Читать книгу On The Texas Border - Linda Warren, Linda Warren - Страница 10

STANDING AT HIS WINDOW, Jonas saw her drive up in a white Accord. She slid out of the vehicle in the graceful movement he was beginning to associate with her. She wore tan slacks and a tan sleeveless top. The slacks covered long gorgeous legs, which he had glimpsed several times during the past month. The top emphasized her slender arms, and rounded breasts that drew his attention like a magnet. The blond hair and green eyes completed a package that his hands ached to unwrap. As long as he knew that and no one else did, especially Abby, everything would be fine.

Soon she’d tire of this absurd quest and go back to Dallas where she belonged. As the thought crossed his mind, he recognized it was wishful thinking. He’d already seen that stubborn streak in her and he knew she’d see this through to the bitter end. And now he was caught right in the middle of the whole blasted mess. A place he didn’t want to be…a place he’d sworn he wouldn’t be. But Brewster was in control—totally. Jonas had given him that control when he was fifteen, and he couldn’t change things now. He fought it at times, but he’d learned early on that fighting was futile. He wished he knew what Brewster was up to, though. There was little doubt in Jonas’s mind that the old man was up to something and Abigail Duncan was just a pawn. Trying to get her to see that was a waste of Jonas’s time, so he might as well accept the inevitable.

ABBY WALKED INSIDE. The big room held three desks and rows of filing cabinets. There was an inner office that she knew belonged to Jonas. Every high-tech innovation was available—computers, fax machines, copiers and a few pieces of equipment she didn’t even recognize. In the way of decor, the place was sadly lacking—right down to the exposed concrete under her feet.

Her eyes settled on the desk in the corner…the one her father had occupied for so many years. She felt a tightness in her chest. Someone else’s things were on the surface, but she could still feel Abe’s presence, his calmness, and she knew she was doing the right thing. No one could stop her now. Not even Jonas’s attitude.

Glancing around, she spotted him at the window. “Could I speak with you?”

“No” was the quick answer, as he turned and went into his office.

Undaunted by the brisk manner, Abby followed. “We have to talk.”

“I can’t right now. I’m real busy.” His voice was abrupt and final.

She chewed on her lower lip. Immovable object. She now knew exactly what that meant. Well, she didn’t need Jonas Parker.

“I don’t want or need you to go. I can do this by myself.” She eyed him thoughtfully, as he shuffled papers on his desk. “I’m just wondering how he got you to change your mind. Last night you were vehemently against it. And today, just like that—” she snapped her fingers “—you agreed to go.”

He kept shuffling the papers as if she hadn’t spoken.

“Mr. Brewster has something on you, doesn’t he?”

He raised his head, his brown eyes so dark that she could feel their heat. “That’s why you take crap from him. That’s why you continue to stay under such unpleasant conditions.” She paused, then asked, “What does he have on you?”

Jonas picked up a clipboard and came around his desk. “As I said, I got work to do.” The words came out curt, and she knew she wasn’t going to get anything out of him…today. She would eventually, she vowed.

“I need the keys to the file room,” she said, before he could leave the room. “Mr. Brewster said you had them. I’m looking for Delores Alvarez’s family’s address.”

He walked back, opened a drawer, threw keys on the desk and pointed down a hall. “Second door on the right and it’s not air-conditioned.”

She picked up the keys. “Is that supposed to deter me?”

“A hurricane wouldn’t deter you, Ms. Duncan.”

So they were back to “Ms. Duncan.” It made her want to smack his face.

What was wrong with her? She’d wanted to smack Earl earlier and now she wanted to hit Jonas. That wasn’t her. She didn’t like hitting. Even when Kyle had hit her, she hadn’t hit him back. Because she’d never hit anyone in her life. So why the sudden urges? Urges! That’s all they were. Urges brought on by the trauma of her father’s death and her divorce. Did that make sense? No, nothing made sense to her these days—especially her interest in Jonas.

She favored men in tailored suits with manners and a sense of humor. Jonas was as far removed from that as one could get. He probably didn’t even own a suit, and his sense of humor was nonexistent. He did have good manners, though. Oh hell, she needed to get a grip.

Without a word, she turned and hurried to the file room. She looked at the key ring. There had to be twenty keys on it. Which one?

“It’s the third key,” said a familiar voice. She glanced over her shoulder and saw Jonas standing behind her with a chair in his hands. “You have to prop the door open with a chair. The lock is old, and if the door closes, you’ll lock yourself in.”

