Sarah Black
Short Stories

Kissing Fernando was a big deal, always had been. I got my first kiss when we were in the eighth grade at Mary Immaculate Middle School, between Math and lunch. He leaned in, pressed me up against the lockers, a full-body French kiss. The combination lock was digging into the middle of my back when Sister Maria Goretti snatched him up and hauled him off to the principal's office.

Illo: Setting: Night in the mountains. A woman is sitting in a stock tank/hot tub — (silver, wide, low on the sides) She has long, curly brown hair back in a ponytail, wearing a T-shirt that is wet from the water in the tub. A man is walking toward her — scruffy black hair, dark skin and black moustache, wearing boxer shorts and cowboy boots, carrying two brown bottles of beer.

The Hottest Habenero in Catron County

"How many men have you been with since the divorce?"

I lifted my head from his stomach and looked up at him. His black hair was tangled and wild on my pillow, his chin dark with whiskers. The afternoon sunlight threw golden stripes of light across the white sheets. His hands were in my hair, stroking down over my scalp, nudging the tight muscles in the back of my neck. Fernando smelled like juniper and the New Mexican Mountains just after a snow, like wilderness and freedom. His touch was gentle on my skin.

"So, how many?"

"Two," I said. "No, three. One was before the divorce. The same night, in fact, that Esmeralda sat me down and explained the facts of my husband's life to me."

"Did you give them all that same little talk you gave me? Like how this was no-comeback sex, one time only, you're newly divorced, you aren't ready for a new relationship, all that bullshit?"

His fingers were moving deep into the tight muscles of my shoulders now, so I forgave the faint sarcasm in his voice.

"The last two. The first one, no."

"Tell me about that one."

I winced. "You don't want to know. I was feeling pretty desperate."

"Tell me everything. What was his name?"

I sighed and closed my eyes. "I have no idea. Happy hour with the guys from work. I drank three tequila shooters and then lots of beer, I don't even remember how much. I stayed and kept dancing after everyone else went home to their loving, faithful spouses. This big guy pulled me off the dance floor and out into the alley. I was all over him, I remember that much. I screwed him right up against the brick wall."

Fernando reached for my face. "Oh, baby. I'm sorry."

"Don't worry, he wore a condom. I threw up afterwards, though, and he split."

"The sex was hot though, wasn't it?" He pulled me up until I was lying across his naked chest. I could feel him beginning to stir.

"No, but the idea was hot," I admitted. "It made me feel wild and reckless and sexy. And single. But in truth I had had too much to drink to really enjoy it. And I can't even tell you now what he looked like, which is not something I would have ever believed I would hear myself saying."

Fernando was working his way down my neck, a line of soft kisses I could feel deep in my belly. "Yeah, you're a proper little lady. I always liked that about you, your prim mouth and your hot, sexy eyes, always at war. Don't worry, Lizzie. I'll fuck you up against a brick wall anytime you want." His hands were roaming down over my ass, pressing me close. "You don't have to go looking for strangers to give you a little comfort. I'll take care of you." He was hard again, sliding between my legs nice and slow, the way I liked it. "See, the difference between me and those other guys is I know you, and I've loved you since you had braces on your teeth and the first little bumps popping up under your shirt." He reached down and flicked a finger over my nipple.

"You watched everybody's bumps, Fernando, not just mine."

"So you can give me your little talk about how I shouldn't think this means anything more than a nice, easy fuck, but just because you say it don't make it true, baby." He lifted my hips and slid inside of me, held me tightly against his body. I could feel him pressing in deep. "Kiss me, Lizzie."

"Elizabeth," I corrected. I bent over and tasted his mouth. He laughed, his front teeth biting gently down on my bottom lip, then he got down to the serious business of kissing me.

Kissing Fernando was a big deal, always had been. I got my first kiss when we were in the eighth grade at Mary Immaculate Middle School, between Math and lunch. He leaned in, pressed me up against the lockers, a full-body French kiss. The combination lock was digging into the middle of my back when Sister Maria Goretti snatched him up and hauled him off to the principal's office.

The week before my wedding he came to town and took me to dinner, kissed me all over my face and offered to run off to Mexico with me. I might have done it, too, but I was in love with another man.

