NOMAD (Sons of Sanctuary Book 3) Page 9

  “Hola.” He went straight to Cann and shook his hand. “Welcome. I’m so glad for the opportunity to do something nice for my friend, Brant Fornight. You can call me Gael.” He turned toward Bud and hissed openly. “Madre de dios. Your eyes.” He said it reverently as he stared openly. “Such a beautiful and exotic color.” Cann wasn’t appreciating the adoration and was just about to step in when Gael turned toward him. “Such a lucky man you are.”

  “Well, I’m not…”

  “What’s this?” Gael said, looking down at their boots. “Are your shoes wet?”

  “Well, we had to cross the river. We were running from Rangers on the other side.”

  Gael’s eyes were dancing with delight. “How romantic!” He looked at Bud.

  She shook her head. “No. There was nothing romantic about it.”

  “Oh,” said Gael as if he was disappointed.

  Then for the hell of it she added, “Until he picked me up and carried me across so that if they shot at us they’d hit him and not me.”

  Cann stared at her like she’d lost her mind while Gael threw his head back and laughed. Then he turned to his wife and said, “That is true romance. Don’t you agree?”

  She sniffed and looked at her nails as if she’d lost interest in the conversation.

  “We apologize for our appearance, but we had to run with the clothes on our backs.”

  Gael turned to the señora with accusation written all over his face. “And you didn’t notice that they had nothing with them?” To Cann he said, “My profound apologies. We have failed as your hosts.”

  “No, really…” Cann began.

  “We will rectify this immediately.” He turned his head toward the front of the house and shouted, “Juan Ricardo!” They heard footsteps running toward the room. When a man appeared looking eager, if not desperate, to please, Gael said, “Our guests need wardrobes. Send someone to get changes of clothing for Señor Johns. Be sure to include footwear.”

  Gael looked at Bud. “Your problem is easier to solve. I believe you are the same size as my wife. Please. Consider her wardrobe to be your wardrobe.” The señora’s eyes were as wide as saucers. He might as well have said he was taking her clothes to the kennel for use by the hunting dogs.

  “But…” she began.

  “I know you’re eager to throw your closet doors wide open to our guest… I’m sorry, did I get your name?”

  “Bud.”

  He stared for a few seconds as if he was waiting to see if she was joking. “I would have expected something magical, intoxicating, enchanting. A name that casts a spell like your eyes. Esmeralda. Tatiana. Ra…”

  “Well,” Cann interrupted, not liking the tone or direction of the conversation, “it’s just plain Bud.”

  She grinned at Gael. “He calls me sugar.”

  Cann’s eyes went wide just before the WTF lines appeared between his eyebrows.

  Gael smiled. “Are you saying I have permission to call you…?”

  “No,” Cann cut him off before the question was completed. “She’s saying you have permission to call her Bud.”

  Gael chuckled. “Would you like to change or have dinner?” he asked Bud.

  “If you can stand to have me sit at the table wearing Super Mercado clothes, I’d like to have dinner.”

  Their host smiled like he was genuinely enjoying himself.

  Over dinner, which was roasted flank steak and grilled vegetables, they explained why they were running from the Texas Rangers.

  Gael had looked more and more serious as the tale had taken shape. “You are not outlaws, my friends. You are saints.” He glanced at his wife. “We have not been fortunate enough to have little ones yet, but I look forward to the day.”

  “Well, now that we’ve told our story,” Cann said, “maybe you’ll tell us how you got to be good friends with Brant.”

  Gael sat back and smiled. “I cannot share details, but I’ll tell you that he was key in assisting with an entanglement at the capital of the great state of Texas.” Cann nodded and sat back. Gael got to his feet. “Please forgive me, friends, but my business sometimes requires evening hours. For the next two days, please, how do you say it? Make yourself at home?”

  “Yeah. Make yourself at home. Thanks. That’s very nice of you,” Cann said.

  “We have a heated pool and a kitchen staff capable of making anything you wish at any time of day.” He looked at Bud. “Be sure to make a stop by my wife’s closet on your way up.”

