Love At First Bite Part 17

"I'm not angry; I'm just so h.o.r.n.y right now I can barely breathe." He turned away and began fixing their plates more calmly. "I've never been with n.o.body like you, 'Nita."

She watched his back expand and contract with deep inhales. It was as though she were witnessing his internal battle for composure displayed in every taut muscle that stretched beneath his skin. The sight of his raw arousal had reignited hers. "There's a washer and dryer in the pantry," he said without turning to face her. "I'm gonna throw our clothes in, get dressed, and make a run into town. Cool?"

"Can I go with you?"

She watched him hesitate and his breathing become more labored.

"I'm gonna go pick up some supplies, and won't be gone long."

"Okay... but I just wanted to go to the drugstore."

He turned slightly and looked at her over his shoulder. "That's where I was headed."

"Why don't you sit down and have some breakfast?" she murmured. "The eggs are getting cold."

He nodded, pushed a plate toward her, and dug into his eggs with a fork where he stood, never taking his eyes off her. She

stood.

"Tell me where the laundry is."

He indicated with a nod and sopped up egg yolk with his toast, shoving half a slice into his mouth. "I'll straighten up the

bathroom," he mumbled over the food he was chewing. "I got the dishes."

"It'll be an hour to wash and dry everything."

He stopped chewing and looked at her, then at the kitchen clock, swallowing hard. "They don't have twenty-four-hour joints

around here. We've gotta wait until nine, at least. Some stores don't open till ten."

"That's like four hours from now." She sat down with a heavy thud in the chair she'd abandoned.

He began to pace in front of the stove and raked his fingers through his hair. She picked at her eggs and sipped her juice,

knowing exactly how he felt. There was nothing else to say as they finished eating. Jose washed dishes and straightened up the

bathroom. She kept her focus on the task at hand, laundry. As she was standing there in a white cotton shift, her feet bare, the old house had such a comfortable feel that it almost melted into her bones. No matter what happened, she'd never forget this. What had happened out there in the streets of LA defied explanation. Oddly, terror had been replaced by knowledge. Being terrified all alone was something wholly different from having a witness to share the horror.

There was finally someone else who had seen what she had. There was a family that understood her dreams, like no one else did. For the first time in her life, she knew she wasn't insane or possessed-demons did exist. Angels had sent her a warrior, and she didn't even receive a scratch. And this man's wonderful family of old Indian shamans had taken her in, would provide protection... she didn't have to go anywhere else in the world but here.

Juanita let her gaze slowly take in the small pantry. Everything within the wood-frame ranch house was neat and tidy and old-fashioned. Big rose cabbage floral prints in bright yellows and pinks were everywhere. The sofa and chairs were overstuffed, the electronics minimal and two decades old. Pictures of family hung on the walls. Sheer lace curtains blew at open windows, and ceiling fans and box window fans were the only defense against the desert heat.

She left the thudding dryer and peered out the back window. She loved the old porch in the front and the back that held wicker furniture. Chickens pecked at pebbles in the yard. A lonely, dilapidated toolshed stood leaning a hundred yards away across dried, brownish-yellow gra.s.s. An ancient pickup truck rested idly against a garage with no door. Jose's bike gleamed in the sunlight, marred by a dark green splatter she wished she could forget but never would.

Turning her attention to the positive, she spied tiny wild-flowers peeking out in spots along the edge of the shed and garage. Suddenly her prayer came back into the forefront of her mind. She had asked the Almighty for a quiet place... with flowers and trees and family and a loving pair of arms to hold her. "Thank you, G.o.d," she whispered, and hugged herself.

On a night when she was sure she would die, instead she'd become a woman. Warm arms had enfolded her, and the heart of a good man had beaten against hers. Heaven had sent a man so decent that he was openly losing his mind to be with her but had denied himself just to protect her from something neither of them was ready to deal with. That made her want him all the more, seeing his restraint. His gentle caresses in the tiny bathroom and knowing how close they'd both come to death had made her grasp life, cling to it, and experience it fully in his arms.

He'd cooked for her... saved her... breathed her name on a shudder. In this old, beat-up house filled with love, even in her bare feet and wearing a borrowed nightgown, she felt like a princess.

If he remembered correctly, the town had a run-down motel. Jose went into his old bedroom and stopped for a moment to take in the changes. Gone was his bunk bed. That had been replaced by a queen-sized wood-frame one. His old pine dresser and drawing table and ladder-back chair were still there, though, and Pops and Nana had even framed his old sketches to hang in the new guest room. Jose's line of vision went to the blanket his grandfather had always tucked around him, and a sense of comfort began to thread through him. This was home, not East LA. This was the only place in the world where he felt unconditional love. What had he been thinking to ever leave? True, it didn't have the fast pace and excitement of the city, but there was something to be said for the stillness it offered.