And when I came back home to Catron County from the city, marriage over, self esteem in pieces, down-sized out of my job, he had taken my hands and kissed my forehead and told me that he loved me. And I told him I loved him, too, but I was absolutely not going to sleep with him.

***

When I told Fernando I wasn't going to sleep with him, I meant it. But he snagged me when I was weak, just after the chili cook-off. I was delirious from the awesome chili and spicy habeneros. Fernando had some local fame for his habeneros, heirloom chili peppers from his grandfather's farm in Mexico.

When I came limping back to Catron County, I picked up my legacy, my grandfather's defunct local newspaper, The Catron County Sentinel. To jump-start the paper, we sponsored a chili cook-off, and Fernando used his grandfather's heirloom habeneros to seduce me.

Strong men and strong chili, New Mexican sunshine and people laughing who had known me since I was a kid, and something started melting inside me. Fernando fed me homemade corn tortillas with cheddar cheese and peppers. He roasted his peppers over a juniper-wood fire. My tongue was on fire and my heart was melting like chocolate left out in the sun. He could see it in my eyes. He took my hand and pulled me upstairs and undressed me and made love to me, slow and sweet at first, then rough-rocking sweaty sex, hotter than I had ever imagined it could be.

He was gorgeous, liquid black eyes and the lean, strong body of a man who worked his land and rode horses and knew how to make love to a woman.

He was a great kisser, I knew that, but I wasn't expecting his rough hands to open me, his mouth to plunder between my legs, long, raspy tongue stroking up and over me until I wrapped my thighs around his ears and stuffed my fist in my mouth to keep from screaming.

"You taste good, baby."

I reached a hand down to his head, ran my fingers through his black hair. "Come on up here, Fernando."

He looked up at me from between my legs. "You taste good, Lizzie," he repeated. His fingers tightened on my hips and he reached for me again, took a big soft sucking bite.

I didn't even have time to put the pillow over my face. The orgasm hit me like a freight train, and I reached for his head and held him tight against me. I could tell by the movement of his busy tongue that he wasn't suffocating, but it was a near thing. I hadn't had an orgasm like that in years, maybe ever.

He lifted his head and let go of my hips, ran his hands over his wet cheeks and up into his hair. "Oh, God, Lizzie, you taste good. You ready, baby? Get ready." He bounded up and reached for his jeans, pulled a condom out of the pocket and rolled it up his straining cock.

He dug his thumbs into my thighs, pushed them apart, then he was inside me, plunging in deeper and deeper, his feet braced against the footboard. His mouth was against mine, my sweet-salty taste on his lips. "Wrap your legs around me, Lizzie. Hold me close."

I lifted my hips and wrapped my legs around his waist. "Elizabeth," I said against his mouth. "Not Lizzie. Kiss me again."

"Elizabeth," he agreed, his body moving into mine in rhythm with my name. "Elizabeth. Elizabeth."

***

Fernando did not listen to me. I had made it very clear that we weren't finishing something we had started in the eighth grade. I just couldn't take... I couldn't take it. The risk of losing again. I didn't have enough of myself left after my marriage disintegrated. I needed to just be me again, get stronger inside, grow my heart back. Fernando wanted to rescue me, throw me across his horse and ride off with me, fuck me for awhile, then move on. He had never been married. He didn't understand what it was like to risk everything, and lose, and then to get up the next morning and look in the mirror.

I knew what he had been up to all these years, cutting a swath like Casanova through Catron County. But he never married. And he didn't know me very well if he thought I was looking for a hero to save me from my poor self.

Monday morning he had me backed up against the door to my office, his tongue tasting mine and his hands moving over my hips in a way that was a little more possessive than was warranted, considering how things stood between us. His body was longer and harder than it had been when he was thirteen. Arrogance-wise, though, nothing had changed. I pushed back on his chest with both hands. When that caused him to wrap me up tighter in his big arms I raised a knee in warning.

He broke the kiss but didn't move, just buried his face in my hair, murmuring Spanish words of love. They sounded a little practiced to me, so I gave him a good shove in the chest.

"Ease up, vaquero."

