nurse. “Roberto loves you,” Maria insisted. “And you both agreed that he couldn’t pass up this job. You’ll need that money for his tuition this fall.”