Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
"Hmm," Cook said, as she thoughtfully surveyed her young helper. "If you took off the apron you'd look like a princess in that little black dress. But since we're serving barbecue tonight, you might ought to keep it on."
Angela was inclined to agree. The little black dress was just a simple cotton sheath, but in spite of her having worked as a waitress at The Cattle Call Café for the past two years, she wasn't always the most graceful. There had been times gravy and sauces had landed on her instead of on the table she was serving. But that was then. She'd moved up in life since her friend Nicci Saddler Garroway had gotten her this job on the Sandbur Ranch in south Texas. Now she was Cook's kitchen assistant in the "big house" where the matriarch Geraldine Saddler and her son, Lex, resided. Besides helping Cook prepare and serve meals, Angela also oversaw the maids' housecleaning, shopped for both households and generally took care of any leftover task that the maids couldn't deal with.
"You're probably right about the apron, Cook," Angela told the woman. "But I do want Ms. Saddler to think I look presentable. She really seems to want to put on the dog tonight."
Cook, a tall, thin woman in her seventies with hair that was more black than gray and lips painted as deep a red as her fingernails, walked over to where Angela was about to pick up a tray of appetizers.
"Don't be nervous, honey. You've served many a table before." Reaching up, she adjusted the tortoise-shell barrette that was holding the front of Angela's heavy, brown hair off her face, then patted her cheek. "Pretty as a June mornin'. Now shoo. Go on with those appetizers before Geraldine comes back here to see why we're dawdlin'."
Grinning, Angela picked up the tray. "I'm on my way!"
Shouldering her way through the kitchen's swinging door, Angela hurried down the long hallway that would lead her to the formal living room. Along the way, the smell of smoked shrimp, brought fresh from San Antonio Bay only the previous day, wafted up to her nose, reminding her that she'd not taken time to eat since breakfast at five that morning.
With a dinner party scheduled, she'd not had time to do anything, except help Cook prepare a whole table of elaborate dishes and make sure the maids had cleaned all the rooms and arranged fresh flowers.
As Angela neared the opening of the living room, she caught the sound of voices, both male and female, intermixed with light laughter. In the background, a CD of Bob Wills and his Texas Playboys was softly playing a waltz.
One, two, three. One, two, three, she silently hummed to the beat. How lovely it would be to be dancing, waltzing in the arms of some nice guy who didn't care that she was a single mother.
Pushing that wishful thought away, Angela took a deep breath and stepped into the living room. One quick glance from the corner of her eye told her the space was full of people.
Careful to skirt the crowd, many of whom were standing about the room in small groups, Angela headed straight to a long table that had been set up near the wet bar. She was about to place the tray of shrimp next to a platter of fried jalapeños when Geraldine Saddler spoke up from behind her.
"Angie, if that's the shrimp, bring it over here, please. There's plenty of space on the coffee table."
Turning quickly to follow the woman's orders, Angela made her way to the middle of the room where a chesterfield couch and matching armchairs were grouped around a low coffee table.
As she carefully placed the tray on the polished oak, Geraldine spoke behind her.
"You should try these, Jubal. They'll melt in your mouth."
Angela momentarily froze. Surely it wasn't him! He couldn't be the new veterinarian for the Sandbur, the reason for this party, she thought wildly.
Her heart thudding with heavy dread, she slowly raised her head and found herself staring into the face that she'd spent the past five years desperately trying to forget.
Jubal. She didn't know whether she whispered the name, mouthed it with her lips or silently shouted it. In any case, she could feel the blood draining from her face, hear a loud rushing noise in her ears.
She watched a flicker of recognition, then shock, cross his face, but she didn't wait around to see if he would actually acknowledge her. She excused herself to Geral-dine, then practically raced from the room.
By the time she got back to the kitchen, she was out of breath and her legs were so weak that all she could do was slump onto a bench seat.
Seeing Angela's shaky entrance, Cook dropped a pair of tongs and hurried over to her. "Angie, what's wrong, girl? You look like you're gonna be sick!"
Gulping in breaths of air, Angela wiped at the sweat that had popped out suddenly on her brow and upper lip." I—I'm okay, Cook. I think—I've gone too long without eating."
That was true enough, Angela thought, as Cook stood with her hands on her hips, her black eyes full of concern.
