Читать книгу Fearless - Diana Palmer - Страница 8

RODRIGO STARED AT HER curiously. She was a contradiction. She seemed simple and sweet, but she was educated. He was certain that she wasn’t what she appeared to be, but it was far too soon to start dissecting her personality. She interested him, but he didn’t want her to. He was still mourning Sarina. Anyway, it amused him that she liked the same poems he did.

She got up slowly and picked up her peach, tossing it away because Consuelo had waxed the floor that morning and she was wary of getting even a trace of wax in her fruit. She washed her hands again as well.

“I’m glad to see that you appreciate the danger of contamination,” Rodrigo said.

She smiled. “Consuelo would have whacked me with a broom if she’d caught me putting anything in the pot that had been on her floor, no matter how clean it is.”

“She’s a good woman.”

“She is,” Glory agreed. “She’s been very kind to me.”

He finished his coffee and got up. But he didn’t leave. “One of the workers told me that Castillo made a suggestive remark to you when you went to ask him for replacement baskets for some berries that had molded.”

She gave him a wary look. She’d had words with Castillo over his foul language. He’d only laughed. It had made her very angry. But she didn’t want to get a reputation for tale-telling. There was more to it than that, of course. Her mother hadn’t been the only person who’d been physically abusive to her. The two teenage boys in the foster home had harassed and frightened her for months and then assaulted her. As a result of the violence in her past, she was uneasy and frightened around men. Rodrigo had been away when the new employee had made suggestive remarks, and Glory and Consuelo would have been no match for a man with the muscles Castillo enjoyed displaying, if Glory had antagonized him.

“You’re afraid of him,” Rodrigo said quietly, watching her reaction to the statement.

She swallowed. Her hand contracted on the knife. She didn’t want to admit that, even though it was true. She was afraid of men. It hurt her pride to have to admit it.

“Was it a man, who did that to you?” he asked unexpectedly, indicating her hip.

She was too emotionally torn to choose her words. “My mother did it,” she replied.

Whatever reply he’d expected, that wasn’t it. “God in heaven, your mother?” he exclaimed.

She couldn’t meet his eyes. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“She was killing my cat,” she said, feeling the pain all over again. “I tried to stop her.”

“What did she hit you with?”

The memory was still painful. “A baseball bat. My own baseball bat. I played on my school team just briefly.”

His indrawn breath was audible in the silence that followed.

“And the cat?”

The memory hurt. “My daddy buried it for me while I was in the hospital,” she managed huskily.

“Niña,” he whispered huskily. “Lo siento.”

She’d never had comfort. It had been offered, and refused, several times during traumatic periods of her life. Sympathy was weakening. It was the enemy. She tried valiantly to stem the tears, but she couldn’t stop them. The tenderness in Rodrigo’s deep voice made her hungry for comfort. Her wet eyes betrayed that need to him.

He took the knife and the peaches from her, set them aside and pulled her up tight into his arms. He held her, rocked her, while years of sorrow and grief poured out of her in a blinding tide.

“What a witch she must have been,” he murmured into her soft hair.

“Yes,” she said simply, remembering what came after her accident. The arrest of her father and his conviction, the foster homes, the assault…

She should have been afraid of him. The memory of the boys overpowering her in her foster home haunted her. But she wasn’t afraid. She clung to him, burying her wet face in his broad chest. His arms were strong and warm, and he held her in a gentle but tight nonsexual way. It was a landmark in her life, that comfort. Jason had held her when she cried, of course, but Jason was like a loving big brother. This man was something entirely different.

He smoothed her hair, thinking how it helped to feel another human body close against his. He grieved for the loss of Sarina and Bernadette, and deep inside he remembered his anguish when the drug lord, Manuel Lopez, had killed his only sister. He knew grief. He began to understand this woman a little. She was strong. She must be, to have survived such an ordeal. He suspected there were more traumatic things in her past, things she’d never told another living soul.

After a minute, she moved away from him. She was embarrassed. She dabbed at her eyes with the hem of her apron and turned to pick up the peaches and the knife.

“We all have tragedies,” he said quietly. “We live with them in silence. Sometimes the pain breaks free and becomes visible. It should not embarrass you to realize that you are human.”