He crossed the room and stared out the window, wondering if his grandparents would mind if he turned the old shed into a studio one day. His mural project was history, and with a woman, now, he needed to get his art thing going. He needed to figure out a way to support them both, as well as give back to his elders who had given him so much.

Jose pushed away from the windowsill, breathing in the new day. It was gonna be a hot one, up in the high nineties, could even top a hundred degrees-he could smell it in the air. When Pops came back, he wanted to sit down with the old man and ask a lot of questions.

The first one would be, how did the tribal council know what would attack them? The second would be, what was this strange gift he had to be a tracker? A nose. Jack Rider also had that same trait. He just wished he'd spent more time learning about that when there was a chance to. But he also wanted to ask his grandfather all about the demon world, how one fought them, how one protected oneself and one's family against them... were there more, or was there this whole other side of the universe that he had only just begun to see?

A small piece of notepaper on the wooden nightstand by the bed drew his attention. He went to it and carefully lifted it to read. His grandfather's scrawl was unmistakable. The note was cryptic, like everything the old man said: It will take three days and three nights to make the medicine. Learn your totem while we are away. Keep the house and your belief. There are more clothes in the drawer for both of you, as well as something to help your stay. The days are short and the nights are long. Make good use of your time.

"Cool," Jose said, crossing the room to pull open a drawer.

Three pairs of jeans and three T-shirts, along with a three-pack of boxer shorts, greeted him as he peered inside the dresser. But a small brown bag made him frown with curiosity. The moment he peeked inside the parcel, he froze. Pops had left him condoms-oh, s.h.i.t.

Jose quickly shut the drawer and then opened the next one beneath it. Three pretty sundresses in yellow, blue, and pink stared back at him. A plastic three-pack of girl's underwear caught his eye, and there was another nightgown, this one pale peach.

He pushed the drawer closed with a quiet thud. The old folks knew!" His gaze tore around the room as he further inspected for anything out of the ordinary. They knew. Had left him and 'Nita in the house for three days and nights while they went to go make spirit medicine? The realization made Jose pace. He wasn't sure why all this was bothering him, but it did. Plus, 'Nita might take it the wrong way. Then again, she might be cool.

Some things were better separated from the knowledge of the elders, especially like having a love jones and shower sweats for a gorgeous woman. His face burned with humiliation. If he used their quiet offering in the drawer, they'd know. That would put 'Nita's business out there, when the woman was trying to make a good impression. What had gone down in the two-by-four bathroom was bad enough, but under Pops's roof with Nana's and his knowledge?

It was still hours before the town stores opened and the sleepy little commerce area woke up. Jose looked at the drawer and then looked at the door. Aw, h.e.l.l... he would just have to get over it.

"Yo, 'Nita... wanna see some old sketches?"

Chapter Five.

The moment she heard Jose's voice calling out, it suddenly dawned upon her that she'd been all by herself in the pantry, standing near the washer and dryer, doing laundry for an entire fifteen minutes-alone. How had that happened? Wanting to be with him had her nerves so rattled that she'd temporarily forgotten about those things that had chased them? Was she insane!

Juanita ran to meet the voice that had become synonymous with safety. She couldn't sort out why Jose, this house, or daylight had chased away her terror or the images that by rights should have given her a nervous breakdown. All she was clear about was the fact that this man's presence made everything seem normal. His excited expression made her smile through the panic. He didn't even have the rifle with him. The only weapon he had, which instantly blew her away, was his brilliant smile.

She stood before him in the hallway, now nearly ready to laugh, as he shifted his weight from foot to foot like an excited kid with a secret.

"They redid my room, and made it into a guest room. But they didn't throw out all my old sketches. Wanna see 'em?"

How could she refuse an offer like that? Juanita's smile widened.

"You'd let me see your art?"

"Yeah. C'mon," he said, dragging her down the hall by her arm. "I forgot about half of this stuff. I used to have some wild-a.s.s images in my head as a kid, and me and this older guy, Rider, used to hang out, practice sharpshooting cans... then I'd see stuff, could almost smell it." He turned to her as they entered the room. "I'm wondering, like, if we've been having the same dream, and hooked up like we've known each other for years, maybe some of the stuff I've drawn might be a trigger for you... like help you remember your dreams, too."

"Okay," she said, hedging, not sure if she had the special insight he was seeking. She would have been happy enough to see his work just on the basis of getting to know him better.

