Beautiful Sacrifice

trying to steal his precious knowledge. He’s just never caught anyone doing it.
    As Hunter gained speed on the metro roads, the hot, unusually dry wind coming through the open windows began to take apart Lina’s sleek bun. By the time they arrived on the wrong side of town and parked, her hair was flying around like a witch on Halloween. She tried to smooth the black mess back into a bun.
    “Let it go,” Hunter said, catching her hand in one of his. “It’s beautiful loose.”
    Her pulse kicked at his touch, the look in his eyes.
    “It looks unprofessional,” she said.
    “I don’t see anyone here with an academic scorecard.”
    Lina hesitated, then shook her hair fully free. His smile didn’t help her pulse rate one bit.
    Hunter got out of the Jeep and came around to her side before she had picked up her purse. He reached in and lifted her out. His hands were hard, his strength startling. Before she could object, she was standing on the sidewalk. She stared at Hunter and revised her first estimate of his strength. The man must have serious muscles beneath his loose shirt.
    “This way,” he said, slowly releasing her.
    He tucked his hand into hers and led her down the street. Everywhere she looked, the signs were in Spanish, with the occasional English word used like an exclamation mark. It was the same for the language of the people standing in groups, getting into cars, or smoking and watching the world go by. Hats, boots, jeans, work shirts. Occasional flashes of colorful clothes and hot black eyes from women in high heels. Otherwise, the visible population was overwhelmingly male and Latin.
    She felt like she was in semirural Mexico.
    Omar’s was a rustic brick building that smelled of chili and onions and meat, with the scent of fresh tortillas curling through it all like a golden ribbon. The café was close enough to downtown that tourists might wander through, but authentic enough that only locals would stay. The tempera paints on the outside of the window were faded from sun and heat, not yet melted by rain. Yard-high red letters spelled out BIENVENIDOS Á OMAR’S .
    Lina smiled. The smells of food and the language being spoken on all sides surrounded her like a lover.
    “You look like you’ve been handed a piece of heaven rather than an invitation to a Mexican dive,” Hunter said. He knew his voice was too husky and he didn’t care. The more he discovered about Lina, the more he liked her.
    Wanted her.
    Good thing I’m wearing a loose shirt, Hunter thought wryly. I’m throwing wood like a teenager.
    “I’ve missed this kind of Mexican food,” Lina said.
    “Greasy?”
    “Real. Country food meant to feed people who have little money and hard physical jobs.”
    As they walked into the tiny restaurant, the sun flooding through the red letters on the window made the interior glow carmine. The three Latina women making tortillas behind the grill waved at Hunter and then giggled.
    “Buenos días, señoritas,” Hunter called to them. His lilting accent was all Mexican, as easy as his English. “Omar, how’s business?”
    Behind the counter, Omar grinned. He was six foot two—six foot six if his turban was counted. His dark complexion might have helped him to blend in, if not for his height and aquiline features, which would’ve been more at home in the Punjab. He wore his long beard carefully kept and his eyes glittered behind thin lenses. He insisted often and loudly that he was the only Sikh running a Mexican restaurant in all of Texas. No one argued. The food was too good.
    “Excellent,” Omar said. “What may I serve you?”
    “I’ll have the usual.”
    “Machaca, half a stack of corn tortillas, eggs soft, extra salsa nuclear,” Omar called over his shoulder. “And for the beautiful young lady?”
    Lina looked behind her, laughed, and said, “Machaca, frijoles refritos, corn tortillas, salsa, and orange soda.”
    “The salsa,” Omar said, looking at her, “gringo, medium, hot, or nuclear?”
    Darkness shot through with gold flashed as she rolled her eyes. “Just hot.”
    Omar grinned, revealing black gaps and white teeth. “Coffee and water are in the customary place,” he said to Hunter as he totaled their order on an adding machine. “Soda is in the cooler.”
    Hunter paid before Lina could open her purse. She would have argued, but it wasn’t worth it. At the moment she was very much in a man’s world.
    Lina glanced over at the wall to the left. The cooler