Red Rock Cinderella. Judy DuarteЧитать онлайн книгу.
explanation. But before he could respond, the redhead stepped forward and placed her hand on his forearm, sending a spiral of heat hurtling through his bloodstream.
When he turned and caught her gaze, she offered him a sympathetic smile. “I’ll pay for your meal.”
Did she think he was down and out? He supposed he couldn’t blame her for that. He probably looked like a transient.
He started to object, to tell her that he was far from penniless, but then thought better of it. What if his wallet wasn’t in the car? He’d be embarrassed if he refused her offer and still couldn’t pay the bill.
Besides, the old Clay had a habit of always picking up the tab. What would it hurt for him to accept and appreciate someone else’s generosity once in a while?
As he wrestled with himself, she added, “Christmas is the season for giving.” Then she offered him a shy smile and a little shrug, as if that explained it all.
And maybe for her it did. Not only did she appear to be wholesome, she apparently had a good heart as well. Clay couldn’t remember the last time an attractive woman had made an offer like that without expecting anything in return from him. So he was reluctant to let her get away before he learned more about her.
“Thank you,” he said. “That’s very kind of you. Would you mind if I told the kitchen to put a hold on my order?”
The redhead cocked her pretty head to the side, clearly perplexed by his question.
If she knew him better, she would realize that he hadn’t become a very successful businessman by relying on chance and letting the chips fall where they may. He made things happen.
“Christmas isn’t a time to be alone, either,” he said. “And if you’re here by yourself, I’d like you to eat with me.”
As she pondered his comment, his pulse rate soared.
She placed her hands on her hips and looked him up and down. “Normally I’d say no.”
And under “normal” circumstances, he wouldn’t want an attractive woman to think he only had three dollars to his name. But nothing seemed the least bit ordinary about this evening.
And for one wild and crazy moment, the redhead held a bit of holiday magic in the palm of her hands.
Ella Stewart studied the stranger who’d asked her to join him for dinner—and on her dime.
With her current financial outlook what it was, she shouldn’t have stopped for take-out food in the first place, let alone offered to pay for someone else’s meal. But as she’d reminded him, it was the Christmas season, and it seemed only right to help someone who was less fortunate than she was.
“What do you say? Should I let the hostess know we’d like a table for two?” His eyes, a mesmerizing shade of blue, gazed at her as though her agreement might change his bad luck to good with a nod of her head.
She nearly laughed at that, since her own ship had yet to come in. And if truth be told, it seemed to be sailing farther and farther out to sea. But what would it hurt? Since Aunt Aggie was having dinner with one of her nephews, the alternative was for Ella to eat alone in front of the television. So she said, “Sure. Why not?”
The man said something to the hostess, who then left her post. When she returned a moment later, she smiled. “There’s one last table in the courtyard. Apparently, the couple I’d seated there earlier decided it was too cold and went into the lounge to eat.”
“How cold is it?” Ella wondered if she was dressed warm enough to sit outdoors.
“It’s a little chilly,” the hostess admitted, “but we have heaters.”
Ella glanced at the down-and-out stranger, who offered her a wide grin. His eyes glimmered in a way that made her want to look beyond his worn clothing and his scruffy beard to the man beneath.
“Okay,” she said. “That works for me.”
The hostess led them to the quaint courtyard, with a rustic old fountain, its water gurgling. The soft sounds of mariachi music coming from another room made the setting even more romantic than it might have been otherwise.
They took a seat at a small pine-wood table for two, and moments later, a busboy brought them glasses of water, as well as two types of salsa and a woven basket containing chips.
“My name’s Clay,” he said. “What’s yours?”
“Ella.” She was glad he hadn’t shared his last name. They were clearly on the same page about what their dining together meant. On a night when so many couples and families were out on the town or nestled together at home, they wouldn’t have to be alone. Something told her she and this man might be kindred spirits in a way, always standing on the outside looking in.
“So what brings you to Red?” she asked.
“I was hungry, and there wasn’t much in the fridge or the pantry.”
She wondered if he’d really left his wallet in the car—or if he even had a vehicle. But she let it go. It really didn’t matter. They would share a meal, give each other some company, then go their separate ways.
“So what do you do for a living?” she asked, making small talk.
He hesitated, and she realized that if he was between jobs, the question had been a low blow. As a sense of awkwardness hovered over the table, he finally said, “I’m in sales. How about you?”
She wished she could claim to be a doctor or schoolteacher or lawyer. But she’d never gone to college, something she now regretted.
“Actually, my job is ending after the holidays, so I’m looking for work.”
He leaned forward, as if he knew of an open position. “What kind of experience do you have?”
She smiled and gave a little shrug, deciding to own up to it. “I’ve done it all—dog walking, house sitting, waitressing, working at a day-care center. Right now, I’m taking care of my elderly great-aunt, but that’s soon going to change.”
Again, he gazed into her eyes intently, as if everything she said mattered.
As if she mattered.
It was a welcome feeling for Ella, particularly after the past few months. She’d been begging Fred, the trustee of her aunt’s trust, to reconsider his decision to sell the house and move Aunt Aggie into a retirement home, but she might as well have been pleading with a tree stump. None of her relatives would listen to her, and she’d begun to feel like a second-class citizen, at least in her own family.
“Why?” Clay asked. “Is your aunt ill?”
Ella paused, wondering how much to share with a stranger, then decided a man she’d never see again was probably safe. Besides, it was nice when someone asked her opinion without accusing her of having ulterior motives.
So she told it like it was. “No one expected my aunt to live to be eighty-four, and the nest egg meant to last through her golden years has dwindled away. The house needs a new roof, as well as new wiring and plumbing. So her nephew has decided to sell it, rather than fix it up. And he’s planning to put her in an assisted-living facility.”
“How does your aunt feel about that?”
“She’s not happy. And neither am I. She’s really spunky, and I think that moving her out of the only home she’s had for more than sixty years is a bad idea. But she’s not my mother, and I have no say about any of it.”
“I can’t imagine anyone ignoring your opinion, especially since you’re the one who lives with your aunt. If I were the nephew, I’d welcome your thoughts.”
His