The Wishing Tree Page 2

  She smiled, remembering his consideration for Miguel, his kindness in offering to deliver the tree he'd so generously given them. A dinner wasn't much payment for a tree that would surely have been out of her price range. But with working part-time, doing medical transcription from her apartment, she was barely making ends meet from month to month.

  A knock sounded at the front door and Miguel called, "I'll get it!"

  "No, no. I will," Maria said firmly. "You do not open the door until I check, remember?"

  She looked through the peephole, assuring herself it was Pete. He stood, looking ill at ease, holding the tree. She hurried to unlock the door and open it for him.

  "Hello, Pete."

  He suddenly looked uncertain, and she realized she was blocking the door. She moved aside quickly. "Please, come in."

  "I'll help." Miguel rushed forward to grab a branch of the tree.

  "Thanks, pardner." Pete leaned the tree against the wall. "Couldn't have done it without you."

  Miguel beamed. "I'm very strong to just be five. That's what Mama says."

  "Well, come on, then. I'm gonna need some help with some things I've got in my truck."

  "Like what?" Miguel stepped forward to take Pete's hand.

  Maria could tell her son's casual gesture surprised and pleased Pete.

  "All kinds of stuff. I need some help carrying it up."

  "I'll get my coat."

  Miguel ran to his bedroom, and Maria raised an eyebrow at Pete. "I hope you didn't buy—" She looked down as sudden tears stung her eyes. "I can't tell you how much I appreciate your kindness, Pete."

  He put out a hand and lifted her chin until she looked at him again. "I want to do this. Miguel was right, Ria. You should have the most beautiful tree on the lot – and I think he picked it."

  "I'm ready. Got my mittens, too," Miguel announced, racing from his bedroom.

  Pete smiled at Maria. "We'll be right back."

  She did not shut the door for several seconds. She stood, watching them go down the stairwell together, Miguel happily chattering as Pete answered, taking his hand when they reached the bottom of the stairs.

  Only then did it occur to her that, for the first time in his life, Miguel was in the care of a man she truly did not know. She should have been worried, she told herself. Maybe, she should not have entrusted her baby to someone she didn't know well … even for ten minutes.

  But there was an air of contentment she couldn't talk herself out of, remembering the amusement in Pete's face at Miguel. And the flash of desire he'd tried to mask quickly when she'd opened the door.

  She hoped he hadn't seen that same look in her own features. She'd been alone so long, though. Trust was returning slowly … very slowly. She had been surprised at herself today when she'd stopped to talk with Pete. It seemed natural, their conversation familiar, as if they'd been old friends who could talk about anything, no matter how long a time had passed.

  It was too early to hope for something more than friendship. But there was no denying the attraction between them.

  She began to set the table, hoping an every-day task would calm her nerves. The door opened and Miguel entered first, a plastic bag clutched in his hand.

  Pete shouldered the door shut behind them, setting down his burden – a bucket, filled with two bags of sand and two more plastic bags.

  "I brought some of our new lights, Mama! See? All different colors and blinky!"

  Maria met Pete's gaze. "You shouldn't have."

  "I wanted to."

  "Mama, you should say thank you. I already did."

  At that, Maria and Pete both laughed. "You're right, Miguel," Maria said, putting out a hand to ruffle Miguel's hair. She looked back up at Pete, who watched her intently. "Thank you. Thank you for everything."

  The air sizzled between them. Pete didn't answer for a moment, and Maria wondered if she'd shown too much of herself too soon.

  In the next instant, Pete gave her a quick, teasing grin, turning away the seriousness. "I'm glad I could do it. Hey, I'm starved." He looked at Miguel. "I bet I can eat more enchiladas than you can."

  Miguel laughed. "No, you can't!"

  Maria turned away, happiness settling over her like a soft mantle. "Gentlemen, we are about to find out."

  Chapter Four

  Once dinner was over, Maria cleared away the dishes as Miguel "helped" Pete get the tree in the stand, then place the stand into the deep bucket. They emptied the bags of sand around the base of the tree, and then added water to moisten it.

