Do You Love Me? Read online

  Pedro took the carton, handed Savanna the ticket and nodded toward the cashier.

  “Three hundred and eighty-seven dollars?” She looked at the ticket, then at Pedro, who nodded, indicating the price was acceptable. Sure it was to him, she supposed, looking at the box that seemed small in his hand.

  She plucked her wallet from her purse and peeled four one-hundred-dollar bills from her stash. The clerk stared at her and she attempted a smile, not quite clear what the problem might be.

  Pedro glowered. The robot appeared to be annoyed with her about something again. The clerk wrote her a cash receipt.

  As they turned to leave, she saw a water fountain near the unisex bathroom. She had to press the lever twice to get the stream high enough to clear the fixture. Even then, she had to slurp. She sipped a long time, welcoming the cool water as it trickled down her throat. Without this fountain, she might have been desperate enough on the return trip to drink from Pedro’s canteen.

  Outside, Pedro stood holding the passenger door open for her. She slowed when their eyes met. The intensity of his gaze knifed into her. She suddenly imagined a pool of cool water where she could peel out of her clothes and submerge…with him. No, no, no. What was she thinking?

  As she drew closer to him, her senses heightened and she inhaled, eager for the mingled scent of him. And she wanted to hear him speak, to be bathed in those resonant tones, even if she couldn’t understand his words. Butterflies swarmed in her stomach and she was startled to see that the knuckles of both his hands were white beneath his death grip on the truck door. Was he holding himself in check? He offered her a hand.

  An electrical current arced between them as her hand touched his. Steadying herself with his rock-hard hold, she hoisted her skirt and climbed into his truck much more gracefully than before.

  After she was in, however, she held onto his hand a moment longer than necessary. Glancing into his hypnotic eyes, she was startled by the mischief dancing again in their depths. A smile tweaked the corners of his mouth beneath the horrible mustache.

  She released his hand. He grinned, swung the door closed, and gave the side of the truck an affectionate pat.

  The early part of the ride back to the construction site was as quiet as the trip to the parts store had been. It was Savanna who finally broke the silence.

  “This is nice of you, Pedro.” She risked a glance at him. “Really. You may not understand what I’m saying, but I do appreciate your trouble. I’m usually a big tipper. I certainly intend to show you,” she hesitated, “in a practical way, of course, how grateful I am for your assistance.”

  He shot her an angry glance that looked as if he understood her words and the intention behind them.

  She recovered the used tissue from her purse and patted again at the perspiration beading along her hairline. “I wish I could do more for you.” She frowned and realized she meant it. “Really I do, wish I could do something to help you escape this miserable existence. God, it’s hot out here.

  “I wouldn’t want you to get the wrong idea. I’m not interested in you personally, of course.” She set her gaze again on the passing landscape. “But I feel obligated to people like you: the poor. I’m sure it’s a nightmare to have to depend on your physical strength to eke out a living one day at a time.”

  He glanced at her and she offered him a wan smile. “I’m what they call a rich bitch.” She gave a self-conscious little laugh but his disapproving gaze quickly turned back to the road. “That’s what people say behind my back.” She shrugged. “Well, when they’ve been drinking, some say it to my face. They call me Miz Got Rocks and other things they consider demeaning.

  “Truthfully, all that derision doesn’t bother me any more than if they complained because my eyes are brown. My wealth was an accident of birth just as surely as my eyes. I try to be a good steward.”

  She looked at him again and felt a familiar cloud of gloom settle over her. “I give a portion of it to charities and churches and good causes. Really, I do. It’s not conscience money. I like sharing with people less fortunate than I am.” She stared at her hands and muttered, more to herself than to him. “Still, I could share more than I do.”

  She glanced at him again. He stared straight ahead. She took a deep breath, raising and lowering her shoulders with the effort.

  “Here you sit all grouchy because you were forced to do a good deed for someone less fortunate than you.” She chuckled grimly. “It’s ironic that I should turn out to be the needy one here and you the benefactor. Here I sit, Miz Fat Cat, dependent on the charity of a…maybe…an…illegal. That is ironic, isn’t it?”

