Crystal Green - The Playboy Takes a Wife

But not with Lucas Chandler. No, there was a different, unspoken something hanging over them…a humid atmosphere she’d been trying to avoid thinking about.

The sounds of chirping birds and moaning saddle leather accompanied them as he took the lead. He seemed confident in where he wanted to go, so Alicia went with it, ready to correct their course if need be.

“Ms. Sanchez,” he said, his voice blending with the smooth, grass-laced air, “may I ask you a question? And, if you don’t want to answer, that’s fine.”

She straightened in her saddle, friendly but on alert. “Ask away.”

“I’m just wondering, Ms. Sanchez…or Alicia. May I call you that? Alicia?”

“Of course.”

He smiled to himself. “I love how everyone says it down here. A-lee-see-a. It’s like a song.”

She laughed. “Was that your big question?”

“No. I’m just thinking about yesterday, especially when I asked you about how you came to be a volunteer here. The orphanage doesn’t pay you? Sorry if that’s too personal—”

“Don’t worry. It’s a part of how Refugio Salvo works, and you’d want to know.” Pancho, her mount, nickered, and Alicia absently patted the horse’s neck. “The orphanage can afford salaries for most of the staff—administrators, cooks, groundskeepers. But the sisters consider their work here to be part of their calling, freely given. Just like I do.”

“You should be compensated.”

She flushed, thinking how a paycheck would definitely help in day-to-day living but would also take away some of the significance of what she was doing. Charity. With a salary, her intentions of giving without taking just didn’t seem to count as much.

“Not to seem ungrateful, Mr. Chandler, but—”

“The money’s coming whether you take it or not.”

Alicia didn’t glance at the man next to her, but she didn’t have to. She felt his gaze on her. Her skin heated, flaring to confusion.

What was driving him to stick around to see the details of what the ranch needed? Some of the orphanage staff whispered it had to do with all the cameras that had followed him yesterday, but Alicia didn’t want to believe that.

Maybe he was trying to make up for something he felt badly about, just as she was. Maybe he was attempting to find purpose, too. But there was one thing she could guarantee: his trip to Refugio Salvo hadn’t been designed to allow him to hide from the reality of a life left behind. That was her own cross to bear.

Her father…her mother…her shameful past.

Many times she’d even wondered if the piety she’d been raised with was forcing her to punish herself for how she’d been born. For her parents’ carnal crimes that her abuelo had told her about. There were so many times she thought that the circumstances of her birth made her less of a person….

Mr. Chandler had grown quiet in his own right as he gauged the land with narrowed eyes. He wore an expression that gave her pause—so serious, his brows drawn together, his lips tight.

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

“I’m just now realizing how much can still be done.” A beat passed, then a mirthless grin settled on his mouth. “Now that the camera flashes have worn off, it’s a clearer view.”

“You’ve been a true supporter,” she repeated. But somehow she doubted it was getting through to him.

“I haven’t contributed half as much as you, and that’s humbling, Alicia.”

For a naked second, she thought she saw a chink in his armor. She’d detected it yesterday, too, but he’d closed it up so fast that it’d almost been subliminal.

“As long as we all do our part,” she said, “the children will flourish, Mr. Chandler.”

“Lucas. Just call me Lucas.”

They resumed their ride, neither of them speaking. He was back to that thinker’s pose, and she wondered what exactly was causing all the seriousness. He seemed to catch on to this, because before she could take her next breath, he sent a sudden, devilish grin to her, encouraging his mount to a trot.

What had that sudden change of mood been about?

Not to be outdone, Alicia urged Pancho ahead, laughing, then hunching over her horse’s neck and signaling him to a gallop.

Almost immediately he did the same, until they were neck and neck, flying over the grass.

A bubble of amusement expanded in Alicia’s chest, then popped. She urged Pancho on and soon she realized that Lucas was veering toward a massive oak tree, its bare branches spread like a canopy, a haven from the mild sun.

When they got closer, she saw that there was a picnic table covered with a red-and-white-checked cloth. Silver bowls and a vase of wildflowers dominated the china.

Flabbergasted, she dismounted, cooling Pancho down. Lucas followed her example, and she couldn’t help glancing at the spread with contained anticipation.

Laughing at her obvious impatience, he came and took Pancho’s reins, allowing her to sprint to the table to finally get a closer look.

When the horses had been taken care of, Lucas sauntered over, having given them freedom in the grass.

“A picnic?” she said, her heart just now returning to a semblance of normal thud, thud, thuds.

Then again, with every step he took closer, her pulse started picking up again.

“It’s snack time.” He went over to a silver bowl on top of a smaller table and washed his hands, drying them off with a fluffy towel. “Come and get cleaned up. I thought you might enjoy something flown in from Bella Sofia. It’s an Italian restaurant I like in San Diego. You enjoy Italian?”

“Who doesn’t?” Still stunned, she moved over to her own silver bowl, the rim delicately etched with flowered patterns. It was filled with water, a lemon wedge floating on the surface. After washing, she used that fluffy towel, sighing at the softness of it. She’d never felt a towel so lovely.

“I also had the restaurant cater the boys’ meals today,” Lucas said. “And the workers will get their fill. Got to share a good thing.”

Touched by his thoughtfulness, she came to the picnic table, where he helped her onto the bench just as if they were in a fancy restaurant and he was pulling out her chair.

What was really going on? Was he kind of flirting, just like yesterday? Or was this just an expression of appreciation for showing him around today? Or maybe he was hoping she’d brag about his kindness to reporters after he’d left?

All these questions she had. Couldn’t he just make a nice gesture without any cameras around and that was that?

She decided that he was treating her out of the goodness of his heart. Just seeing how much he’d enjoyed and been genuinely taken with Gabriel and the other children yesterday told her that his gestures came from a decent place.

Integrity, she thought. Even with Lucas’s reputation, she wanted to believe that he really did have it. In fact, ever since her abuelo had told her the truth about her father and mother—how Alicia was the product of a sleazy one-night stand, how they had both deserted her because neither of them had been responsible enough to even raise a child—she’d searched for it. The possibility of finding some in a person like Lucas Chandler made her want to grab on, allowing it to pull her out from all the layers of mortification she was buried under.

He was taking a bottle of wine out of a basket. “Comte Armand, a wonderful burgundy.”

“I don’t—”

“Drink?” Shooting her a teasing grin, he tugged another bottle out of the ice bucket, deserting the more expensive wine. “Or there’s always sparkling cider. I got it for variety.”

Touched, Alicia fingered the flower vase in the middle of the table. “You think of everything.”