"Hmmp. Well, it's funny to me that you just now remembered you were starving." Her red lips puckered into a frown. "What happened in there?"
There was no need for Cook to explain that "in there" meant the living room where he had been sitting with the Sandbur families and their friends.
"Nothing."
"Did you spill the tray? Trip over somebody?"
She'd tripped all right, and fallen. But that had happened five years ago, she thought miserably.
"Everything is—okay, Cook. I just feel shaky."
Closing her eyes, Angela tried to tamp down the panic racing through her. How could she go back in there and serve five courses around a table where he'd be sitting, she wondered frantically.
"Here. Eat some of this while I get the salads ready," Cook ordered. "Maybe that'll put some color in your cheeks."
Angela opened her eyes to see the old woman placing a small plate filled with Texas caviar and several saltine crackers in front of her. Her throat was so tight, she wasn't sure she could swallow anything, but she forced herself to shovel up some of the mixture of black-eyed peas, onions and peppers on one of the crackers and pop it into her mouth.
After a few more bites of the spicy vegetables, Angela rose to her feet and joined Cook at the long counter. The woman needed her, and now was hardly the time for Angela to allow her emotions to immobilize her. "I'll finish this," she assured the woman. "You go ahead with whatever you need to be doing."
Cook frowned as she glanced at Angela's still-pale face. "You look like you've fallen in a flour barrel. Maybe I'd better call Miss Nicci back here to check on you. Even young people have heart attacks."
Her heart was full of pain, all right. But not the sort that Cook was worried about. "You're not about to bother Nicci this evening! Her off-duty time is always being interrupted with medical emergencies. I'm not going to ruin this dinner party for her."
"Angie—"
Before Cook could protest, Angela placed a reassuring hand on her arm. "Cook, don't worry about me. I—I don't have anything medically wrong with me." Deciding it would be easier to confide in Cook than to hide the truth, she added, "I just—saw someone at the party. Someone I haven't seen in a long time. And I—well, I never expected to see him again. Ever. It was shocking to me. That's all."
Instead of plying her with personal questions, Cook tactfully asked, "You want me to call Alida over to take your place tonight?"
Alida was one of the maids that had worked for the Saddler and Sanchez families for several years. At the moment she was at Angela's house, babysitting Angela's daughter, Melanie, and as far as Angela was concerned, that was where she was going to stay.
Straightening her shoulders, Angela set her jaw with determination. "No. I'll be fine. Just fine."
Out in the living room, Jubal Jamison struggled to focus on the conversation going on around him. Seeing Angie again had shaken the very earth beneath him. Dear God, he'd never expected to see her beautiful face again. Not after she'd left Cuero five years ago. What was she doing here? Obviously she was employed by the ranch, although no one had bothered to tell him. But then why would they, he thought grimly. No one on the Sandbur knew that Angela had once been the love of his life.
So what are you going to do now, big boy? Run? Turn away from her again?
Not this time, Jubal silently swore. After she'd left town, he believed he'd never be given the chance to see Angie again. He wasn't about to pass up this opportunity to connect with her once more. Besides, he'd already moved onto the Sandbur. An animal clinic was currently being constructed smack in the middle of the ranch yard. Costly high-tech equipment, being shipped from Dallas, was scheduled to arrive any day.
Someone announced that dinner was ready and like a zombie Jubal shuffled along to the dining room with the rest of the guests. Moments later he found himself seated to the right of Geraldine Saddler at the head of the dinner table.
The room was long, the ceiling low and crossed with rough-hewn beams of cypress wood. Along one wall, a row of arched windows displayed a view of the backyard where the trunks of Mexican palms were decorated with tiny, clear lights, signifying the coming holidays. Back at the long table, fresh gold and red flowers were arranged at intervals down the center, adding even more vivid color to the scene.
Jubal had grown up in an affluent home, but he had to admit his parents' social events were modest compared to this Sandbur affair. Even so, Geraldine and her family were very down-home, laid-back people. Too bad his parents couldn't have been more like them. Maybe then they could have understood his relationship with Angie. But then, his parents weren't responsible for their separation. Unfortunately, he'd been the guilty party. And he'd been paying the price ever since.
By the time Angela had served after-dinne... --This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.