  His jaw clenched but she disregarded it, pursuing a new thought. “You know, I hated those looks we got from people in the parts store.”

  He glowered her way and she hurried to add, “Oh, I don’t mean the clerks. They were fine. The others. The customers.” He looked back at the road and she regarded him a long moment. “I guess you’re used to degrading looks. You probably get those a lot. We, that is, Anglos, are not very gracious about those who slip over our borders.”

  She studied her hands clasped in her lap. “Of course, we don’t mind letting you do the hot, dirty work while we toil in air-conditioned comfort. And I can’t say we give you any thought when we roar over the highways you build…or eat the fruit you pick…or wear the clothing your people turn out in sweatshops.”

  She suddenly fell quiet as she saw the familiar section of cutup highway just ahead. The endless ribbon of traffic crawling through the construction area looked just as it had when they left.

  She hated the inevitable sameness. The same human prejudices, the same punishing heat, the resistant earth, the man-made improvements that invariably rotted and had to be redone, like this highway. “The poor will always be among us,” she mumbled, then sighed. The perpetual sameness made her feel helpless and hopeless.

  As they pulled up near her Lincoln, Savanna mumbled again. “It isn’t fair. It really isn’t. I wish I could help improve a life…even for one person, a man like you, for instance. I don’t have many opportunities to help individuals one-on-one.”

  Pedro’s iridescent eyes shot to her face, but when she attempted to meet his gaze, he looked away.

  In spite of himself, Pedro Rivera liked Savanna Cavendish, her dark coiling hair, the rich brown of her eyes so vivid against her alabaster skin, the generous mouth. Even her haughtiness pleased him. He liked her height and the voluptuous figure. Obviously, she was a woman of conscience whose life was one of continuous comfort, except, perhaps, on this day.

  The nicest thing about this woman beside him, however, was that she seemed oblivious to her own beauty, an oversight that enhanced her allure. She displayed none of the wanton boldness he despised in American women, single or married.

  She seemed proud, yet polite, even gracious, in the face of hardship. He had insisted she ride in his truck, thinking to humble her, but she had courage and common sense and accompanied him without hesitation.

  He was flattered that she appeared to notice the engine’s smooth efficiency; that she approved the truck’s interior with her eyes, accepted the inevitability of the dust.

  Also, he liked the way her chin jutted defiantly when the man in the parts store attempted to diminish her with a look, one intended to convey his low opinion of her choice of escorts.

  It pleased him that she pretended to ignore his own frequent glances, that she seemed surprised when she became aware of the interest she stirred in him.

  He liked her self-effacing humor, her concern about injuring his feelings when he touched her precious car with filthy hands, and when she refused his canteen.

  Of course he was stimulated, as any man would be, by her dark eyes and fine features; her full, rounded breasts and hips.

  She obviously thought of him as an illegal, one of those wetbacks Americans despised. The word “illegal” rankled all the more, coming from her lips, but only for a moment before he entertained a ne
w thought. Would she be so haughty in his arms? When his calloused fingers caressed the silky white skin now so scrupulously hidden beneath her clothing? When his mouth captured those sensuous lips and set her reeling? Would her pride melt as he peeled those layers of resistance and clothing and exposed, not only her body, but the vein of passion hidden beneath? As he set her on fire with desire? He doubted she would think of him as a wetback then.

  He smiled at a new thought. Would he care what name she used in those moments?

  He wanted to see her again. In her running prattle, she had given him an idea, one which might eventually benefit them both.

  Chapter Three

  Pedro dismantled part of the engine, removed the old alternator and installed the new one, all during the time it took the road workers to eat their lunch.

  While his crew of laborers rested under the shade of a windbreak of trees abutting the field, the foreman took Carol and Savanna to a separate stand of catalpas. There was no place to sit.

  When the foreman at last saw Pedro close the hood, he guided the ladies back to the Lincoln.