  Bud looked at Señora Gutierrez and knew she was going to thoroughly enjoy that.

  When Señora Gutierrez opened her closet door, Bud walked in and said, “Wow. Did you know there’s a boutique next door? That must be really convenient.” The sarcasm apparently escaped Señora Gutierrez along with the underlying humor. “Well, I’m not going to bother to ask what you do. It’s pretty clear that you’re a professional shopper.”

  “Image is everything to a woman in my position.”

  “Really? What position is that?”

  The woman’s stony expression indicated that chat time was over.

  The closet was about the same size as a starter apartment. It even had three rooms complete with drawered islands and upholstered benches, presumably for putting on silk stockings or taking off boots.

  Señora Gutierrez stood at the doorway and glared as Bud walked through the closet. After surveying racks of hanging dresses and suits, Bud finally asked, “Don’t you own any jeans?”

  Without a word, Señora Gutierrez walked to one of the larger island drawers, pulled it out, and motioned palm up like a game show hostess.

  Bud pulled out the top pair that were pressed and folded as if they were on display in a store. They were denimish, but they were more like leggings than pants. “Hmmm. Always wondered what I’d look like in these.” She smiled at Señora Gutierrez. “I’ll take them. Thank you.”

  That was what some would call the ‘foundation’ piece of Bud’s spree. After being directed to the underthings column of drawers, Bud thought she might have died and gone to heaven. She’d known that beautiful lingerie existed because she’d seen it in photos and video. What she hadn’t known was that it could feel as luxuriously silky as recently washed and conditioned hair. Plus, the lace and other embellishments such as hand embroidery could make a two hundred dollar pair of panties a work of art.

  “Great heavenly days,” she said, holding up a pair of sapphire blue panties and bra to match.

  She nabbed two other underwear sets while she was there, after which the señora said, pointedly, “Please keep those as a gift. Return will not be necessary.”

  Bud didn’t dignify the inference with a response.

  After plundering through shoes, Bud chose two pairs of sandals, one pair of three-inch block heels, and one pair of flats, and some highly polished leather ankle boots.

  After draping a violet-colored silk nightshirt over her arm, she walked slowly along double rows of hanging shirts, blouses, and tops. She stopped next to a rose tunic with three-quarter sleeves and a deep vee neck. Enough coverage to pass the modesty test, but still sexy.

  Bud ran her hand down the length of the sleeve. When she felt the softness of the material, she knew it was the one. She didn’t feel the least bit bad about sampling the wardrobe. The señora would never miss the few things she’d claimed.

  However, when she began to take the tunic off its hanger, Señora Gutierrez cleared her throat and said, “That is one of my favorites. How about this one?” She pulled out two other tunics.

  Bud shook her head and said, “No, thank you. I like this one.” Señora Gutierrez glared. “And tu closet es mi closet,” she said sweetly. She punctuated that by batting her eyelashes exactly the way Señora Gutierrez had done with Cann.

  The woman’s eyes flashed as if she might have a full-blown tamale tantrum, but she managed to restrain herself.

  “Swimsuits?” Bud asked.

  Señora Gutierrez huffed, stomped toward a
drawer and, in her eagerness to please, pulled the entire drawer out of its shelf so that drawer and contents spilled onto the floor.

  “Oh, gracias,” Bud said with her best fake sincerity. “It’s so easy for me to see them all this way.”

  The señora backed away, recognizing for the first time that perhaps Bud wasn’t as devoid of power and ripe for manipulation as she’d seemed on first impression.

  Bud plucked a blood-red one piece from the floor. It had cutouts on the sides so that it was almost as revealing as a bikini, but the center panel hid her belly button. The pregnancy wasn’t showing, but she was feeling hyperaware regardless.

  Gathering her armload of treasure, she started toward the door saying, “I know the way.”

  Cann was sitting on one of the tuxedo Chesterfields reading. He looked up as she entered and shut the door behind her with her foot. Seeing the load of girlie stuff she was carrying, he said, “Have a nice time?”

