He was becoming far too comfortable. He closed the barn door behind them, drew her close, and arm-in-arm they hurried up the path to the hacienda.
“I enjoyed tonight, Dena.”
“Good. I did, too.”
Once inside, it got a bit awkward. How did they part ways now? They both wanted more. They reached the long hallway, and Zeke stopped outside her room. “At some future time, I’d like to invite you out to dinner—”
“A date, huh?”
He’d sounded so formal with his invitation, hadn’t intended to, but she did strange things to him. “Yes, a date,” he said, and gave her a lopsided grin. “What do you say?”
“I say, yes.”
He leaned down, kissed her once, a brush of lips on lips. He couldn’t risk anything more. A deeper kiss and he’d be throwing caution to the wind, and her bedroom door was wide open.
She pressed her lips together, as if tasting their kiss, and he had to look away.
“Goodnight,” he said softly, and strode down the hall.
He heard her murmured response and sensed she still watched him. He turned. She was there, leaning against the door jamb. He raised a hand in farewell before entering his own room and closing the door. How long had it been since he’d allowed himself to play like he had tonight? Dena had laughed and talked, allowed him to put her on the horse, and they’d made out like a couple of randy teenagers.
What a pity she had to leave. But did she?
He ruminated on that as he stepped out of his clothes and left them where they fell. He walked over, opened the window, and peered out at the night sky. Tomorrow was a new day, and he’d approach Rocky again with a well thought-out plan.
Who knew what the light of day might bring?
Chapter Nine
On Sunday morning, Dena sat alone in the kitchen and spooned up cereal and non-fat milk. After last night’s make-out at the lake, she couldn’t wait to see how Zeke would handle things today.
She wasn’t going home. On that subject, she was clear.
She had a cup of fresh brewed coffee in one hand and unfolded The Desert Sun newspaper with the other. She took a swallow of coffee, then put the mug down like it bit her. Liquid sloshed onto the table, and she dabbed at it with a paper napkin, her heart pounding. There was an article about Susie in the paper. She scanned it again. No mention of Zeke. That was good.
She froze at the next article. It was about the young man in custody for the rape of a college student. She knew the story. Manny’s friend. He was Caucasian, which surprised her after Manny’s accusation that Latinos were blamed for everything that went wrong in the valley.
“Hey,” Zeke said. “Chowing down, huh?”
Dena grasped her coffee mug before she spilled it again. “You startled me—”
“Sorry.”
He stood across from her in rumpled sweats and a creased white t-shirt, wearing socks and no shoes, and a wide grin. Being shoeless was probably why she hadn’t heard him sneak up on her. She stared him up and down.
“Did you sleep in those clothes?” she asked, and frowned.
He laughed. “No, I don’t wear clothes to bed.”
She picked up her coffee cup and took a sip. Way too much information, but her thoughts went back there for one more glimpse…dirty little thoughts.
“Coffee’s fresh,” she said, and almost added “and so are you,” but this was the happiest he’d been since she’d arrived. She wasn’t about to change that.
“It’s Sunday,” Zeke said. “I always have pancakes. It’s Irma’s day off, and the only chance I get to play in the kitchen. Are you interested?”
She chewed another mouthful of cereal. “Sure. What kind?”
“Blueberry.”
“Yum…my favorite.”
She eyed him with amusement as he pulled out a mixing bowl and ingredients. Who’d have figured Zeke Cabrera would know his way around the kitchen? She stacked the advertising supplements for the local stores and mega-markets into a tidy pile. She’d go through those next, not that she needed to buy anything, but it was always fun to browse.
“There’s an article in the paper, about Manny’s friend.”
“Oh, he told you?” Zeke asked, but he didn’t look up.
“Yes, yesterday. I have to admit, I expected the guy to be a Latino male. I thought Manny ran with a gang.” She rustled the newspaper, shook her head. She sounded racist, and that made her squirm. She’d never thought of herself that way.
“It’s not a gang,” Zeke muttered. “Just a bunch of college friends—”