  The green-eyed mechanic sat on the floorboard beside the front seat leaning in, an obvious effort not to soil the leather interior. He pressed the brake with his left hand and the starter with the index finger on his right, and the engine hummed to life.

  He flipped the air conditioning switch on before he eased out of the car. He left the door ajar, gave Savanna a quick look, then walked around to wipe his hand prints off the hood with the same bandana he used to mop perspiration from his face and neck.

  She beckoned the foreman. “Thank you very much for your help and your patience. I don’t know what we would have done without you, and Pedro, of course.”

  The foreman smiled. “Someone would have come to help two such lovely ladies.”

  She laughed. “Not so lovely before. Thank you.” She looked to Pedro who had turned and was walking away. “Wait, Pedro.” He stopped but didn’t turn around. “How much do I owe you?”

  He mumbled something, waved his hand and stuffed the bandana into his back pocket as he started again toward his earth-moving machine.

  She had retrieved her billfold and was sorting through currency. “What did he say?”

  The foreman beamed, flashing a grin. “He says, ‘No charge.’”

  “No, no, no. I must pay. Surely you know that.” She grabbed the foreman’s arm. “I need to pay him.”

  The rotund man studied her face a long moment before he frowned and nodded. “A mechanic in town would charge perhaps sixty dollars-an-hour for service work. It took Pedro less than two hours to find and replace the part. I would say one-hundred and twenty dollars would be fair.”

  “But he drove to town to get the part. That involved fuel and wear and tear on his vehicle.”

  “Can you afford one hundred fifty? That would be very fair.”

  “I don’t want to be fair. He deserves more and I can afford to pay.”

  “I doubt he will accept one hundred fifty. I am certain he would refuse more than that.”

  “But he is a poor man.”

  The foreman grinned knowingly. “Not if a man’s worth is measured in the eyes of the ladies.” He winked at Carol, who smiled.

  Savanna looked from Carol to the foreman and back.

  Carol’s grin deteriorated to a scowl and she was suddenly again in a hurry. “Come on, Susu. Forget it. If the guy doesn’t want your money, let it go.”

  “I can’t do that. I can’t leave until I settle up with Pedro.”

  Carol directed her appeal to the foreman. “Please do something. I want to get out of here.”

  He offered a weak smile. “I am afraid he is as stubborn as she. What is her name? Where does she live?”

  Savanna didn’t intend to stand there while they discussed her as if she were not present. “My name is Savanna Cavendish. I live in Peaceable, thirty-two miles south.”

  The foreman nodded. “We are working that direction. I will have Pedro contact you. You can negotiate terms when it is cooler, when you are both better rested, and perhaps feeling more agreeable.”

  She extracted a business card from her purse, one which had both her business and home numbers, and handed it to him. In the back of her mind she entertained a new thought. She wouldn’t mind having to see Pedro again.

  “You are the epitome of rude!” Frances began railing from the front door as Savanna and Carol got out of the dirt-dusted Lincoln. “My own sister, and you wait until nearly everyone is gone to show your face. I knew you’d pull some stunt to embarrass me.”

  Their mother stood in the background, patting Frances’ arm, humming quieting words to her younger daughter before her gaze engaged Savanna’s. “Are you all right, sweetheart?”

  Without allowing Savanna to answer, Frances tore in again. “Why the hell anyone cares if you show up or not simply insults the fire out of me.”

  “Frances!” Savanna tried a forceful interruption. “Look at us. Do we look like we’ve been lolling in some cool place, stalling intentionally? We couldn’t wait to get to your lovely, air-conditioned home.”

  Frances opened her mouth to speak, but hesitated, her curiosity obviously piqued as she studied the disheveled pair. “You’ve looked better.” She eyed them critically. “Both of you.” Then common sense took root and she stepped aside, wordlessly relinquishing access to the house.

  Mrs. Cavendish cooed and fawned, reviving the sherbet punch with fresh ginger ale and scavenging leftover finger sandwiches for the party’s stragglers and newcomers alike.

