A Rodeo Man's Promise

The boys didn’t register a protest as Maria drove them home—two blocks from Cruz’s house.

“Thanks for the ride,” Alonso said when he got out of the car.

“See ya.” Victor followed Alonso into his house.

Maria left the Five Points and made her way toward the river. She drove across Bridge Boulevard then turned on Eight Street. “The Hyatt Regency is on the other side of the Rio Grande.”

“Do you do this all the time?” Riley asked.

“Do what?”

“Drive through questionable neighborhoods?”

“Yep. Comes with the job.” She also lived in one of those questionable neighborhoods Riley referred to. She turned on Tijeras Avenue then stopped in front of the hotel.

Riley faced her, his mouth curving. Maria swore she’d have to ingest a dozen bottles of antacid medicine before her stomach recovered from her run-in with the flying cowboy.

“Let me buy you dinner as a thank you for helping me today,” he said.

Dinner…as in a date? It had been months since she’d sat across the table from a man, never mind that Riley Fitzpatrick wasn’t just any man. He was a sexy young cowboy…man.

“How old are you?” She winced when the question slipped out of her mouth.

“Twenty-five. Does age matter if we’re only having dinner?”

Oh, God. Maria’s face flamed. Had he guessed she’d been thinking about sex? She really needed to get laid. “Dinner would be nice, but I’m not dressed for the Hyatt. How do you feel about Mexican food?”

“Love it.”

“I know just the place.” Maria drove back to the other side of the Rio Grande and parked in front of a narrow brick-faced storefront with Abuela’s Cocina on the sign, sandwiched between a Laundromat and a liquor store. “‘Grandmother’s Kitchen,’” Maria said. “Consuelo makes great enchiladas.”

“Is it safe?” Riley asked, eyeing the car filled with gangbangers at the corner. The guy in the driver’s seat glared at them.

“No riskier than the wild horses you ride.” Rodeo could be violent at times, but at least the horses and bulls didn’t shoot at the cowboys who rode on their backs.

They made it as far as the restaurant door when a gunshot went off. In a move so quick it snatched the air from Maria’s lungs Riley opened the café door and shoved her over the threshold, catching her by the waist when she tripped on the welcome mat in the foyer. Before the door had even shut behind them, Riley had Maria pressed against the wall, his body shielding hers.

“Did you get hit?” he whispered.

Shock kept her tongue-tied.

“Don’t move.” Riley settled his palm against her hip, exerting enough force to keep her pinned in place. The heat from his hand burned through her jeans, warming her skin. She giggled.

“What’s so funny?”

“Are you finished playing hero?”

“Hola, Maria.” A young woman entered the hallway, carrying two laminated menus. She stared at Riley’s hand still attached to Maria’s hip. “¿Quién es el vaquero?”

“This cowboy is Riley Fitzgerald. Riley, Sonja. Her aunt owns the restaurant.”

Riley tipped his hat. “Ma’am.”

Ma’am? Sonja was nineteen. Maria snorted.

“Sígueme,” Sonja said, disappearing through a doorway.

Maria followed the hostess into the dining room, stunned that a twenty-five-year-old man made her feel as if she were a carefree young girl and not a woman who had seen and experienced a lifetime of tragedy and heartbreak in thirty-five short years.

Chapter Three

Riley lost his train of thought as he drowned in Maria’s brown eyes.

“Do I have food stuck to my face?” She reached for her napkin.

He covered her hand with his, pinning the napkin to the table. “No. Your face is fine. As a matter of fact it’s perfect.”

Maria’s cheeks reddened and Riley chuckled.

“What?”

He released her hand. “I make you nervous.”

“No, you don’t.” The denial lacked conviction.

He eyeballed her fingernail tapping the table and Maria fisted her hand. “Why do I make you uneasy?” he asked.

“Besides the fact that you’re a complete stranger?”

“Yeah, besides that.” He popped a tortilla chip into his mouth and chewed.

“Let’s see.” Maria held up one finger. “First, you’re sexy and attractive.”

Wow. He hadn’t seen that one coming. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” A second finger rose in the air. “You’re wealthy.”

“Money makes you anxious?”

“Didn’t your mother teach you that money is the root of all evil?”

“Actually, my father taught me that money solves all problems.”

Third finger… “You’re young.”

He’d read the occasional magazine article that testified to the sexual compatibility of older women and younger men. Made sense to him. He waggled his eyebrows. “Youth has its advantages.”

The waitress arrived with their meals and the women spoke in Spanish. Riley guessed they discussed him because the young girl glanced his way more than once. “The enchiladas are great,” he said, disrupting the conversation.