Read Online Fiesta Moon by Linda Windsor - Free Book Online Page A

little paint-spattered, with specks of faded blue and egg-yolk yellow to match his shoes. Had breakfast been an omen of the day to come?
    Gradually the replay took form in his mind. He’d stuck his head in the door to say hello and was whacked promptly . . . by an open can of paint . . . that was propped overhead . . . like an old Boy Scout camp trick. Anger thawed his disbelief.
    â€œAnd this is my fault how?”
    Suddenly, the doorway of the adjacent wall was filled with a plump Mexican woman dressed in black and yellow—the same bright shade as the room.
    â€œAy de mí, look what has happened!” Hands flying to ample hips, she eyed him from head to toe like a mad bumblebee.
    â€œTell me about it.” Mark wiped the paint dribbling off his forehead back into his soaked hair. Instead of attacking, the bumblebee rushed to hand him a dishtowel. It was damp, but damp beat soaked every time. “Gracias, señora.”
    Corinne bobbed up from her paint-smearing delirium. “Soledad, get some more rags. This tarp is soaked, and the floor is going to be ruined.”
    â€œWhat am I, burnt toast?” Enough anger rose to Mark’s face and neck to bake on the paint the towel had left behind.
    Corinne glanced up as through seeing him for the first time. “What?”
    He pointed to the door. “Did you learn that trick at kiddie camp?”
    She pushed herself up from her knees and winced. “I’m sorry. It’s just that—” She ran a hand through her hair and then jerked it away as she realized that she’d just streaked it yellow. “I couldn’t hold on for balance with the paint can—”
    Soledad rushed back in with rags and began to toss them on the puddles of paint. Saving one, she promptly began to wipe the paint off Mark until he took the rag with a terse “Gracias” and proceeded to get off the worst himself.
    â€œSo what was your paint doing on top of the door?” he asked.
    The minced question brought the bumblebee out of bending down to help Corinne. “It is that old-woman ladder, señor,” she explained. “She makes my Corina to fall.”
    â€œWait!” said Corinne. She lowered her head. “It was my fault. The paint rack wouldn’t hold the can, and I only had a few feet to go, so I balanced it on the top of the door.” She stopped her confession long enough to turn off the music. “And I didn’t hear you coming because of the radio.” She lifted her shoulders and dropped them in resignation. “I’m really sorry.”
    The penitent pout that formed on her lips set Mark’s ire back a degree, but as her gaze ran the gamut from his face to his shoe, her penitence turned to humor.
    â€œHere.” She leaned over to pick up one of the extra rags that Soledad had tossed on the floor, vainly attempting to hide the full tilt of amusement claiming her face. “Let me wipe some of the paint off.”
    Still annoyed, Mark folded his arms across his chest as if her ministrations were his due as she raked the excess paint off his back.
    â€œIt’s just that I’ve been trying to do this job on a next-to-nothing budget and in a bit of a rush . . .”
    Skipping over his buttocks, she continued her downward swipe to his feet.
    â€œYou missed a spot,” he said, a wicked grin tugging at his mouth.
    With a grimace, she grabbed one of the extra rags and tossed it to him. “In your dreams, Madison.”
    Now he remembered Miss By-the-Book from the wedding—a hot number in a bright pink oriental dress that curved in all the right places. Those had been her exact words when he’d suggested they skip the rest of the reception and continue celebrating on his sailboat.
    â€œI was trying to be gracious, considering that your carelessness gave me a fresh coat of egg-yolk yellow,” he began in a teasing tone.
    â€œIf you’ll step out of your shoes . .