He dropped his hands. "Lizzie, I swear you just like pushing me away. What's the matter, baby?"

"Fernando, I moved back to Catron County to run my granddad's newspaper, not because I was missing your attentions. I have managed without them for nearly fifteen years."

He leaned forward. I studied the bump along the bridge of his nose. It was a little more crooked than nature intended-crooked because I had broken it when we were thirteen, the day after our first kiss. He had been a little too practiced then, too. I hadn't believed it was beginner's luck.

"You're throwing happiness away with both hands, fast as you can, Lizzie. For no reason."

"Elizabeth," I corrected. I stared back into his liquid black eyes until he pulled away, running his hands back through his hair.

"Fine," He threw his hands up. "Fine, fine, fine."

He walked himself out of my office. I couldn't help but notice the way his Wranglers fit. He stopped outside the door, hands on his hips. I watched him through the glass. Nobody could fill a pair of Wranglers like a New Mexican vaquero. Ditto a good pair of boots. Ditto...

He turned around suddenly, flashed me a smart-ass grin when he caught me studying his ass. He pointed a finger at me, then at himself, then pressed his fist against his chest. Over his heart.

I had seen him do this one other time. Sister Maria Goretti had him under the arm and was dragging him off down the hall, but he'd put a fist over his heart then, too.

Well, nobody could say 'I love you' like a cowboy. I even believed he meant it, for the length of time it took for him to walk out my door.

***

I was sitting at the counter of The Daily Pie, eating barbeque ribs and listening to Randy. Everyone thought Randy was a little crazy. He had been living in Fernando's barn since he had lost his ranch to the government for back taxes.

I reached for a rib. "So you like Juniper coals for beef?" Randy was refining his barbeque technique prior to opening a stand downtown.

"Yeah, for beef, sausage, and pork," he said. "Not chicken, though. Chicken is better with mesquite."

The waitress slid a burger in front of him. "Hey, Randy. How they hanging, big guy?"

His cheeks burned scarlet. "Ma'am."

I nudged him with an elbow. "So what else is new?"

He held up a copy of The Sun, my rival newspaper. "Not one word about those wolves and you know there was an attack on old man Gray's cattle last weekend. Three calves taken. Thanks for doing that editorial page, Elizabeth."

I had opened up a special Letters to the Editor page for comments about the Mexican Gray Wolves. They were happily settling into Catron County after the federal government's reintroduction plan. Randy was convinced the whole thing was a plot to protect the Texas beef industry by running the New Mexican cattlemen out of business. Feelings were running very high.

He picked up his burger. "You hear about Fernando's peppers?"

"Nope."

"One of those fancy cooking magazines from Albuquerque is coming to interview him about his heirloom habeneros. They're looking for the hottest pepper in New Mexico. It's a contest or something. You know he's been taking peppers and greens and stuff up to the farmer's market in town? Well, one of those restaurant chefs nominated him as the hottest habenero."

"It's not New Mexico Food doing the contest, is it?"

Randy shrugged and took an enormous bite of his burger.

Fernando came through the swinging door.

"Hey, Lizzie." He bent over and kissed my cheek. "Can I buy you a piece of pie?"

"Split it with me?"

He nodded and dropped a hand on Randy's shoulder. "Brother."

Randy looked up. "Take my seat, Fernando. I'm done." He had wolfed down his burger in four big bites.

Fernando slid onto the seat and gave my thigh a friendly squeeze.

"So you're the heirloom pepper king of New Mexico, huh?"

"Hottest Habenero in Catron County. Some slick reporter is trying to find the hottest pepper. They're full of crap. Everybody who eats peppers knows it's the taste, not the heat. I'm half a mind to tell them my peppers owe their flavor to Catron County cow shit." He sighed. "Any free advertising will help. I'm running on a shoe-string as it is. But lots of ranchers haven't made their taxes just running cattle. I'm lucky I still have my land. I guess if they want to play peppers with me, I'll play."

The waitress brought him a cup of coffee. "You want pie, Fernando?"

"Sure, Becky. Got any New Mexican Apple?"

"I saved a piece for you."

"Thanks. Bring it to me with a scoop of vanilla ice-cream and two spoons, okay?"