  "This will keep it fresh longer," Pete told Miguel.

  "Did your father teach you that?"

  Pete smiled. "Oh, yeah. My dad owned a Christmas tree business before I was ever born."

  "Wow. That's a long time."

  Pete chuckled. "Uh-huh."

  "I don't have a dad," Miguel said, matter-of-factly. He patted the sand down, though it didn't need it.

  Pete shot him a look, but Miguel was giving all his attention to the damp sand.

  "Well … my dad and I didn't always agree on everything."

  At that, the boy looked up into Pete's face. "Like what?"

  Pete settled on the short version, saying simply, "I … didn't want to go into the Christmas tree business."

  Miguel sat back on his haunches, staring at Pete as if that was unimaginable. "Why not?'

  "I wanted to do other things." Pete stood up slowly, reaching for a box of the lights and opening them. "I wanted to teach history. I ended up joining the Army."

  "That's prob'ly what happened to your eye, isn't it?"

  "Yeah. That's what happened, all right." Sweat prickled at his armpits. This never got any easier to talk about. But, he should be grateful Miguel hadn't shied away from him. He'd been accepting, as had Ria. Childish curiosity was never going to change. He might as well just get used to it. Miguel's next question surprised him.

  "Did you ever get to teach history?"

  Pete carefully straightened out the lights then plugged them in to make sure they worked. "No. Not yet. I still hope to do that, someday." He kept his tone neutral. That had been a lifelong dream, until he'd lost his eye. Now, he doubted any school system would hire him. "Hand me that bag, will you, helper?" Pete pointed toward the plastic bag beside Miguel.

  The boy stood, bringing the bag to Pete. "I wouldn't mind selling Christmas trees," Miguel said seriously. "That would be a very good job to have. I would help my dad sell them, and if I wanted to teach history, I would. But I would never go into the Army. I don't want to be dead."

  Pete glanced at Miguel as he straightened the next string of lights. "That doesn't always happen," he said gently.

  "It happened to my dad. The one I used to have a long time ago," he corrected.

  "Who wants dessert?" Maria called from the kitchen, interrupting the moment.

  "Mama, don't come in yet! We're making a surprise for you – " Miguel looked up at Pete conspiratorially. "Let's put the lights on," he whispered.

  Pete nodded absently, his mind still on Miguel's earlier comments. Was there any way he could compete with a lost love?

  * * * * *

  The tree, Maria declared when they called for her to come in, was the most gorgeous tree she'd ever seen in her life. It was beautiful, but what touched her more than anything else could have was the patience Pete had with Miguel. He lifted him up to hang ornaments on the higher branches and let him clamp the blinking star to the very top. When Miguel's childish fingers accidentally broke the branch, he gasped.

  "Oh … no…" His chin quivered. "I broke it. Now we can't have a star."

  "I can fix it," Pete said, skinning off a couple of the top branches to expose the middle core of the tree again. "See, it was too tall. With the star on there, it would've bumped the ceiling."

  All was right once more, Miguel's smiles returning quickly at Pete's words and quick action.

  They sat down later around the small table to a dessert of homemade chocolate brownie
s and milk.

  "Not very elaborate," Maria half-apologized as she put the food on the table.

  Pete gave her a smile, reaching to touch her arm. "This is my favorite."

  The sincere way he said it made Maria know it wasn't something he was saying to make her feel better. He really meant it. She could feel the blush rising to her cheeks.

  Pete had such an easy way of dealing with things, and the comradery between him and Miguel warmed her heart. But the thing that surprised her most was the way Pete made her feel – as if she mattered; as if she was special.

  "I can take my own shower, Pete," Miguel said, carrying his plate and glass to the sink.

  "That's great. Just shows how smart you are."

  "Let me turn the water on for you," Maria said, rising.

  "I'll get the dishes." Pete stood and reached for her plate.

  "You're our guest," Maria protested.

  "It doesn't feel that way," Pete said quietly.

  She couldn't help the happy smile that spread across her face. No, it felt like Pete was family already.