She looked up at him with red eyes. She nodded.

He smiled and glanced at his watch. “I have to get the men started. Breakfast was very nice. Your biscuits are better than Consuelo’s, but don’t tell her.”

She managed a watery smile. “I won’t.”

He started out the door.

“Señor Ramirez,” she called.

He turned, his eyebrows arched.

“Thank you,” she managed.

“You’re welcome.”

She watched him go, twisting inside with unfamiliar emotions. She couldn’t remember any man, except for Jason, holding her like that in her adult life. It had been wonderful. Now she had to put it right out of her mind. She didn’t want anyone close to her emotionally. Not even Rodrigo.

THE NEXT WEEK, SHE was surprised to find a police car in the front yard. She went to the front porch and paused as the town’s police chief, Cash Grier, bounded up the steps.

She hadn’t seen him before, and she was surprised by the long ponytail he wore. She’d heard that he was unconventional, and there were some interesting rumors about his past that were spoken in whispers. Even up in San Antonio, he was something of a legend in law enforcement circles.

“You’re Chief Grier,” she said as he approached her.

He grinned. “What gave me away?” he asked.

“The badge that says ‘Police Chief,’” she replied, tongue-in-cheek. “What can I do for you?”

He chuckled. “I came to see Rodrigo. Is he around?”

“He was,” she replied. “But he hasn’t come in for lunch, or called.” She turned and opened the screen door, leaning heavily on the cane. “Consuelo, do you know where Mr. Ramirez is?”

“He said he was going to the hardware store to pick up the extra buckets he ordered,” she called.

Glory turned back to the chief, and found him eyeing her cane. She became defensive. “Something bothering you?” she asked pertly.

“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to stare. You’re young to be walking with a cane.”

She nodded, her green eyes meeting his dark ones. “I’ve been using it for a long time.”

He cocked his head, and he wasn’t smiling. “Your mother was Beverly Barnes, wasn’t she?” he asked coldly.

She drew in her breath.

“Marquez’s mother runs the local eatery,” he replied. “I know about you from her. She and Rick don’t have any secrets.”

“Nobody is supposed to know why I’m here,” she began worriedly.

He held up a hand. “I haven’t said anything, and I won’t. I gather you include Rodrigo in those people who aren’t supposed to know why you’re here?”

“Yes,” she said quickly. “Especially Rodrigo.”

He nodded. “I’ll watch your back,” he told her. “But it would be wise to have Rodrigo in on it.”

She couldn’t imagine why. The manager of a truck farm wouldn’t know what to do against a drug lord. “The fewer people who know, the better,” she told him. “Fuentes would love to hang me out to dry before the trial. I know too much.”

“Marquez told me. He said he had to fight you to get you to come down here in the first place. The thing is, Fuentes probably has confederates that we don’t know about.”

“Here?” she asked.

“Very likely. I have a few contacts on the wrong side of the law. Word is that he’s hiring teenagers for his more potent areas of vengeance. They go to juvenile hall, you see, not prison. I understand that he’s recruiting in a Houston gang—Los Serpientes. If you see any suspicious activity here, or any new young faces hiring on, I want to know about it. Night or day. Especially if you feel threatened at all. I don’t care if it’s after midnight, either.”

“That’s generous of you,” she said, and she smiled.

“Not really,” he sighed. “Tris, our baby girl, keeps us awake all hours just lately. She’s teething, so you probably wouldn’t even have to wake us up.”

“Your wife is very famous,” she replied shyly.

He chuckled with pride. “Yes, but you’d never know it to see her pushing baby Tris in a cart in the Sav-A-Lot Grocery Store,” he assured her.

Grocery store. The store had a van. Something niggled in the back of her mind. She remembered something. “There was a van,” she said suddenly. “This man Castillo that Mr. Ramirez just hired to be his assistant was talking to some man in a battered old white van. Something changed hands—money or drugs, maybe. It was suspicious, so I wrote down the license plate number.”

“Smart girl,” he said, impressed.

“I put it on a pad in the kitchen. Would you like to come in and have coffee? Consuelo’s made a nice peach pie for supper.”

“I love coffee and pie,” he assured her.

“Come in, then.”