She raised her eyebrows again. She heated a big piece in the microwave, then put a scoop of ice cream on it and slid it between us. "Fernando does a two-spoon piece of pie better than any man in Catron County."

"I believe that," I said.

"Elizabeth, I thought you were married to some big-time reporter up in the city."

I took a bite of warm apple pie, layered with pinon nuts and roasted green chilies. "The pie's good today, Becky. I got divorced about a month ago."

"Really? Sorry to hear that." She didn't sound sorry. "Is that why you came back?" She gestured to Fernando with her chin. "It wasn't for him, was it? Elizabeth, that would be like jumping from the frying pan into the fire, you know what I'm saying?"

"Yes, I do."

Fernando stared at her, and she sniffed and moved off to another customer. He leaned forward and tapped me on the wrist. "Lizzie, I've made a lot of women mad over the years. But you don't care about that, do you? I know what you care about. I've never been married to you, and betrayed you with another woman. And I never will. That's all you've got to know."

Fernando took another bite of pie and smiled into my eyes. A woman needed to be strong and keep her head around a man like this. Otherwise his laughing black eyes promised that the fire was exactly where she wanted to be.

***

I called him that night to find out about the magazine interview.

"Yeah, it's New Mexico Food," he said. "Why don't you come on over, Lizzie? I'm sitting in my hot tub. There's room for you."

I snorted. His hot tub was a big galvanized aluminum stock watering tank with a wood-fired heater. He had it out next to the barn. "Don't drop the phone into the water, Fernando. You'll electrocute yourself."

I couldn't help picturing him leaning back against the silver wall of his stock tank, the water steaming in the cold night air, and him wearing nothing but a cowboy hat and a grin. Oh, my.

"What are you running from, Lizzie? I'm not gonna hurt you, baby. It's not like you to be so suspicious and untrusting."

I sighed. "Fernando, look. It isn't you. It wasn't good with my husband, but it wasn't because he cheated. I mean, that's why I left, but he spent years before that making me feel bad. Like I wasn't quite bright enough, or pretty enough, not quite up to his standards. I'm not ready." My voice trailed off. "I'm just not ready yet. I need some time to get used to being me again."

"You need a man to put his arms around you, Lizzie, somebody you can trust so you can talk all that bad shit out. You come climb into my bed and let me take care of you."

"I bet your bed gets crowded sometimes, Fernando."

"I've filled it lots of times, baby. But I always left a little room for you, just in case you wanted to punch my nose again, anything like that."

"That was eighth grade, Fernando. Let it go already."

"Lizzie, I've been hard for you since I first got hard for anybody. I think you owe it to yourself to be with a man who likes you."

"And this hard man would be you?"

"Damn right. Jesus, Lizzie, just listening to your voice, I could do push ups with my cock. I've been walking around like this since you got back to town."

Recklessness was building up in my stomach. "You'll have to take matters into your own hands, then, cowboy."

"I could do that. Just talk to me. Let me hear your voice while I try a little five-fingered therapy." I could hear his breath getting a little harsher. "Come on, baby. Talk to me."

"Don't drop the phone into the hot tub, Fernando. The phone goes dead, I'm calling 911. If the EMTs find you electrocuted in your hot tub with your dick in your hand, I'm running a picture of it on the front page of the paper." I started laughing, picturing him like a cartoon character, stiff as a board, electric zigzags shooting off in every direction.

"Lizzie..."

"Elizabeth," I corrected.

"Elizabeth, talk to me."

"I want you to come in my mouth again. You taste like peppers, like chocolate and peppers. I've never had anything against my tongue that tasted as good to me as you, your come and your cock. I'm feeling hungry again."

The groan started low in his chest.

"Bye, Fernando."

"Elizabeth. Thanks, baby." His voice was deep and gravelly and very close to laughing.

I hung up and put my face down in the pillow. What was I doing? We were dancing that old dance, him and me, getting closer and closer. I ought to just sleep with him again, fall in love and get it over with so I could start that long slow slide down into heartbreak.

Fernando didn't want a hot wet fuck and a kiss good-bye in the morning. He wanted to reach into my chest and hold my beating heart in his hand. He didn't understand that my heart wasn't whole. It was torn to pieces, maybe beyond repair. Besides, we had loved each other once before, when we were just thirteen. First kiss, first love. The sweetness of that memory was worth something to me. I didn't want to mess it up.

