A Little Texas by Liz Talley Page B

paused. The Mustang roared to life. She glanced over to where it idled. Rick watched her in the rearview mirror. She wondered what he thought about the kiss, but before she could search for his gaze again, the car pulled away.
    She knocked on the door.
    An older Hispanic woman answered. A smile curved her broad face, wrinkling the skin around her dark eyes as she said, “ Adelante. You use the back door? My grandson leaves you here?”
    “Oh, hello.” Kate pulled her bag higher on her shoulder and tried to discern if the woman fussed at her or Rick. “Um, Rick went to Phoenix. He said you would call him when I’m ready to return to my friend’s house.”
    The woman stood aside so Kate could enter, tsking all the while. “What manners he shows. Dropping you at the back door like a laborer. A man should walk a lady inside.”
    The phrase “I’m no lady” popped into Kate’s mind, but she wisely held the snappy comeback inside. “No, it’s fine. I’m a big girl.”
    “I fuss at him, but I am rude, too. I’m Rosa Mendez. And you are not such a big girl. A chiquitita . Very, very tiny. And so lovely.”
    Kate never blushed, but she felt heat suffuse her face. “Thank you, Rosa.”
    “It’s true.” Rosa bustled into the kitchen. Kate followed behind like a puppy on a leash, ogling the cavernous kitchen. Modern appliances gleamed and houseplants overgrew their planters. The smell of herbs and bread permeated the air. Spanish tiles flashed blue and russet upon the counters and a small television sat in the corner playing a Spanish soap opera.
    Rosa picked up a handheld radio. “Mr. Justus, Miss Kate is here.”
    The radio crackled, but she heard his words. “Send her up.”
    Just like a job interview. Yes, Ms. Mendez, please send the applicant up.
    Rosa smiled, showing a large gap between her teeth. “ Si, Mr. Justus wants you to go up.”
    “I heard,” Kate said, looking about the kitchen trying to buy some time.
    Rosa wiped her hands on a dish towel. “Don’t worry. I’ll take you.”
    “Don’t bother, Rosa. I’ll do the honors.”
    The voice came from the opposite doorway.
    Kate turned as an older woman—presumably Vera Mitchell—stepped into the room. For a moment, Kate felt as though she’d been dropped onto a remote island with no food or water. Survivor. Trust no one.
    Vera looked like what she was—a rich Texan’s wife with an expensive haircut, manicured nails and clothes from Neiman Marcus. Her expression was measured, as if she were prepared to serve tea to a bastard daughter and not even break a sweat. Kate watched her as she approached.
    “I’m Vera Mitchell. Justus’s wife. Welcome to Cottonwood.” Kate took the extended hand. It was as cool as she’d expected.
    “I’m Kate Newman. I have a—” what was it exactly? “—meeting with Mr. Mitchell.”
    The older woman released her hand. “Yes, I know. Follow me and I’ll show you to his office.”
    Kate glanced at Rosa. Rick’s grandmother stood watching, her mouth slightly agape. She assumed the woman hadn’t expected Vera to greet the usurper to the throne. Of course, she wasn’t really interested in anything from either of the Mitchells. Only a bit of money owed for all the times she’d eaten leftovers from the diner because her grandmother couldn’t afford groceries.
    She followed Vera to the foyer—noting the modern elevator sitting like an anachronism in the traditional elegance of the mansion. They climbed to the second floor and Kate scanned the massive oil paintings of barren Texas landscapes, the impression of them as cold and imposing as the miles of marble they walked upon.
    “Here we are.” Vera swept her hand toward an ornately carved door.
    “Thank you,” Kate muttered, trying not to squirm under the other woman’s scrutiny. She’d be damned if she felt remorse about what she was about to do.
    “You’re welcome,” Vera said, catching Kate’s gaze with her own. She held it for a moment before