He followed her into the kitchen, where Consuelo greeted him, but with obvious suspicion. He got the number from Glory while Consuelo was out of the room.

“Consuelo doesn’t like policemen,” she confided. “I don’t know why. I mentioned something about the extra patrols that were coming past the house, and she was belligerent.”

“Could be the immigration investigations,” Cash murmured. “They’ve stepped up in the new political climate.”

“What about the extra patrols?” she asked suddenly.

He glanced toward the doorway to make sure Consuelo wasn’t around. “One of Ramirez’s employees has a rap sheet. We’ve been keeping a low profile, but we’re keeping an eye on him.” He grinned. “Nice work, getting that tag number.”

She chuckled. “I feel like an undercover narc or something,” she murmured as he got up to leave.

He laughed. “I can’t tell you why that’s amusing, but one day you’ll see. Thanks for the coffee and pie.”

“You’re very welcome.” She hesitated. “Can you tell me which employee you’ve got your eye on?”

He sighed. “You’ve probably guessed that already.”

She nodded. “Castillo has tats and muscles like a wrestler. It doesn’t take much guesswork. I’ve seen his type come through my office for years.”

“So have I,” he said.

“Do you know Mr. Ramirez well?” she asked suddenly.

“Not really,” he said deliberately. “I’ve seen him around. But I actually came today to check with him about one of your employees who may be in the country illegally.”

She wondered which employee. “Should I ask him to phone you when he comes in?” she asked.

“Do that, if you don’t mind.”

“I’ll be glad to.” She leaned on her cane, frowning. Another thought provoked her next question. “That illegal,” she said slowly. “You don’t think it’s Angel Martinez, do you?” she added, recalling the sweet little man who was always so courteous to her when he came into the house with Rodrigo. She was fond of him.

His eyebrows arched. “Why do you say that?”

She shifted her weight. Her hip was hurting. “It’s just that he and his wife, Carla, have three children. They’re so nice, and they’re happy here. They come from a village in Central America where there was a paramilitary group. Somebody in the village identified one of the rebels to the government authorities. The next day, Angel took Carla and the children to a healer in another village because one of the children had a sore eye. When they got back, everybody in the village was dead, laid out like firewood on the ground.”

He moved closer. “I know what life in those villages is like,” he said with surprising sympathy. “And I know what good people the Martinezes are. Sometimes enforcing the law is painful even for professionals.”

His sympathy made her bold. “I know an attorney in San Antonio who specializes in immigration cases,” she began.

He sighed, noting her expression. “And I know one of the federal attorneys,” he replied with resignation. “Okay. I’ll go make some phone calls.”

She beamed up at him. “I knew you were a nice man the minute I saw you.”

“Did you? How?” he asked with real curiosity.

“The ponytail,” she told him. “It has to be a sign of personal courage.” It was overt flattery.

He laughed. “Well! I’ll have to go home and tell Tippy that the secret’s out.”

She grinned.

His expression became solemn. “Castillo is dangerous. Don’t get brave when you’re on your own here.”

“I realized that early on,” she assured him. “He has no respect for women.”

“Or men,” he added. “Watch your back.”

“I will.”

He waved on his way down the steps.

RODRIGO WAS CURIOUS ABOUT the conversation Glory had with Chief Grier. Too curious.

“Did he say anything about the illegal immigrant he’s looking for?” he asked over bowls of soup at the supper table with Consuelo.

Glory hesitated. She didn’t quite know Rodrigo enough to trust him with information of a potentially tragic case.

Consuelo grinned at him. “She’s afraid you might blow the whistle on Angel,” she said in a stage whisper.

Glory flushed and Rodrigo burst out laughing.

“I would never have suspected you of having anarchist leanings,” he chided Glory.

She finished a spoonful of soup before she answered him. “I’m not an anarchist. I just think people make snap decisions without all the facts. I know that immigrants put a strain on our economy.” She put the spoon down and looked at him. “But aren’t we all Americans? I mean, the continent is North America, isn’t it? If you’re from north, central or south America, you’re still an American.”

Rodrigo looked at Consuelo. “She’s a socialist,” he said.