***

Fernando called me the next afternoon. "Lizzie, come for supper. I'm cooking spaghetti with putanesca sauce. Grandma's making the garlic bread."

"I guess I could eat some spaghetti, cowboy."

"Listen, those magazine people just showed up. They're gonna be about two hours taking pictures of my peppers. Esmeralda Sanchez is the reporter doing the interview."

I could feel my stomach twist itself into a knot. "Really? And how do you know Esmeralda Sanchez?"

"I know lots about you, Elizabeth. Listen, try to come, baby."

I hung up the phone. Esmeralda Sanchez was the beauty who had had an affair with my husband. They were currently the media darlings of Albuquerque, elegant and sophisticated and frequently photographed. I had heard from more than one person what a lovely couple they made.

I had known Esmeralda since college. She had graduated a year ahead of me with a degree in journalism. She was brilliant and beautiful and as hard as a diamond.

Esmeralda was also powerful, especially if you had ambitions to be The Hottest Pepper. I pulled an old compact out of my desk drawer and studied myself. Hair messy, a ponytail with stray pieces escaping. Face pleasant enough, I guessed. Eyes sad and a bit tired, with dark smudges underneath. I snapped the compact shut and shoved it back into the drawer. Okay, I looked like I had been recently divorced.

I debated showing up late, or not showing up at all, but in the end I drove my granddad's old Ford pickup truck out to Fernando's ranch. Randy had asked me if I was interested in selling it to him, and I was going to leave it so he could give it a test run.

He ran a hand over the hood of the beat-up old truck. "Oh, man! Look at this beauty!" He stroked the fender. I had to laugh. The truck looked to me like it was held together with rust and duct tape.

"Hey, Randy, want to saddle up a horse for me? Looks like the Hottest Habenero is still being interviewed." A shiny black SUV was parked in front of Fernando's house.

Randy nodded and went to fetch Gretchen, a sweet-tempered bay mare with a broad, rounded back.

"Elizabeth, your granddad's truck is a classic. Maybe it needs a little work, but the bones are there, you know?"

I nodded. "Give it a test run, see what you think."

"Hey, baby. You look fine on a horse."

I picked up the reins and turned the horse with my knee. Fernando stroked my thigh much like Randy had just stroked the fender of the old truck.

"I'm glad you came, Lizzie." He was gorgeous, his color a little high. His forehead was damp with sweat. He was wearing a black silk shirt and black jeans and boots.

I smiled down at him. "You look like you've been under the spotlights."

He glanced back toward the house. "Those damn people. They don't know anything about peppers. And they wouldn't eat Grandma's guava pastry."

"Bastards," I agreed.

He gave my thigh a squeeze. "Okay, what really made me mad was they didn't want to see my greenhouses."

"What?" Randy was shocked. "But, Fernando, didn't you tell them how hard we worked to build those greenhouses?"

"I told them, brother. Then they spent fifteen minutes arguing over whether the peppers would look better in a brown basket or a green basket."

Randy gaped at him. Fernando turned to me. "Don't ride too long, okay? I'll try and get rid of her. Them, I mean. Get rid of them. I told Grandma she could come for spaghetti, too."

"Just do your interview." I turned the horse and started up the trail.

"But I'm hungry, Lizzie." I ignored this. "Hey, Randy, you want to come eat spaghetti with us?"

What kind of seduction was this supposed to be, with his grandma, his best friend, and my ex-husband's mistress all along for the spaghetti?

***

I rode for an hour, until my thighs were pleasantly tight and I could feel the sweat trickling down my lower back.

I left Gretchen in the barn and pushed open the kitchen door. The spaghetti sauce was simmering on the stove. The kitchen was warm and smelled like olive oil and garlic. Fernando's grandma was asleep in her rocker in the corner, her feet in old pink scuffs propped up on a little footstool. I picked up the afghan that had fallen to the floor and spread it over her legs.

