Free Fiesta Moon by Linda Windsor Page B

señor, a key.” The plumber moved his fingers as though twisting an imaginary dial. “What it is that turns the water to run.”
    â€œThe faucet?” Corinne guessed.
    Juan Pablo nodded. “Sí, como no?”
    â€œ How not indeed,” Mark drawled with an acerbic smirk.
    With the prospect of employment in his grasp, Juan Pablo extended his hand, but had second thoughts on seeing Mark’s yellowed hands. “Biengood,” he declared as one word. “Hasta mañana, jefe.”
    Waiting until Juan Pablo exited through the front entrance, Mark asked under his breath to Corinne, “Projectate?”
    â€œHe’s a proprietor and speaks the way he thinks such a man would speak,” Corinne explained. “It’s just that his use of English is a little skewed. And by the way, while como no literally means how not, it translates into why not or what else among the people here.”
    â€œThanks for the language lesson.”
    Unable to resist, she reached up and straightened his turban. “Flowers become you.”
    â€œBack at ya with the paint.” Mark pulled a pained grin and walked past her in the footsteps of Juan Pablo.
    â€œYou know what Scarlett said,” Corinne called after him. “Tomorrow is another day.”
    Pausing at the door, he looked back, his face stricken. “I certainly hope so. I don’t ever want to repeat this one.”
    â€œBad beginnings, good endings?” Or something like that.
    To her surprise, instead of reacting with annoyance, he pointed a finger at her and winked. “I’m counting on it, Corina.”
    Coreena . Even wearing a flowered towel as a top hat, Mark Madison possessed an irrepressible charm. Or maybe it was the six-pack abs and low-slung jeans that brought a heat wave into the room. The moment he was out of sight, she’d open a window.
    For now, she’d just admire that deliberate, long-legged retreat. What a waste of gorgeous—like a French pastry—all puff and no substance. And just as bad for a no-nonsense woman like herself.

CHAPTER 6
    The water damage was worse than Blaine had counted on in his estimate, Mark thought as he swept fallen plaster into a pile in the corner of the salon the next day. When the former owners moved out, they didn’t latch all the shutters and windows. With the onslaught of rainy season and storms, the current damage had been done. Several rooms were littered with chunks of plaster, but for now, Mark was only concerned with the main salon where he was supposed to set up his quarters. Thankfully, the year-round spring-like weather was optimized by the astute design for cross ventilation and surrounding shade trees, making the work to be done bearable without air-conditioning.
    It was a crying shame to turn the grand hacienda into an institution. Its history of an elegant lifestyle spoke to him through its graceful arches, murals, and frescoes. Mark could envision settling down in such a place, if it weren’t located in the boonies of the Twilight Zone .
    â€œPerdonamé, Señor Madison, but Juan Pablo is here with his presupposition,” Soledad said from the doorway. “Or so he calls his paper,” she added with a disapproving sniff that declared her estimation of Juan Pablo—or at least his use of English—pretentious.
    â€œGreat, send him in.” Considering the layer of plaster dust and dirt covering him from head to toe, Mark hoped Juan could fix the shower.
    â€œAnd you must remember to ask him about his wife’s brother’s furniture store in Taxco.”
    Mark took a dustpan full of the debris to a thirty-gallon trash can and deposited it. After discovering that all that the orphanage had to offer for furniture was an inflatable air bed and a kiddie desk, he’d asked Soledad if she knew where he could find some things locally. He should have expected he’d be sent to a relative of someone he’d