He took a deep breath and walked over to his old desk. "All right," he said, hesitating. "Granted, some of this stuff is rough." He ran his palm across his jaw, suddenly appearing shy. "I'm much better now, but, back then, I didn't know how to always get the shading right, or the depth perception to make things pop off the page in three-D, and-"

"Jose," she said, putting her hands on her hips and smiling wider. "Are you going to show me, or what?"

The fact that he'd grown shy about unveiling his work endeared him to her. The humility that had arrested him and had made him look away, along with all the qualifiers and disclaimers, made her want to hug him. She waited with great antic.i.p.ation and much respect for him to share this intimate peek into his mind.

"Yeah... it's just that I only showed people the good stuff," he said quietly, motioning to a few framed pencil sketches on the walls. "I got all hyped when I thought about it, and may have spoken too soon. I never let anyone see my books, my pads- where I was just messing around." He turned away from the desk and leaned on the dresser. "It ain't nothing, I guess. Just some old kid nightmares... like you'd wanna see that. You'll probably look at them and go, 'This brother is touched-loco,' and then laugh, anyway."

She went to him and placed her palm gently in the center of his chest. "I would never laugh at something that came from inside you, Jose." She stared up at him. "A little while ago, you asked me to trust you-and I did. I've never let anyone get that close to me, or make me open up like that."

He covered her hand with his own, nodded, and drew a deep breath, then let it out through his nose. "Okay. But promise not to laugh or run screaming into the driveway to hitchhike a ride outta here."

She kissed his cheek. "Lemme see what's in there."

Slowly, he moved away from his perch against the dresser and she watched him go to the desk to extract several huge sketch pads. She sat on the edge of the bed and waited for him to sit down beside her.

"These were when I was in high school and used to visit here for the summer," he murmured, not looking at her as he opened the first book on her lap. "Wasn't much else to do out here; no clubs and I was too young for the one bar they had in town. So, I sorta amused myself and helped Pops. Nothing special."

She was rendered mute, her fingers tracing the edges of the exquisitely detailed drawings. A quiet gasp of appreciation was all she could initially offer him as she turned the pages. "Wow..."

Every image was a finely crafted series of individual dots and hatch lines, if one looked closely enough. But upon her pulling back, the minute markings evolved into epic images of demons and angels in furious battles... smoke, fire, huge, sinewy protectors standing tall with outrageous weapons, holding the line with female warrior counterparts against evil. Juanita lowered her face to the pages to better see how he'd patiently, painstakingly laid down each black mark to expertly make an entire living dream come to life on a single page.

"Oh, my G.o.d, Jose," she whispered in reverence. "How long did it take you to do one of these, let alone all of these?" She hadn't even looked up at him. She couldn't look up. The question had simply spilled from her lips in honest awe. Each page was a living fresco, jogging her memory, making her mind flex and bulk with images of her own that matched what she saw.

"I don't know," he said with a shrug. "I lose track of time when I'm working. I get all caught up, and that would always get me in trouble at home... or at school," he said with a self-deprecating chuckle. "My mother thinks I'm a b.u.m. Maybe she's right. You can't make money on stuff like this."

"Are you crazy?" Juanita whispered, turning pages, engrossed in his book.

"Yeah, totally," he said, laughing nervously and then standing to cross the room. "Told you."

She jerked her attention up to stare at him. "No. That's not what I meant." She held his gaze. "You're a freakin' genius, Jose. Why aren't you in art school, or in galleries somewhere? A b.u.m? Are you nuts?"

His gaze left hers to seek the window. "Couldn't get my tuition together, and-"

"Did you ever apply for a scholarship, or send them your portfolio?" She was on her feet with a sketchbook extended. "With work like this, you could go anywhere, brother!"

"I never applied... didn't know they'd take me without cash on the barrelhead. Didn't wanna get my hopes up for nothin' that wouldn't work out anyway." He just looked at her.

"Did you ever show these to a guidance counselor at school?" Indignant, she put the book with the others on the bed and stared at him. "Didn't those d.a.m.n people who are supposed to talk to kids about their future-because that's their job-ever tell you, 'Jose, man, you got skills. Lemme help you fill out an ap' to apply to a big-name university'?"

He didn't know how to answer her. No one had ever gotten angry at him for not using his art to better his life. No one ever had fire in her eyes because he might not have followed his dream or used his pa.s.sion to earn opportunity. But this gorgeous woman nearly had tears in her eyes, hands on hips, and looked like she was ready to fight the whole world for his cause.

"Didn't they tell you that you could work as a cartoonist or that you could be the next great film animator-or even be the mastermind behind all those expensive video games, working for the big companies? Oh, my G.o.d, Jose!" she exclaimed, beginning to pace. "This is a travesty! A b.u.m? Your momma called you a b.u.m? Do you know that you could design video sets for the music industry, or, or... oh, help me, Blessed Mary!"