“I am not classifiable,” she argued. “I just think that helping people in desperate need is supposed to be what freedom and democracy are all about. It isn’t as if they want to come here and sit down and let us all support them. They’re some of the hardest working people in the world. You know yourself that you have to force your hired hands to come out of the fields. Hard work is all they know. They’re just happy to live someplace where they don’t have to worry about being shot or run out of their villages by multinational corporations looking for land.”

He hadn’t interrupted her. He was watching her with narrow, intent eyes, unaware that his soup spoon was frozen in midair.

She raised her eyebrows. “Is my mustache on crooked?” she asked mischievously.

He laughed and put the spoon down. “No. I’m impressed by your knowledge of third world communities.”

She wanted so badly to ask about his own knowledge of them, but she was shy of him. The memory of the fervent embrace she’d shared with him made her tingle all over every time she pictured it. He was very strong, and very attractive.

He finished his coffee, glancing at her. “You’re dying to know, aren’t you?” he asked with a bland expression.

“Know what?”

“Where I come from.”

Her cheeks went pink. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t pry…”

“I was born in Sonora, in northern Mexico,” he told her. He skipped the part about his family and their illustrious connections, including their wealth. He had to remember his concocted history. “My parents worked for a man who ran cattle. I learned the business from the ground up, and eventually managed a ranch.”

She felt strongly that he wasn’t telling the whole story, but she wasn’t going to dig too deeply. It was too soon. “Did you get tired of the ranch?”

He laughed. “The owner did. He sold his holdings to a politician who thought he knew all about cattle ranching from watching reruns of High Chapparel, that old television Western.”

“Did he really know all about it?” she fished.

“He lost the cattle in the first six months to disease because he didn’t believe in preventative medicine, and he lost the land two months after that in a poker game with two supposed friends. No ranch, no job, so I came north looking for work.”

She frowned. Jason Pendleton wasn’t the sort of man who socialized with day laborers, she thought, even though he wasn’t a snob. “How did you meet Jason…I mean, Mr. Pendleton?” she corrected.

He caught the slip, but let it pass. “We were both acquainted with a man who was opening a new restaurant in San Antonio. He introduced us. Jason said that he needed someone to ramrod a truck farm in a little Texas town, and I was looking for work.”

Actually he’d approached Jason, with the help of a mutual friend, and explained that he needed the job temporarily to provide his cover while he tried to shut down Fuentes and his operation. Jason had agreed to go along with it.

Their next conversation, the day Glory arrived, had been about Glory going to work on the truck farm. Jason had told him nothing about Glory, least of all that she was his stepsister, but he hadn’t liked Rodrigo’s remark about Glory being crippled and it was evident. Rodrigo had the feeling that Jason was overly fond of Glory—perhaps they were even lovers. It had been a taut conversation.

Rodrigo was tempted to ask Glory about her relationship with Jason, but he didn’t want to rock the boat.

“Well, your English is a hundred times better than my Spanish,” she sighed, breaking into his thoughts.

“I work hard at it.”

Consuelo was stirring cake batter. She glanced at Rodrigo curiously. “That Castillo man is going to be trouble, you mark my words.”

He leaned back in his chair and looked at her. “We’ve been over this twice already,” he said quietly. “You want your son to work here and take his place. But Marco doesn’t know how to manage people.” He said it in an odd tone, as if he was holding something back.

She glowered at him. “He can so manage people. He’s smart, too. Not book smart, but street smart.”

Rodrigo looked thoughtful. His eyes narrowed. “All right, then. Have him come and talk to me tomorrow.”

Consuelo’s dark eyes lit up. “You mean it?”

“I mean it.”

“I’ll call him right now!” She put down the bowl of unfinished batter and left the room, wiping her hands on her apron as she went.

“Is he as nice as she is? Her son, I mean?” Glory asked.

Rodrigo seemed distracted. “He’s a hard worker,” he replied. “But he has some friends I don’t like.”

“I’ll bet I have some friends you wouldn’t like,” she retorted. “It’s the boy who’ll be working here, not his friends.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Outspoken, aren’t you?”

“From time to time,” she confessed. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” he replied, finishing his coffee. “I like to know where I stand with people. Honesty is a rare commodity these days.”