  “Oh my God, Johns,” she said with heightened color in her cheeks, eyes shining like she’d won the lottery. “The woman has a closet as big as this ginormous room! It’s… It’s…”

  “Obscene?”

  “Yes! Obscene! Which is one of the reasons why I had such fun relieving her of some of the burden of…um…”

  “Obscenity?”

  “Yes! Exactly! I have to go hang these up. Or try them on.”

  He chuckled because she was practically jumping up and down.

  A fleeting thought of Molly danced across his mind. He knew she’d liked clothes, as all women do, and wondered if she would have reacted the same way if she’d been given access to outfits that cost more than an average mortgage payment. Oddly, the thought of Molly didn’t sting and send him straight to the bar for a whiskey. Instead, the thought lit on his consciousness like a butterfly. A pleasant memory that danced across the screen of his mind long enough to be appreciated and cherished, then disappeared into the recesses of memory.

  There was a knock around ten o’clock. When Cann answered, two men entered smiling and nodding. One carried folded clothing and two shoe boxes. The other carried clothes on hangers. They walked straight back to the dressing area and opened the closet.

  Bud, who had spent an hour and a half in a leisurely hot bath, chose that time to open the bathroom door wearing the newly acquired night shirt and no bra. “Johns, did you hear someone at the…?” She took one look at the two men about to put clothes away in the closet, shrieked a little, “Eep,” and disappeared into the bath again.

  Cann took in a big breath, let it out again, and said, “Jesus.”

  When they left, he knocked on the bath door. “You can come out. They’re gone.”

  She opened the door. “What were they doing? Bringing you clothes? How did they find all those clothes at this time of night? It would have to be some kind of specialty store because there aren’t a lot of people your size down here. You know?”

  Cann hadn’t heard a thing she’d said. He’d been too busy staring at the way her nipples prodded the silk shirt.

  “Johns? Are you staring at my…?”

  His eyes jerked up to hers, which stood out like neon because of the lavender color of the shirt. That was when he knew he might be in actual trouble.

  He swallowed and pulled his gaze away. “They brought clothes.”

  “I know. That’s what I said.” Her tone was dry and full of mock patience. “Let’s see what they brought you.”

  “Well, maybe you want to put on…”

  “Wow. These shirts are gorgeous, Johns. You’re going to be beautiful in this one.” The sentence he’d been forming froze in his mind when Bud speculated that he might be beautiful. “Look! They found you new biker boots. Only these are better than the ones you ruined.”

  “We ruined.”

  “Whatever. We’re going to look like respectable people.”

  “The main thing is that we are respectable people,” Cann said. The smile she gave Cann in return was so dazzling he turned away for fear of blushing. “You can take the bed closest to the bathroom.”

  “Okay. I guess you can have the other one.”

  He didn’t turn around, but she heard him snort softly.

  CHAPTER Eight

  “Brant.” It was a statement of fact. Texas Ranger, Forge Russell, had been told that Brant was on the line.

  “Russ. Like to buy you a taco. Sit down of a sensitive nature.”

  “Where? When?”

  “You know the truck by the river. One?”

  After a brief pause, Russell said, “I’ll be there.”

  “By yourself.”

  “That sensitive, huh?”

  “Your ears only.”

  “Alright then. I’ll manage it.”

  Russ ordered four tacos and a half-sized bottle of Dos Equis.

  “You drinkin’ on the job?” Brant asked.

  Russ gave him a look. “Somebody don’t like it. They can call the Rangers.”

  Brant laughed and shook his head. “Yeah. Like that’s happenin’.”

  They sat down on the picnic bench furthest away from the truck and other benches. If they talked in conversational tones, it would be private enough.

  “This about your boy?” Russell asked. Brant nodded as he took half a taco in a single bite. “Heard he went across even with shots fired in the air and orders to stop. Left a dually in the middle of the river, but when we went back to fish it out and get the VIN, it was gone.”