I looked into the living room and saw Esmeralda draped across the couch like a cat. Her long dark hair was drawn into an elegant chignon at the nape of her neck. She was wearing a black crepe sheath with perfect black pumps, and the pearls in her ears showed the elegant length of her white neck. I really hated that woman.

Esmeralda turned her head, and her gaze sharpened on me. I was suddenly aware of the mud splattered on my jeans and the faint aroma of horse that was drifting up from my clothes. Fernando was leaning against a display — an old saddle, a length of barbed wire in a loop, a battered straw Stetson, and a Navajo rug. He was holding a couple of baskets full of his heirloom habeneros. The peppers were gorgeous, bright orange against his black clothes. He looked tired and a little bad-tempered, a very sexy look for a vaquero.

He sighed and put the basket down when he saw me.

"Wait, wait," the photographer said. "Just a couple more. We're nearly done."

Fernando ignored him and came over to me. He reached down and nuzzled my sweaty neck. "You smell good, Lizzie."

I laughed at him. "I'm sure I smell good to the other horses."

Esmeralda appeared and put long white hand on his shoulder. My stomach worked itself into a knot. "Fernando, we're almost finished. Give us a little more time. This article, is it's done right, will put your ranch on the map."

He shrugged off her hand.

"Don't you want this publicity for your business?" He narrowed his eyes at her, and she took a step back. "Fernando, you've been a little recalcitrant all afternoon. I hope the reason isn't personal."

"You need to pack up your picture taker and go now, Ms. Sanchez. I don't want Elizabeth to feel uncomfortable in my home, and you were supposed to be finished an hour ago."

Esmeralda laughed, her head back, the line of her throat impossibly long. "But I've known Elizabeth since college. We were best friends when we were younger. I've wondered how she was making out since she left the city and came down here."

"She's making out fine, but my guess is it makes her uncomfortable to run into the woman who screwed her husband and wrecked her marriage."

Were they going to continue talking about me as if I weren't here? This was starting to get annoying.

Esmeralda's smile turned into a sneer. "My, my, aren't we judgmental? Small town, small minds." She glanced at the baskets of peppers. "Small peppers."

Fernando burst out laughing, then turned and wrapped his arms around me. "She insulted my peppers, Lizzie. I don't think we should invite her to dinner."

I hugged him back. "Just listen to you. Settle down, vaquero. You're such a hot-head. Let them take their pictures. I'll go sit in the stock tank and have a soak with Randy."

His arms tightened around me. "You can't miss my spaghetti. I've got habeneros in the sauce. Your tongue's gonna be on fire."

"Excuse me." Esmeralda's voice was a little colder now. "We've invested considerable resources already in coming down here. We have not selected the winning pepper. I'm not sure where your attitude comes from, but I'm not used to..."

Fernando interrupted her. "Lizzie, go wake Grandma up, okay? It's time to put the garlic bread in the oven."

I nodded and walked back into the kitchen. I had a feeling, looking at the tight line of his mouth, that he was about to make an enemy. And I couldn't even eavesdrop, because he was speaking to her in Spanish.

Grandma was already awake, standing next to the swinging door and listening intently.

"What's he saying?" I whispered.

She didn't speak English, and I didn't speak Spanish, but she gestured with her chin. "Puta," she said, and even I understood that.

***

Fernando had filled the stock tank with water and heated it up with his wood-fired heater. He gave me a T-shirt and a pair of his boxers to wear. After I changed he tossed my jeans and sweatshirt into the washer.

The water was blissfully hot, and I slid down until I was covered up to my neck. The moon was up, and the first few stars. The night sky was that deep Indigo blue that I had only ever seen in New Mexico, out in Catron County, just a little west of the Great Divide.

I could hear the wolves start their evening song, and I felt a little guilty about enjoying the sound, remembering Randy and the stolen cattle. Maybe Catron County was their kind of place. Maybe it was my kind of place, too. Wolves and stock tanks for soaking, horses and good-looking cowboys.

I looked toward the house. I was going to make it perfectly clear to Fernando that I was not in the market.He was walking toward me, wearing boxer shorts and boots and nothing else. He held a couple of long-neck beers in one hand. He stopped when he saw me watching him, pointed a finger at me, then at himself. Then he put his fist over his chest. Over his heart.