through her hair and smoothed her palms over the skirt of her new dress. Though it wasn’t a maternity dress, it did have an empire waist. Her clothes had suddenly stopped fitting yesterday, as if she’d swallowed a basketball for breakfast, and she’d been forced to buy something new. Pasting a smile on her face, she pulled the door open.
Jennifer’s breath caught in her throat at the sight of him. She knew he was handsome—in a suit, in faded jeans, it didn’t really matter. Tonight, he wore immaculately pressed khakis and a pale-blue cotton polo shirt that set off his dark tan. His hair was still damp from a shower and it looked like he’d combed it with his fingers. “Hi,” she murmured, her knees going soft.
He pulled a bouquet of sunflowers from behind his back and held them out. “Hello, mi prometido. I’m sorry I’m a little late. I got tied up at the site.”
Jennifer laughed and took the flowers from his hand. “Come in. And it’s promitida. That’s the feminine form of fiancée. You’re my prometido.”
Ryan shrugged. “My Spanish is pretty lousy, isn’t it? I’ve been trying to learn. That way, when the guys on the drilling site are talking about me, I’ll know what they’re saying.”
“Come. Sit down. Dinner is almost ready.”
“How are you feeling?” he asked as he closed the apartment door behind him.
“Fine,” she said, grabbing a vase from an end table near the window. “No more dizzy spells.”
“Did you see your doctor?”
Jennifer shook her head, secretly pleased by his concern. “No, it’s nothing. I just have to be more careful about how I eat. Now, sit down and I’ll get you a drink. Would you like a beer?”
He nodded, slowly sat down, then frowned. “Do you smell that?”
“That’s my pozole,” Jennifer said proudly.
Ryan stood and stepped around her. “No, I really think something is—” He cursed and hurried over to the kitchen, where flames rose from the stove.
Jennifer screamed and hurried after him. “¡Ay, Dios mío! I’ll call the fire department. No, there’s a fire extinguisher… .” She paused, trying to remember where she’d put it. “Throw some water on it!”
Ryan calmly grabbed a stockpot from the rack over the breakfast bar and dropped it on top of the burning dish towel. Then he grabbed a saucepan and filled it with water, holding out his arm to keep her back. “It’ll go out in a few seconds.”
When he was satisfied that the fire was out, Jennifer hurried to the stove and pulled the cover off the pozole. But in her haste, she forgot to use a pot holder and the lid burned her fingers. She cried out and let it clatter to the floor, where it hit her big toe, which was sticking out of her sandal. The kitchen filled with the smell of scorched hominy and burned terry cloth as Jennifer’s eyes filled with tears.
Once again, the baby inside her seemed to hold the controls over her emotions, turning her from a babbling idiot to a blubbering fool in the blink of an eye. She couldn’t stop the tears from coming even though she wasn’t sure why she was crying. It wasn’t the ruined meal or her stinging fingers or even the smoke stain on her kitchen ceiling. It was…everything.
Jennifer buried her face in her hands and slid down to sit on the kitchen floor. A few moments later, she felt Ryan beside her, his fingers stroking her temple. “It’s all right,” he said. “The fire’s out. No damage done.”
She looked up at him through her tears and a giggle slipped from her throat. “I don’t care about the fire or the food. That’s the least of my worries. I’m such a mess. I can’t seem to control my emotions. I start crying at the drop of a hat. My life is in chaos and I’m not sure if I’ll ever be able to set it right.”
“I know how you feel,” Ryan said, tipping her chin up and capturing her gaze with his.
“Yeah, I guess you do.”
He grabbed her hand and gave her fingers a squeeze. “Why don’t we sit down on the sofa and relax. I’ll call for a pizza and we’ll get to work. You can make pozole for me again some other night.”
He gently helped her to her feet and led her over to the sofa, then returned to the kitchen to order the pizza. Ryan found a beer in the refrigerator and brought her a glass of orange juice. Then he settled on the sofa beside her, his arm draped over the back. “So, where do we start?”
“Well, since I know pretty much everything about you, we should start with me.”
“How do you know about me?” he asked after taking a sip of his beer.
“I did a pretty extensive investigation before I came to see you at the drilling site. A bachelor’s and master’s degree from Texas A and M, dean’s list, graduated cum laude, bought your first well with money you made in the stock market, built your business into a multimillion—”
“All right, all right,” Ryan said. “Let’s start with your family.”
“My papi, Diego, came from Mexico when he was fifteen. He worked picking vegetables in California until he found a job in a factory. He got his high school diploma going to night classes. He lived the American dream, working his way up, saving his pennies, until he and my mother bought a small electronics factory in El Paso. Now it’s huge and he makes components for the auto industry. I think you’ll have a lot in common.”
“And your mother?”
Jennifer slid down to the end of the couch and stretched her feet out in front of her, leaning back onto a throw pillow. “Mamá. She’ll be a little tougher. Her name is Carmen and she’s the glue that holds our family together. She’s lived in this country nearly all her life and she has very high expectations for her children. We all must go to college, find a good job and marry a nice Catholic.”
“Well, that will be a problem then,” Ryan said. “I’m not a very good Catholic. I haven’t been to church in ages, although I used to be an altar boy. That should count for something shouldn’t it?”
“It doesn’t make a difference since we really aren’t getting married,” Jennifer said with a smile.
He slipped her sandals off her feet and tucked her bare toes beneath his thigh. “Brothers and sisters?”
“Four. Joe is nineteen, Maria will be fifteen on Saturday, Linda is ten and Teresa is eight.”
“And Jennifer?”
“I’m twenty five,” she said. “I went to U of T in El Paso and got a degree in accounting.”
“Accounting,” he said. “Kind of an odd background for a private investigator, isn’t it?”
She sat up. “Now, there’s another problem we need to discuss. You see, my parents don’t know I’m a P.I. They think I’m an accountant for the office. I don’t think they’d approve, they wouldn’t find it respectable enough. So if the subject of my career comes up, which I’m sure it will, don’t tell them the truth.”
“I can vouch that you’re a good P.I.,” Ryan said. “Look how you tried to help Lucy. You couldn’t do something so important as an accountant, could you?”
“I guess not. It’s just that I’ve spent my life trying not to disappoint my parents and yet trying to live my own life. You don’t know the pressure of being the oldest child, the perfect little girl. I turned into a rebel at an early age.”
“You couldn’t have been that bad,” Ryan said, “to turn out so well.”
Jennifer gave him a grudging smile. “As a child, I was a tomboy. Always with tangled hair and skinned knees. In high school, I wore short skirts and ran with a fast crowd. In college, I partied a little too much. And look at me now. I was supposed to remain a virgin until I got married. Breaking that little rule will become quite obvious in another month.”