  * * * * *

  After tucking Miguel into bed, Maria joined Pete in the living room. He moved over to the corner of the couch, patting the cushion in invitation.

  Maria sat down beside him. "I'm afraid I don't get very many channels – cable is too expensive—"

  "I'd rather just talk, anyhow," Pete said.

  He was relieved when she smiled and said, "Me, too." His relief turned to caution as she went on, "Tell me about yourself."

  "Not much to tell. I'm a pretty ordinary guy."

  She shook her head. "No. I don't think that at all. "

  Pete gave a short laugh, unsure of how much to read into her statement. "I can prove it. Born and raised here in Oklahoma City. Went to college with an Army commitment. Graduated from school in May and shipped out to boot camp by June."

  He fell silent, and she prodded, "What about after boot camp?"

  He would never tell her about the things he'd seen "after" boot camp. He made his voice neutral. "Two tours in Iraq … then I got to come home to heal up."

  "Your eye?" She reached to touch the scar at his temple, very gently.

  He didn't move away. Her soft hand cupped his cheek, and his heart pounded like a schoolboy's. He took a steadying breath.

  "Not so ordinary after all, Pete. To me, you're a hero." She said it shyly, but with such sincerity there was no doubt it was how she truly felt. "I don't know how you survived over there, but … I'm glad you did." She gave him a faint smile, and he sat up, into her touch, putting his hand over hers to keep it there.

  He felt vulnerable, but safe. No one had touched him there except the medical personnel and his barber, and that out of necessity. This beautiful woman caressed his scarred skin with a touch which healed him in a way nothing else ever could have.

  "Ria—"

  In her eyes, he read a flash of hunger and desire he couldn't ignore. Slowly, he put his arms around her and her breath hitched as he lowered his head to brush her sweet lips with his. Was this what she wanted, too? Or had he misread her? He had not been involved with a woman for the past couple of years. He knew that had been his own choice, for there had been relationships since the accident … since he'd lost his eye. But he'd never experienced the ready acceptance Maria so freely gave.

  Her other hand came up to frame his face and she parted her lips as he kissed her again.

  "Pete," she breathed softly, close to his mouth, making him wish he could hear her say his name just that way every day of his life.

  He let go a shuddering sigh, releasing her slowly. Her eyes questioned, and he gave a short laugh as he drew back. "I shouldn't have—"

  "Yes. You should have." The corners of her mouth turned up, and in that instant, she reminded him of a mischievous angel, as if she had a secret. She looked … very young.

  "My mama raised a gentleman, ma'am," he teased.

  She nodded. "I know, Pete. I trust you." She leaned forward, putting her mouth to his again. He slowly rested back against the couch as her lips met his in another sweet, gentle kiss.

  "Maria…" he whispered hoarsely.

  Just then, a knock sounded at the door. Maria stiffened, moving back quickly. She stood up, as if she were alarmed, raking a hand through her long black hair.

  "Ria! Ria, are you in there?" a disembodied voice shouted from the breezeway.

  "Dios!" she whispered. She put her hands to her mouth, her body rigid with anxiety.

  "Who is it?" Pete asked softly.

  "My brother, Julio." Tears of humiliation filled her eyes.

  "What does he want?"

  Her lower lip caught between her teeth. Pete could see her indecision as to what to say. Embarrassment warred with the necessity to explain.

  "Money," she said shortly. "For … drugs."

  Tension was thick in the air. The door handle rattled.

  "Do you give it to him?" It was hard to imagine that Ria would have any extra money laying around to contribute to her brother's drug habit.

  "I have to give him whatever I have. If I don't—" she broke off and looked down.

  Rage washed over Pete like a crimson wave, adrenaline rushing through him. The door handle rattled again.

  "Maria! Open this damn door, you slut!"

  "Son of a bitch!" Pete came to his feet, striding to the door. He unlocked it and threw it open.

  Crouched outside the door with a lock pick in his hand, Julio's looked up quickly, his startled gaze meeting Pete's furious glare.

  "What—"

  "You've just made your first mistake." Pete towered over him, his fists clenched.