  “Imagine that.” Brant chuckled as he finished chewing and swallowed. “We need to manage gettin’ him back in, Russ.”

  “What’re you askin’, Brant?”

  “I want you to go on down to Del Rio and be the one to take him into custody. You put him someplace safe while we handle the legal side of it.”

  “Brant, I don’t get to pick and choose my assignments like I was the goddamn president of a goddamn motorcycle club.”

  Brant nodded. “You’ve collected favors just like me. I’m callin’ one in. You do the same.”

  “It’s that important.”

  “I’m sayin’ so.”

  Russell was quiet for a couple of minutes while he ate. “This here is good food.”

  “Always has been.”

  “So happens I might have somethin’ to call in.”

  “Thought you might.”

  “But it’d mean I might call on you one of these days.”

  “Not goin’ anywhere.”

  “Okay then. It’s about a four hour drive down there. What time do you want him to come across?”

  “Noon.”

  “The girl’s father has to be informed. He’ll be there.”

  “After tonight at midnight, she can make her own decisions. Garland and I’ll be there in case she doesn’t want to go home with him.” Russell nodded. “Gonna be TV cameras.”

  Russell’s head jerked up. “Why’s that?”

  “The so-called ‘kidnapping’ has been all over the news for a week. It’s only fair the story be set right. My boy’s a champion of the unborn. Hero to millions of true believers.”

  “Christ, Brant.”

  “Just lettin’ you know to shave extra close. Margie’ll want you to look your best.”

  “You’re the devil.”

  “Been called worse.”

  CHAPTER Nine

  For the first time since they’d been traveling together, Bud woke first.

  After her morning bathroom routine, she had a look through the clothes that were delivered for Cann. She found what she was looking for and did a two-second victory dance.

  Six minutes later she was shoving Cann’s shoulder.

  “Come on. Get up. We’ve got things to do.” He rumbled in an atavistic way that brought to mind the image of waking a grizzly from hibernation. “Wakey. Wakey.”

  He opened his eyes and blinked three times before saying, in a voice that was rough and deep from sleep, “What are you wearin’?”

  Bud looked down at her body l
ike she forgot. “It’s a swimsuit.”

  “Jesus.”

  “Look!” She held up swim trunks. “Put these on. We’re goin’ swimmin’.”

  “No.”

  “Yes.”

  Fifteen minutes later they were at the bottom of the grand staircase. Cann was wearing a long sleeve tee over his swim trunks that came to the knee. Bud was wearing her night shirt. That had been a whole other conversation.

  “Why are you wearin’ your pajama top to go swimmin’?”

  “This shirt is very versatile. Last night it was a sleep shirt. This morning it’s a bathing suit cover up.”

  He laughed. “I don’t think so. For somethin’ to be a ‘cover up’ it has to cover somethin’ up and that thing isn’t hidin’ anythin’.”

  She threw her head back so that, when she looked up at him, it was like looking down her nose. “You’re missing the point, caveman. The purpose isn’t to be a burqa. It’s supposed to be a suggestion of feminine mystique.”

  He laughed harder. “Feminine mystique?”

  The man whose uniform distinguished him from other household staff; he wore a vest over a white shirt with dark pants and the look screamed for a name tag, approached them.

  “Buenos dias. Desayuno?”

  In Spanish Cann told him that they’d like to go for a swim. The man said that the mistress of the house would be out most of the day. He asked if they’d like to have breakfast in the solarium by the pool. Cann said that would be nice if it wasn’t too much trouble. He told the man what he’d like and gave instructions to bring the lady fruit, bottled water, and steak grilled well done.

  The man, who apparently ran the household, motioned to a boy dressed in white shirt, dark pants, no vest and asked him to show the guests to the solarium.

  After walking around two sides of the house, they arrived at the solarium. After stepping inside Cann and Bud both stopped to stare.

  The room was mostly glass looking out onto gardens. Inside, tropical plants thrived in dirt beds with specialized irrigation systems.