lips. “Dinner for two, sir?” he asked in heavily accented English.
Josh nodded and placed his hand on Catherine’s back. They followed Guillermo past deep leather booths that lined the walls. Sconces holding candles shone on solitary diners and large parties alike. In the far corner they settled into soft leather seats on opposite sides of a quiet booth.
The gilt-tasseled menu lying unopened in front of her, Catherine looked around wide-eyed at the understated elegance of the place. From somewhere on the other side of the room someone was playing an old Rodgers and Hart song on a piano. After lighting the candle on their table, Guillermo slipped discreetly away.
The candlelight flickered on Josh’s face. His firm jaw was clean-shaven. He didn’t look as if he’d spent the night in a hammock. She smoothed an imaginary wrinkle in her skirt. What if she hadn’t bought these clothes? Would Guillermo have signaled his approval if she’d been wearing her bowler hat and shawl? She opened her menu and skimmed the entries: crepes des champignons, pasta primavera and grilled Chateaubriand.
“Oh, just like home,” she murmured.
“Not like my home,” he said, laugh lines crinkling at the corners of his eyes.
“Do you come here often?” she asked.
“Every night.”
Her mouth fell open.
He shrugged. “I feel comfortable here and my stove hasn’t arrived yet. When it does...”
She waited, fingering the menu.
He smiled. “When it does, I’ll probably still eat here every night.”
She shook her head in dismay.
“Does that sound boring to you?” he asked.
“A little,” she admitted, although looking at him across the table, boring wasn’t the word that came to mind. He’d taken his suit coat off, loosened his tie and rolled up his sleeves, exposing suntanned arms from his day in the country. The words that came to mind were strong, sexy and handsome. She tore her eyes away and looked down at the menu again. The prices horrified her. She closed the menu. “I’ll let you order,” she said, and leaned back against the soft leather. “Don’t tell me you have the same thing every night.”
He rested his elbows on the table, a glint in his eyes. “I’m not that unimaginative,” he protested. When the waiter came, he ordered a Caesar salad, wine from Argentina and two medium rare steaks.
There was a silence and she looked up expectantly. “You said you had news.’’
“Yes. You can have your truck.”
A smile crossed her face and lit her dark eyes, then faded abruptly. “It’s not a gift?”
“It’s a loan. The kind you wanted.”
She laid her hands on the table. “What’s the interest rate?”
“Three percent.”
She gasped. “What’s the catch?”
“The catch is to pay it back in small weekly installments.” He swirled the dark red wine in his glass. “And you have to buy one of our repossessed trucks from the bank. I’ve never done this before. No one has. From what I’ve seen of the women I think it’ll work. But they’ll need your help.”
He explained the program to her while she ate her salad. Her eyes never left his as he told her they’d have to fill out application forms, have their needs assessed and attend information meetings before it would be official. Then they’d get their money. Then they could have first pick of the repossessions parked behind the bank before they were auctioned off.
“They’ll have checkbooks and deposit slips and everything?” she asked.
He nodded, refilling her glass. It had taken all day. It had taken every ounce of persuasion he had, every bit of clout to persuade the board of directors. It went against every principle they’d agreed on to set things straight in Aruaca. No new agricultural loans. No loans for high-risk creditors, no credit for the self-employed. He’d talked so fast and long that his mouth had hurt.
But he’d convinced them. And himself at the same time. It occurred to him that if it worked they might even extend loans to other self-employed people. If it didn’t, he’d feel like a fool, lose his credibility and his ability to do his job here before he’d even looked for the silver mines of Tochabamba.
Her eyes glowed. She reached across the table and took his hand. “Thank you.”
He felt the calluses on her palm, the warmth of her skin, and he held her hand for a long moment. Her gaze was warm and steady. She was so sure of herself. Sure of the villagers, sure of their ability. He knew it was just a truck, just one lousy truck, but no one knew where it