Cinderella in Overalls Read Free Page A

above dark eyes that stared boldly into his.
    He was trying to construct a sentence in Spanish, any sentence just to break the silence, but the words wouldn’t come and all he could do was point to the chair that faced his desk.
    She nodded slightly and carefully folded her long skirt underneath her. Then she pressed her palms together. “I’ve come to ask for a loan,” she said, her unwavering gaze locked with his.
    He leaned back against his desk so that he wouldn’t fall over. It was the shock of hearing her speak perfect English. If only she hadn’t asked for something he couldn’t give her.
    “Have I come to the right place?” she asked when he didn’t say anything.
    “Not really,” he answered reluctantly. “But no matter where you go the answer is no.”
    Startled, she stood up. “No? But you haven’t even asked me how much I want or what I want it for.”
    “All right,” he agreed. “Tell me how much you want and what you want it for. But first tell me how you happen to speak such good English.”
    She tossed her long braid over her shoulder, and he thought he saw a glint of amusement in her dark eyes. But when he smiled back it was gone and he was disappointed.
    “I’m an American,” she said. “In the Peace Corps in Palomar, over in the valley.”
    Josh’s eyes swept down her body from the hat to the black flat-heeled shoes. So the woman who caught his eye in the market wasn’t a Mamara Indian; she was a Peace Corps volunteer gone native who wanted to borrow money for silver jewelry or a ticket home. He didn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved.
    She held out her hand. “Catherine Logan, agricultural specialist.”
    He shook her hand and felt the calluses on her palm. He thought he could smell fresh fruit, ripening on the trees, but it was the clean scent of her hair and her skin reminding him of summer days and country roads.
    He was still holding her hand, and she looked up inquiringly until he realized she was waiting for him to introduce himself.
    “Josh Bentley, assistant vice president.”
    She nodded. “Then I have come to the right place.” She sat down again, as if she hadn’t heard him say that the answer was no. “I’m working with the villagers to develop a new strain of potatoes, one that takes up less space and produces a higher yield in a shorter time.’’
    Her eyes glowed, and he felt light-headed again. They said it took months before the altitude sickness disappeared for good. He folded his arms across his chest. “How is it working out?” he asked, watching her lips move as she spoke, still in semi-shock to find she was an American.
    “Fine. Wonderful. Better than I hoped. I’d only done it on the experimental plot at the university, never on a big scale. I’m very excited about it.”
    He smiled. “I can see that.”
    She leaned forward and drew her eyebrows together. “Can you? Do you mean I’ve stumbled across the one banker in the world who understands why we need to borrow money to buy a truck to haul our own produce to market?”
    Josh rubbed his forehead. He didn’t seem to be able to think straight. He didn’t know how to explain that he couldn’t lend her the money, although he understood why she needed it. But he’d been sent here specifically to put a lid on lending, to put a stop to the making of bad loans.
    “Look, Catherine Logan, understanding your need and being able to do something about it are two different things.’’
    She stood up and stared at him. “You mean the answer is still no?”
    He put his hand on her arm. “Do you know there’s an international debt crisis and that inflation in Aruaca is running about two hundred percent? Have you heard that every time a borrower defaults on a loan the rate goes up and then poor peasants can’t buy shoes or potatoes or—”
    She pulled back and squared her shoulders. “Thanks for the lecture. I won’t waste any more of your time, since I see your mind was made up before