  "My sister—"

  "She's here. But you shouldn't be. Get the hell out of here and don't come back."

  Julio stood up quickly, pulling a switchblade seemingly from the air. A smarmy grin spread across his face. "I don't play games. You should be careful of your words. Perhaps it is you who has made the first mistake, yes?"

  From behind him, Pete heard Maria's sharp intake of breath as she caught sight of the wicked blade.

  "No," Pete answered softly. "I don't think so."

  Julio lunged toward him, but Pete was ready, blocking him easily and disarming him in the next motion. The knife clattered to the concrete in the breezeway, and Maria rushed forward to pick it up as Pete pushed Julio toward the top of the stairwell.

  Julio bared his teeth, punching Pete's ribs with all the practiced skill of a street fighter. But Pete's military training was just as deeply ingrained, and he fought with automatic precision, until there was no doubt Julio wouldn't be a threat to anyone for several days.

  "Pete! Stop!" Maria's voice broke through the haze of bloodlust that had come over him, just as he was getting ready to shove Julio down the short flight of stairs.

  Panting, he let go of the other man, dropping him to the floor. He bent, rifling Julio's pockets for any other weapons, relieving him of the lock-pick kit and another knife as he lay passed out on the stoop.

  Pete's ribs ached with each breath. He reached to brush at something on his cheek, his hand coming away streaked with his own blood.

  "Come back inside," Ria urged. She put her arm around him. "Let me see—"

  She stopped long enough to close and lock the door behind her as Pete headed for the couch. He sank down onto the worn leather, watching as Ria enforced the door with one of the dining chairs under the doorknob.

  "Dios mio," she breathed as she turned to face him, seeing his injuries in the light for the first time. "Sit still. I'll get some supplies."

  "Not … necessary," Pete muttered. But he leaned his head back against the couch, relaxing into the buttery softness. He closed his eye against the light.

  In a few seconds, he heard her coming back, the sound of a washcloth being squeezed of excess water in a basin, then the gentle touch of Ria's hands on him as she washed away the blood on his face.

  He wanted to tell her he was all right. He
thought he was, anyhow. He'd know more tomorrow after the adrenaline stopped pumping, after he'd slept a few hours.

  "Don't worry, Ria."

  Her palm paused a moment on one cheek. "Do we need to get you to a doctor?"

  He cracked his eye open at the concern in her tone. She was watching him earnestly, waiting for his response. He smiled, immediately wincing as pain shot through his jaw, then settled to a dull roar in his head.

  "No," he said after a moment. "I don't need a doc. But … it's getting late—"

  Maria laid the cloth in the basin, then placed her hands carefully on his chest. "Please … don't go, Pete."

  His heart lurched, then pounded more furiously than it had during the entire time he'd been giving Julio the beating he deserved. His lips curved. She had to be joking. Or … maybe he misunderstood.

  "I have to." He started to sit up, but Maria pressed him gently back into the couch. Though he could have moved forward and stood up, he let himself be pushed back into the homey comfort of the old sofa.

  "No. I want you – I mean, if you wouldn't mind—" She broke off, then met his gaze directly. "Would you stay? I'd feel better with you here."

  His throat went dry as sand, but he knew it had nothing to do with the fight he'd been in. It was the tenderness in her dark eyes, beseeching him not to go – an invitation there was no way he could refuse – although, a part of him said he should. He swallowed hard and nodded. "All right, sweetheart. I'll stay."

  Relief and gratitude filled her expression. "Thank you." She shivered, and he pulled her close to him.

  "If you'll get me a blanket, I'll bed down here on the couch."

  "Oh, no!" She raised her head from his shoulder. "You will sleep on the bed—"

  "No, I'm not gonna take your bed."

  "I'm going to sit with you. You might have a concussion. You—"

  He laughed. "I'm okay. Promise."

  She stood up, putting her hand out to him.

  He took it, and rose slowly, trying to surreptitiously support his battered ribs on the left side. But nothing escaped Ria's worried appraisal.

  She glanced at where his other hand had automatically gone, and then caught the look he'd given her to see if she'd noticed.