Cinderella in Overalls by Carol Grace

tree, where he had almost lost his control and she had almost given in to the feelings she tried so hard to hide. Was this really a generic hatred of bankers as she claimed, or was it something else, something he couldn’t even guess at?
    When she came outside again, the smoke was curling up from the fire. Expertly she threaded the chicken on the spit, and Josh turned the crank until his arm ached and his face was covered with soot. She set the table and brought out a pot of rice and a platter of homegrown tomatoes. Then she poked a fork into the chicken and nodded her approval.
    After he washed up, they made polite, impersonal conversation while they ate. But when she wasn’t looking he allowed himself some very personal glances—at the neckline of her T-shirt and the line where her shorts met her thighs. As the shadows lengthened, he studied her profile and the way her hair brushed her cheek. When she got up to get the coffee, he realized he would never see her legs again or the freckles on her knees, because tomorrow she would be wearing her market clothes and that would be the end of it. Of everything.
    No more would he make a fool of himself hanging around the Rodriguez Market, waiting to see if she’d appear. No more feeble attempts at bargaining. As she had said, she’d go back to farming and he’d go back to banking. Finally. This had been the longest and most frustrating day of his life. And it wasn’t over yet.
    He stood and walked around the yard. It was almost dark. If it hadn’t been for the light from the fire, he wouldn’t have noticed the hammock swaying invitingly in the evening breeze. He leaned against the canvas. It was wide, big enough for two. Fat chance, he told himself. Catherine set two cups on the table and a pot of coffee.
    “Don’t get too comfortable,” she cautioned. “That’s where I sleep.”
    He straightened. “Don’t worry. I’m just going to stretch out in the back seat of my car. Don’t forget to knock on my window in the morning so I won’t miss the truck.”
    “That’s not necessary. You can have my bedroom upstairs. It ought to cool off pretty soon. That way I won’t have to knock on your window. You’ll hear the rooster crow.”
    “If you’re sure...”
    “I’m sure. I never use it in the summer.” She poured a cup of coffee and delivered it to him, determined to be hospitable to the end which, God willing, would be only a few more hours. Then Josh Bentley would disappear from her life. Hopefully an anonymous tow truck would come to get his car, then she would never have to see him again.
    After he finished his coffee, she led him to the small bedroom furnished with only a narrow bed and a chest of drawers. She paused long enough to collect her nightgown from a hook on the wall and a blanket from the foot of the bed. In the dim gaslight on the wall the large outline of his body filled the doorway. She stood at the top of the stairs.
    “Do you need anything else?” she asked politely.
    There was a long silence while she felt rather than saw his eyes on her.
    “Do you?”
    She shook her head and hurried down to the kitchen where she changed into her nightgown in the dark. Did she need anything else? Good question. He made her want something else, she knew that, and wants were only a hairbreadth from needs. Needs that were as basic as food and water and just as primal. Her skin prickled as the soft cotton slid over her breasts.
    Barefoot, she tiptoed out past the dying embers of the fire and lay down in the hammock, her blanket wrapped around her. As she watched, the gaslight in the upstairs window went out. She closed her eyes tightly and willed herself to go to sleep. But she thought of the man in her room, in her bed, and the thought disturbed her more than she imagined. The light in her bedroom went on again. Why didn’t he go to sleep? He said he’d been up since 5:00.
    There was a thumping sound. The sound of someone coming down the stairs in the dark.