  Carol asked for a gin and tonic and wolfed down several sandwiches as she recounted their adventure, her words barely intelligible, coming as they did between mouthfuls.

  Never one to tell a dull story, Carol took generous liberty with the truth. Rather than being annoyed, however, Savanna settled back and listened as intently as the audience that had not been eye witnesses. She particularly enjoyed Carol’s lavish description of Pedro as the dark, mysterious-but-handsome prince who charged into the middle of mayhem to save the two damsels in distress.

  “And what about the other man, the foreman?” Savanna prompted.

  Carol looked pleased. “Like Gus-Gus in Cinderella. A chubby mouse scurrying around, doing everything possible to help his lady in need.”

  The account was interrupted by the door chime heralding the arrival of Browning Cavendish and Darryl Hightower.

  Browning, husband to Rowena and father to Savanna and Frances, had run the company founded by his father, then turned his presidency over to Savanna on her thirtieth birthday.

  Glad to step down, to unload the burden of running the company day-to-day, he was eager to fulfill his true destiny, which he insisted lay on the golf course.

  As CEO, Browning made himself available to Savanna, but claimed she ran the company more efficiently on her first day than he did on his last day in the post.

  Darryl gave Savanna a quiet peck on the cheek as Browning blustered. “Savanna, you and Carol come go to dinner with us. How was the shower?”

  Before Savanna could answer, Frances spoke up. “Daddy, she didn’t even come.”

  He turned a questioning glance at Savanna but Frances began recounting their adventure, embellishing even further the exaggerated version of “the alternator incident,” with a different twist.

  “Then, Daddy, she got in an old pickup truck with this Mexican brute who didn’t even speak English. He could have taken her to God knows where and done God knows what to her.”

  “Frances, good grief. He took me to a parts house to buy an alternator, then he repaired the car.”

  Frances persisted. “She shouldn’t have trusted him, should she have, Daddy? She exercised very poor judgment, I think.” Not getting a satisfactory response immediately, Frances turned to Darryl. “Don’t you think she showed very poor judgment, Darryl?”

  The consummate yes man, Darryl shrugged, his expression compliant, agreeable.

  Rowen
a Cavendish, the mother of both women, stood wide-eyed, nodding agreement with her younger daughter.

  Browning looked from one daughter to the other and appeared to be once again stumped by the need to arbitrate.

  Carol broke the pregnant pause with a nervous laugh. “His name was Pedro, for heaven’s sake.”

  Again she depicted the Mexican laborer as a knight in shining armor, this time giving his description a humbler spin. “Obviously, he was totally reliable in every way.”

  Savanna chuckled at Carol’s hasty revision. There was no mention of the dirt and sweat or the tobacco…the pony tail or the walrus mustache. Her own vivid memory of the man and his eyes sent Savanna to a far sofa to listen and contemplate.

  She studied Darryl, tall, supple, pale, the spiteful mean streak ably masked. She wondered why his touch, even before she’d known the truth about him, had lacked the electric current of Pedro’s.

  Darryl was polite and clean, had a good head for numbers. And he had asked her to marry him, more than once. She didn’t know if it was her as a woman he wooed, or her position and money. She’d turned him down, every time he asked. It seemed unlikely to her that a man as pretty as Darryl could be interested in her as a woman, but to him, the company president probably held distinct allure.

  That was past. His recent vile behavior had destroyed any interest she might have tried to create.

  When Carol’s story became repetitive, Savanna’s dad turned to her. “Honey, they sound like good fellows, this Pedro and his boss. Maybe you could find a spot at the plant.”

  “No, Dad, these guys are needed where they are. I’m sure they are fine.”

  Carol spun, hackling. “Out in that God-awful heat? Are you kidding?”

  Savanna bit her lips and held her tongue.

  Labor Day came and went. On Tuesday she called three repair shops to learn that the three-hundred-eighty-seven-dollar alternator would have cost four hundred-fifty at a garage in town. One hundred dollars would cover the labor but for work performed on the road, a fifteen percent gratuity would have been added, plus mileage.