Fitz helps me hobble over to the x-ray machine and waits while Dr. Cassidy reads the scans and confirms that I do, in fact, have a bad sprain. He wraps my ankle in a bandage, which allows me to put more pressure on it. “Let the pain be yourgauge. And no more hill climbing until it heals, please. Fitz, get her some decent trail shoes, at least,” Dr. Cassidy says.
“Yeah, yeah. I’m already on it.” I shoot him a look, wondering if he’s serious. “For now, these oughtta work. Big enough not to interfere with the bandage.”
Fitz slides the cowboy boots back onto my feet and guides us out a side door that bypasses the checkout desk.
“Wait, I have my insurance card,” I say, trying to fish my wallet out of my purse.
“We’re good. Don’t worry about it.” Fitz directs me down a side alley to the street.
“Because of the tasting menu you mentioned? Is that how you guys pay for stuff here, everything on the barter system?”
Fitz stops and turns to face me. “Yes, someday maybe we’ll go on the gold standard, but for now, a pound of grain pays for a dental exam, and a hog gets your house painted. This isn’t the nineteenth century, Duchess.”
From our spot on the sidewalk, I look around. All the buildings are Spanish adobe, and the homes we passed on our ride were ranch-style or traditional California Craftsman, similar to the older neighborhoods in LA. The sky is an impossible blue color with a few dots of clouds that seem too lazy in the late afternoon to bother moving.
“Whatever it is, it seems pretty awesome to me.” I look in the direction of where Fitz left Dolly tied to a rail, but he turns me in the other direction.
“Come on, I'm hungry.”
“Yeah? What if I’m not?” I am, but I don’t like him bossing me. “I have a busy day.”
“Not too busy to go peeping around other people’s property. Come on, lemme show you where folks eat ‘around here’ when they’re not busy exchanging tanned hides for salt.”
“Very funny.” I’m beginning to understand that between my lame ankle and a stubborn cowboy, I don't have a lot of choices. I'm still hobbling, and I don't know my way around town. Not to mention that he's my ride back to the ranch.
So I cling to his elbow like Grandma Ann does with Gramps and limp along next to him. Only in this case, Fitz is ridiculously and unfairly attractive, tanned and muscular, and I can’t help staring at his forearm. His raw strength and pine scent, which overwhelm my senses, make me lean harder against him for reasons that have nothing to do with my injury.
He opens a tiny red door in an adobe building with a sign that reads “Madre’s” and walks me inside. The smell of spicy char-grill hits me immediately.
“Oh my god, what is that?” I ask, noticing that every tiny table is full and the line at the counter is long. Strings of red peppers hang from the rough beams above, and a floor-to-ceiling cabinet holds painted ceramics in bright colors. Bright woven art hangs from the pale plastered walls, and the floors are Saltillo tiles.
But it’s the incredible garlicky, sweet chili scent that has my mouth watering.
Fitz guides me to a bench and props my leg up on it before going to the back of the line, which already has at least a dozen people in it. The place is teeming with energy, and nobody seems to mind sharing the tight space with everyone else in line.
Apparently, the promise of a good tamale is worth it all.
As soon as we’ve eaten, I’ll stop stalling and tell Fitz I’m pregnant. And hope that his tamales don’t end up on the sidewalk.
CHAPTER 14
Fitz
“Oh my god.It’s the best thing I’ve ever smelled in my entire life.”
Tessa closes her eyes and tips her head back in ecstasy. This is the most relaxed and the least annoyed she’s been since I found her in the dirt. If I’d known a tamale could calm the savage beast, I’d have brought her here first.
What I do know is if she keeps making those little sighing sounds, I’m going lose my fucking mind. Despite what I said, so help me I will carry her someplace with a bed so she can make those noises for me.
She sighs again and tips her head against my arm. I know her rapture isn’t about me, so I fight the urge to pull her in closer. “Seriously, I need to eat whatever that is as soon as possible. It smells like meat, and I want it. What is it?” she asks.
I can’t help but chuckle. “Maria's carne asada tamales. She learned to make them as a kid in El Salvador, then she came here. Husband worked as a picker on a farm nearby, and she cooked lunch for all the workers. Cranking out hundreds ofthese per day, making all the salsas, agua fresca, and guacamole. People started asking her to make extra so they could take plates home after work. Locals started paying her to cook for them, and eventually, she ran out of kitchen space. Now she runs this little spot, and it’s jam-packed from the second it opens until closing time. There isn't a person three towns over who wouldn’t stand in line for an hour for a tamale.”
“Yeah, I don’t blame them. If her food tastes as good as it smells, she could come to LA. She’d probably get written up by a food influencer, and she’d have a franchise in a matter of weeks.”
Her eyes dance at that prospect like she’s about to save Maria from her fate in our small town. I study the menu board even though I know it by heart. Anything to keep me from running my mouth when there’s no upside.
“What’s up? You’re scowling,” Tessa says, bumping my hip with hers. With her bum ankle, it throws her off balance, and I have to catch her to keep her from toppling. That leaves me with my arms around her and my face close to hers.