Free His Temporary Wife by Leslie P. García Page B

certificate and might open a clinic,
     or I might go back to work at a school.”
    “So you’re a counselor? You give advice?” Lillie Mae repeated.
    “Yes.”
    “Then why the hell are you here talkin’ to an old lady you don’t know? Shame on you,
     girl. You gotta make your own mind up about this job Rafael’s offering.”
    Derision crept into Esme’s voice. “Job? What do you suppose the qualifications for
     a job as a ‘temporary wife’ are?”
    Lillie Mae leaned back a little in her chair and narrowed her eyes, then straightened
     again. “Hey, Freddie!” she called at the woman behind the bar. “Bring me a water and
     … what would you like, Esmeralda?”
    Esmeralda hesitated. She seldom drank so early in the day and she really did want
     time to ride. But a tiny part of her didn’t want to give Lillie Mae reason to think
     she didn’t make her own rules. “Got screwdrivers?” she called past Lillie Mae, not
     letting the older woman order it for her, and got an affirmative nod from the woman
     behind the bar.
    Freddie hustled over with their drinks and Esme smiled at her energy. “Bet you can
     hold your own when the place is open.”
    Freddie laughed. “Well, I don’t usually tend the bar, just haul drinks. But when I’m
     alone … old habits die hard, I guess. I’ve always worked as a waitress of one kind
     or other.”
    Freddie left them and went back to dusting and arranging barware and bottles, and
     Esme downed a large portion of the drink and turned her attention to Lillie Mae again.
     “So, you were telling me I should make up my mind about Rafael’s ‘job?’ What are the
     chances he’ll walk in any minute, Lillie Mae?”
    The older woman just stared at her for a moment, then snorted, a sound between insult
     and laughter. “You got some woman
cajones
,” she noted. “No one in town would’ve asked me that if they’d only known me a couple
     minutes.” She reached over and patted Esme’s hand, her fringe tickling again. “And
     that’s fine, if you’re showin’ ’em for the right reason. I’m no enemy, girl. Just
     someone drawn into a predicament and wantin’ to help.”
    Esme considered the words, then shrugged. “What kind of predicament could make a decent
     man propose marriage—temporary marriage—to a complete stranger?”
    Lillie Mae’s eyebrows shot up. “He proposed? So quick?”
    So the old lady knew more than she was admitting?
No point in getting her dander up if she could get her to talk, though. “He didn’t
     exactly propose,” Esme admitted neutrally. “He told me he needed to hire someone,
     that he didn’t like my aunt, and that I was the only person he’d approached.”
    Lillie Mae nodded thoughtfully, but didn’t say anything. She fished in her pockets
     and drew out a bright red cell phone, checking her messages, then placed the device
     on the table. “I still bring ol’ Babe into town out of habit,” she confided, “but
     these modern contraptions sure do beat the old ones to heck.” She picked up the phone
     and waved it at Esme. “’Specially this. But there’s one thing that’s even faster than
     this in a town like Truth—”
    “Gossip?” Esme suggested, remembering Rose Creek, and even her teen years in Laredo,
     which wasn’t really a small town.
    “You got it. And see, that’s what Rafael’s up against—waggin’ tongues. He confided
     in you, and if you won’t listen and see what he says, I hope you at least don’t talk.”
    “You seem to be defending him.”
    “He’s got a name in this town. But he didn’t earn it—at least, he don’t deserve it.”
     Her fingers drummed an irregular beat on the table. “How’d you hear about it? He look
     you up?”
    “My aunt asked me to talk to him—set up the interview, I guess. She didn’t give me
     a clue what kind of job I was applying for.”
    Something changed in Lillie Mae’s face, almost imperceptibly.
    “You don’t like my aunt,