“I got their permission.”
“Mr. and Mrs. Salinas don’t speak English.”
“Money is a universal language.” He grinned. “I paid them a parking fee for the night.”
When her mouth sagged open, he leaned forward and popped a chip inside. Immediately, her jaws snapped closed, and his fingers barely escaped being bitten off. Sassy little thing. “Where do you live?”
“Right here,” she mumbled. “The barrio has been my family home for four generations. My great-grandparents emigrated from Mexico right after they got married.”
He’d conjured up an image of his brothers, Nelson in Chicago and Ryan in New York City, and his grandfather in Massachusetts. Spread out across the country, they kept in touch by phone and a yearly meeting. Theirs was a life Jennifer probably couldn’t imagine. “Have you ever wished to leave this place and explore the world?”
“Are you kidding? I used to dream about escaping the barrio all the time.” She crumpled the lunch sack violently, then scrambled off the ground.
“What’s keeping you here?”
“Responsibility,” she grumbled, and walked away.
That crappy word again.
Chapter Three
Saturday.
Aaron McKade—Smith, that is—had managed to hold on to his construction job for an entire week. Not a big deal for most men, but he was downright proud of himself. He’d accomplished more good this week than he had the past year at his office. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d woken up before the alarm buzzed.
Admittedly, Jennifer Alvarado played a large role in his eagerness to get to work each morning. In the past he’d gravitated toward women who didn’t ask probing questions or try to evaluate a man. Which suited him fine, because he endured enough psychoanalyzing from his brothers and grandfather. So why all of a sudden did he wish Jennifer would ask personal questions?
In honor of managing not to lose his job, he’d stopped by Doughnut Dave’s, a bakery near his apartment in downtown L.A. After purchasing six-dozen pastries, he arrived at the construction site ahead of the crew. The shrill bark of a dog greeted him when he got out of the truck. A small mutt sat behind a chain-link fence across the street. The dirty lump of fur looked suspiciously like the animal at the bottom of the pull cart towed by the old woman he’d almost run down.
Shifting his attention to the house, he spotted a head peeking around a lace curtain in the front window. From this distance he couldn’t be sure, but he swore the wrinkled face belonged to the old biddy with the twitchy middle finger. He reached through the open truck window, grabbed the pastry boxes, then balanced the load against his hip and waved. The gray head bobbed out of sight and the curtain fluttered closed.
Unsociable granny. He maneuvered through the construction materials strewn across Mrs. Benitos’s yard and set the boxes on a stack of wood that had been delivered the day before. He grabbed two chocolate-covered doughnuts, then took a seat at the end of the makeshift bench. The dog continued to bark and he considered yelling at the animal, when he saw the window curtain move again. His attention alternated between his breakfast and the Peeping Tom granny. During the past week, he hadn’t noticed the woman leave the house or anyone stop by to visit—not that he’d had time to pay attention to what went on in the neighborhood. A twinge of sympathy caught him off guard. Aside from being nosy, the woman appeared lonely.
Breakfast in hand, he headed across the street, hoping the doughnuts would serve as an apology for almost running her over at the beginning of the week.
He paused when the dog growled, displaying rotted fangs. Although the animal was such a twerp, Aaron suspected the needle-sharp incisors could puncture a car tire let alone a human artery. The dumb beast raced along the fence line until Aaron got dizzy watching.
Maybe if he waited long enough, the mutt would drop dead from exhaustion and he could enter the property unmolested. Estimating the distance between the gate and the front door, he figured he had a fifty-fifty chance of making the porch steps before being mauled. Out of the corner of his eye, he noted the lady hadn’t moved from the window—no doubt eager to see if he arrived at the front door in one piece or a bloody mess.
After taking a deep breath, he lifted the gate latch and entered the yard. The poodle slammed on the brakes, tumbling head over paws like a child’s toy ball. The “ball” rolled to a stop a few feet away. Assuming the animal was too discombobulated to attack, Aaron hurried toward the porch.
Big mistake.
The mutt sprang off the ground and latched on to Aaron’s jean-clad ankle—the dirty white fur reminded him of a huge piece of dryer lint stuck to his pant leg. Slowly, he dragged the lint wad up the sidewalk. The porch steps proved a bit trickier. He lifted his dog-foot high in the air to ensure he didn’t bang the animal’s head against the edge of the stair and damage its pea-size brain. Finally, he arrived at the door and rang the bell.
No answer. He knocked. No answer. He waited. Waited. And waited some more.
Even the dog got tired of waiting. Refusing to loosen its hold on the pant leg, the animal sprawled across Aaron’s work boot and rested.
Five minutes must have passed. He didn’t have to check to see if the granny continued to watch from the window. He could feel her stare. He contemplated accepting defeat, when the door opened and half of a wrinkled face peered up at him.
Not knowing how to say “Want a doughnut for breakfast?” in Spanish, he offered “Buenos días, señora.” Lifting the napkin-wrapped pastries, he offered his best I’m-harmless smile. Her suspicious glare shifted between the food and his face.
Understanding that his presence frightened her, he searched for a place to set the sweets, when an arm snaked through the crack in the door and snatched the doughnuts from his hand. He turned his head just in time to watch the door slam in his face.
“That went well,” he told the animal.
The dog’s upper lip curled in a snarl. Deciding the barking machine could use a drink before it went into cardiac arrest, he reached for the empty water bowl on the top step. A threatening growl followed his move.
“Knock it off.” Startled by the reprimand, the mutt released its hold on Aaron’s jeans. “Not such a tough guy when you’re thirsty, huh?” He used the hose, curled on the ground by the side of the house, to fill the bowl with fresh water, then waited while the dog refueled.
Figuring the waterlogged nuisance had exhausted itself, Aaron strutted down the sidewalk. He’d almost made it to the gate, when the suddenly revived demon poodle raced after him. “Don’t count on me to do you another favor,” he muttered, as the tiny jaws locked around his ankle again. He raised his foot and gently shook his leg. A few shakes, and the dog’s jaws gave out and it plopped to the ground. Tail wagging, the animal whined for Aaron to stay and play longer.
Probably a female.
He checked twice to make sure the gate latch had caught, then returned to Mrs. Benitos’s house. He didn’t notice the crew gawking at him until he stepped onto the curb. Feeling self-conscious, he gestured toward the pastry boxes. “I brought doughnuts.”
No one moved. Aaron wondered what the heck he was going to do with seventy-two—he glanced over his shoulder—make that seventy doughnuts. Then he spotted Jennifer digging through one of the boxes. She smiled and called, “Gracias.”
Following the boss lady’s lead, Juan and the others headed for the pastries. Aaron hung back until the crew had helped themselves, then he lifted the lid of the first box—empty. The next box—wiped clean. And the next…and