Juanita had placed her hands on top of her head and was now staring out of the window. Just seeing her so upset about no one understanding his hidden talent was blowing his mind.

"They all told me to stop dreaming... to get the three Rs of reading, writing, and arithmetic down. Said that my SAT scores were pitiful, like my grades. Said that I was wasting time doodling in notebooks, and-"

"They never saw your work?" Her hands slid off her head and hung loosely at her sides. "Never saw the quiet genius in you, a poor kid from the barrios." Her voice became a whisper of outrage. "Never thought you had dreams worthy of anyone's time. I know. Been there."

"The way you just broke down those industries and opportunities... you could be a businesswoman," he said, pushing off the dresser to go collect his books to hide them away again. This was too intense and had been a bad idea.

Her indignation made him nervous; he wasn't used to anyone caring so deeply about him. "You should be counseling kids, giving them hope and direction," he said, sudden depression weighing in on him. "Lotta parents just don't know what's out there, as far as different careers and stuff, and only want their kids to take the safe, guaranteed route... like a vo-tech school. I can't blame them." He shoved the books into the drawer and looked up at the few framed sketches on the walls. "You could be a talent agent, too," he said, laughing sadly as he thought about the mural contract that he'd lost. " 'Nita, I was gonna paint the h.e.l.l out of that wall... was gonna funk it out, trick that b.i.t.c.h out so lovely that there'd be accidents on the 405 from people staring." Jose let his breath out hard and turned around to look at her.

Tears stung her eyes and she swallowed hard. "How did you know?"

"Know what?" He hadn't meant to upset her by his outburst.

"That I wanted to be a businesswoman, not a cashier in a drugstore?"

"I thought that was a part-time thing, until you did your thing?" He closed the s.p.a.ce between them. "With your mind... the way you just dissected my s.h.i.t, pulled it apart, and came up with solutions that I couldn't figure out? C'mon, girl. Be serious."

"You be serious," she said, lifting her chin. "Vo-tech? You? I don't care who told you that; it's bogus."

"I just draw, but you seem like you were an As-and-Bs kinda student. Real book smart."

She turned away from him and went to stand by the window. "Yeah... I got straight As, but a lotta good that did me. When it came time to apply for college, they said that getting straight As at a low-expectations high school in the inner city wasn't as good as coming from a top-notch public high school, or private school. Plus, my momma needed help at home, and n.o.body was helping me find scholarships. I learned about all that career and scholarship stuff on the fly, when customers would come into the store to buy what they needed to go off to school... I wanted to be them so bad, Jose, you just don't know-and I'd eavesdrop or make small talk to get them to tell me where they were going and how they got there, just dreaming. Then I'd sneak to the library and try to figure out what they meant. But I'd missed my chance by then."

"It ain't over till it's over," he said, coming to her and gently hugging her from behind. He placed a kiss on the top of her head. "You can still go if you want to; all you have to do is try."

She turned into his embrace and kissed the underside of his chin. "I'll take that advice, if you will. Deal?"

He nodded and shrugged. "I guess so-but you should go."

"So should you," she argued with a smile. Her fingers traced his mouth, her eyes following the invisible imprint of where her touch had landed. "Jose, you are so talented, have so much to offer the world with your inner vision. Promise me that, no matter what happens, you won't allow yourself to wind up in some dead-end job that will kill your spirit." She brushed his mouth with a kiss and then pulled back. "Do the wall, baby. That mural. Do it on paper, if you can't have the wall right now. Add that into your going-to-college-or-bust portfolio. Put your all into it, like you would have up on that scaffolding. Please, dear G.o.d, whatever you do, don't waste this gift."

The way her eyes searched his and her words coated his insides with heat lowered his mouth to hers in quiet surrender. Never in his life had anyone gone to bat for him like this, had ever pushed him so hard with such a tender shove. If he couldn't give himself over to his art completely, today, at least, he could give his all to her.

"Only on one condition," he whispered.

"Name it," she murmured, running her fingers through his hair.

"That you go to school with me and never stop looking at me like this when I show you my work."

"How could I stop looking at you like this, when you and your work makes me know there's still hope and love and beauty in the world?" She grazed his mouth with a kiss and then shook her head. "Jose, you also make me know that I'm not crazy to dream... I've seen those same images before. They'd start behind my eyelids when I'd shut my eyes at night, like pinpoints of black dots fired by lights behind them... then the image would become clearer when my body would lift above it to see it all from an aerial view. And that's just how you drew the sketches-dot by dot."