She could have written a check on that. She was lied to day by day on the job, by criminals who swore innocence. It was always somebody else’s fault, not theirs. They were framed. The witnesses were blind. The arresting officers were brutal. They weren’t getting a fair trial. And on and on it went.

“I said,” Rodrigo repeated, “will you and Consuelo have enough jars and lids, or should we get more?”

She started. She’d been lost in thought. “Sorry. I really don’t know. Consuelo brings them out. I haven’t really paid attention to how many we’ve got.”

“I’ll ask her on the way out. If Castillo gives you any more lip, tell me,” he said, pausing in the doorway. “We don’t allow harassment here.”

“I will,” she promised.

She watched him go into the other room, heard the murmur of his deep voice as he spoke to Consuelo. He really was a handsome man, she thought. If she hadn’t been carrying so many emotional scars, she might have looked for a way to worm herself into his life. It was odd that a man like that would still be single at his age, which she judged to be mid-thirties. It was none of her business, she reminded herself. She only worked here.

TWO DAYS LATER, A late model SUV pulled up in the driveway. A slender, pretty blonde woman got out and darted up the steps. She was wearing blue jeans and a pink tank top. She looked young and carefree and happy.

Consuelo was busy washing jars and lids before they started on the next batch of peaches when there came a knock at the door. Glory went to answer it, leaning heavily on the cane. She’d had a bad night.

The young woman grinned at her. “Hi,” she said in a friendly tone. “Is Rodrigo around?”

For some inexplicable reason, Glory felt her heart drop. “Yes,” she said. “He’s at the warehouse overseeing the packing. We’re stocking it with fruit preserves and jellies for the Internet business.”

“Okay,” she said. “Thanks.”

If it had been anyone else, Glory would have gone back to the kitchen. But the woman fit the description Consuelo had mentioned, and she was curious. She watched as the other woman approached the big warehouse out back. Rodrigo spotted her and his whole face became radiant. He held out his arms and she ran into them, to be swung around and kissed heartily on the cheek.

If Glory had needed reminding that Rodrigo was handsome enough to attract almost any woman he wanted, that proved it. She turned and went back into the house. It hurt her that Rodrigo wanted someone else. She didn’t dare question why.

He didn’t bring the visitor into the house. They stood together under a big mesquite tree, very close, and spoke for a long time. Glory wasn’t spying. But she was looking out the window. She couldn’t help it. That those two had shared a close relationship was impossible not to notice.

Finally Rodrigo took the blonde’s hand in his and led her back to the SUV, helping her up into her seat. She smiled and waved as she drove away. Rodrigo stood looking after the truck, his smile gone into eclipse. His hands dug into his jean pockets and the misery he felt was evident even at a distance. He looked like a man who’d lost everything he loved.

Glory went back to her canning, pensively. She wondered what had gone wrong for Rodrigo that he and the blonde woman weren’t together.

She asked Consuelo, against her better judgment.

“Who is that blonde woman who comes to visit Rodrigo?” she asked, trying to sound casual.

Consuelo gave her a stealthy look. “I don’t know,” she said. “But it’s obvious that she means something to Rodrigo.”

“I noticed,” Glory replied. “She seems very nice.”

“He’s fond of her, you can tell.” She set the timer on the pressure cooker. “But if you look close,” she added gently, “you can tell that it’s only fondness on her part. She likes him, but she isn’t in love.”

“He is,” Glory blurted out.

Consuelo glanced at her curiously. “You’re perceptive.”

Glory smiled. “He seems like a good person.”

“He’s the best. We all like him.”

“I noticed that he seems…”

Before she could finish the sentence, the back door opened and a tall, handsome young man with wavy black hair, dark eyes and an olive complexion came in through the back door without knocking. He was wearing jeans and a pullover shirt, and broadcasting gang colors and tattoos.

Glory didn’t dare voice that summary. She wasn’t supposed to know about gang symbols. But she did. This young man belonged to the infamous Los Serpientes gang of Houston. She wondered what in the world he was doing in the kitchen.

Before she could ask, he grinned and hugged Consuelo, swinging her around in a circle and laughing the whole time.

“Hi, Mom!” he said in greeting.

Consuelo hugged him back and gave him a big kiss on both cheeks. She turned, her arm around his muscular waist. “Glory, this is my son, Marco!” she announced.