Page 40 of Whispers of My Skin

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“And that, my friend, is the whole sorry story,” I sigh. Fermin and I are drinking coffee, sitting outside on the porch swing. I stare off into the distance to avoid Fermin’s intense scrutiny—he’ll know I’m being less than frank. But some details are too painful to share even with him, so dark I can’t bring myself to say them out loud. I don’t want him to judge me, nor do I want to see pity in his eyes.

“For God’s sake, Tara,” he exhales in frustration as he leans back in the swing. “Why the hell didn’t you just reach out to me? I’m your best friend aren’t I? You know I would’ve married you in a heartbeat, if that’s what you needed. Or I would’ve just given you whatever money you needed to sort this shit out. All you had to do was ask.”

Fermin comes from a very wealthy family, and even though his father has disowned him, he’s still loaded. Hence his no expenses spared grand tour of Europe.

“Fermin, that’s really sweet of you, but it’s not just about the money. I needed someone with practical experience, someone prepared to help me get Redlands back on its feet. You’re a good friend, but let’s face it, you haven’t the first clue about running a ranch.”

“True, and I have no inclination to learn either,” he admits. “But we could’ve contacted the right people to source an experienced ranch manager, without you having to do something as drastic as marrying them.”

“I couldn’t drag you into my problems, Fermin. Redlands is my responsibility, and I needed to grow up, face up to things, to find the best solution.”

“And Joel was the best solution you could come up with? No other possible reason you can think of why you’d want an excuse to track down this hot, sexy new hubby of yours?” He raises his eyebrows.

“Gah! You know, sometimes I don’t like you very much, Fermin, not when you think you know me better than I know myself.”

He smirks. “So I am right, there was unfinished business between the two of you. Well, as I always say, save a horse, ride a cowboy, especially a smokin’ hot one.”

“Since when were you into cowboys,” I scoff.

“You know me, always open to new experiences.” Fermin waggles his eyebrows suggestively.

“Be serious. I need a solid friend right now, not a flaky one.”

“Which is precisely why I’m here,” he grins, standing up. “So, as you seem hell bent on proving some kind of point to your brand-new husband by refusing to let me bring in contractors, let’s get started on this painting. I’m more into creating masterpieces on canvas, but I guess the house is kind of like a big canvas. This could even be fun, although I don’t intend spending any longer than necessary out here in this sweltering heat, sweating like a pig. And once the job’s done, I’ll tell you about the little surprise I’ve got planned.”

“Oh? What kind of a surprise?”

“Wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you, would it? Let’s get on with finishing the house, then I’ll fill you in later.”

Many hands really do make light work, and it’s so much easier with two of us. With music blaring, we laugh and joke while we work, and manage to finish the painting by late afternoon. We head inside to get a cold drink and start the dinner preparations.

“So, about your surprise, Tara. First off, I’m arranging for all your disgusting old furniture to be disposed of,” Fermin announces as we walk into the kitchen. “Then I’m going to totally refurbish your house from top to bottom, as my wedding gift to you.” Fermin is a very talented interior designer with impeccable taste. He’s also incredibly kind and generous to his friends, but I’d never want to be accused of taking advantage of our friendship.

Joel must have heard us come in, because he’s appeared from the den to follow us in. He looks at me in bewilderment, but I have no clue what Fermin’s talking about either.

“So what exactly were you thinking should be taken away?” I ask. “Most things are okay, or at least they’re serviceable.”

“Sweetness, the house itself has great potential, but as far as fixtures and fittings go, there’s practically nothing worth keeping,” Fermin wrinkles his nose in disgust and shakes his head. “I can’t bear to see you living here with threadbare carpets, moth-eaten old drapes and skanky sofas a minute longer than necessary, so I’m making it my personal mission to get this place up to a decent standard.”

“I can’t possibly let you Fermin, it’s way too much. And anyway, it’d give my mother a heart attack to see what she considers her treasured heirlooms thrown out,” I protest, while stirring together the ingredients for the chili I’ve quickly thrown in the pot, hardly daring to look at Joel to see what he’s making of Fermin’s plans. I can’t imagine he’s thrilled.

“Who cares what Monique thinks? Let’s face it, she’s the one responsible for letting it go to rack and ruin. Open your eyes and look around. This place is little better than a house of horrors—it only needs a few more cobwebs hanging from the ceiling to complete the picture.”

I roll my eyes, but ignore his disparaging remarks as I serve up the meal.

“We’ll talk more about this later, Fermin. It’s very kind of you, but sorting the house interior isn’t our top priority at the moment.”

“Which is precisely why I’m going to take care of it for you,” Fermin smiles serenely. “Just leave it all to me.”

My dear friend has always been very stubborn, always has to have the last word, and hasn’t changed one bit.

The three of us sit round the kitchen table while Fermin regales us with stories of his travels, and even Joel can’t help laughing at some of his outrageous escapades.

“So, how did you two meet?” asks Joel.

Fermin and I look at each other, restraining ourselves from bursting in laughter before he can explain. “Your feisty wife got in the middle of a fight defending me, because according to the boys at school, it’s a deadly sin for a nine year old boy to wear skinny pink pants.”

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