“Thank you kindly for the information and the chair,” she quipped sarcastically.

“No problem,” he snapped, and went into the warehouse.

For the next three hours she searched cabinet after cabinet, looking for the name Alvarez. She had never realized how many people had worked at Brewster Farms over the years—thousands, all dependent on Mr. Brewster for a living. Some workers were permanent legal workers, some seasonal, some migrant. Most were Mexican, and she suspected a lot were illegals. Every name imaginable was in the files. She found several Alvarezes, but no Delores. She grew tired and hungry and decided to go home for a while.

Jonas wasn’t in the office, so she locked the door and took the keys with her. She had a sandwich and iced tea, then wrote her mom a note saying not to wait up for her. Her mother was a schoolteacher and wouldn’t be home until later in the day.

When Abby arrived back at Brewster Farms, she saw Edna’s car at the mansion. That was one woman Abby planned to avoid. When Edna, Jules and Darby found out what she was doing, they were going to be furious. A long-lost daughter could ruin their plans for the future.

When she entered the office, Jonas wasn’t there. He must be working on the farm somewhere. Avoiding her, she decided, which she didn’t mind. She was sure he didn’t do the actual labor. He was the overseer who made sure all the vegetables and fruits were picked, packed and shipped on time. Again she wondered how he’d come to work for Mr. Brewster. He certainly didn’t want to talk about it. He’d made that painfully clear.

She unlocked the door, propped it open and went back to her task, quickly losing track of time. Workers in the warehouse were hooting and hollering. They must have finished loading the trucks, she thought idly. Then her eyes were suddenly glued to the name she’d been searching for. She had finally found Delores Alvarez’s file. Thank God. Excitement darted through her as she sat on the concrete floor and read through its contents. Now she had the address. Delores’s parents lived across the border in Nuevo Hope, Mexico. If they still lived there, it should be easy to locate them or someone who knew Delores. She could do this without too much of a problem.

She glanced at her watch and saw that it was almost seven o’clock. Time to go home. As she rose, she heard a click. She whirled in horror and stared at the closed door. She ran over and tried to open it. It was locked tight. No worry, she told herself, the keys were in her pocket. She withdrew them and noticed there was no keyhole on the inside. Damn! She beat on the door with her fist.

“Hey, I’m still in here. Hey. Is anybody out there? Help.”

Only silence met her frantic cry, and she sank to the floor. Don’t panic, she kept repeating to herself silently. Someone must have assumed she’d left. No one could see her sitting behind the cabinets. A simple mistake. That’s all. Someone would find her. She just had to wait. But she was so thirsty. She licked her dry lips as anger built inside her.

Maybe it hadn’t been a mistake. Had Jonas done this to scare her? No, he wouldn’t use that kind of tactic. He told her to her face how he felt and didn’t mince words. So who had locked her in? Where was everybody? She began to beat on the door again.

“Help. Help. Let me out of here.”

JONAS SAT in Mick’s Tavern downing Coke. He’d spent most of the afternoon in the sheriff’s office getting two of his workers out of jail. Lupe and Miguel were two young hotheads after the same girl. They had gotten into a fight and someone had called the sheriff. Jonas would have left their sorry asses in jail, but he had a crop to pick and he needed them. Besides, they were good boys, who’d simply let their raging hormones get the better of them.

They were eighteen and illegal. That’s why the sheriff had called Jonas instead of having them deported. The sheriff never interfered with anything that went on at Brewster Farms. A person working for Brewster only had to worry about Border Patrol and Immigration. Brewster didn’t have any control over those departments.

At least the afternoon’s activities had kept Jonas busy and away from Abigail Duncan. That was one obstinate, intuitive woman, and he wasn’t sure how he was going to handle the next couple of days. He’d given Brewster his word, so there was no way out. But Jonas had a bad feeling about the whole thing, and her prying didn’t help. The woman never knew when to stop. And that wasn’t the worst of it. He didn’t like the way she made him feel. She threatened the control he had worked hard to master. As long as he could stay away from her, everything was fine. But now…

“Drowning your sorrows in Coke, Jonas?” Mick asked as he took a seat.

“Just drowning my thirst.”

“You got a different kind of thirst.”

Jonas stared at him over the rim of his can. “You think you know me?”

“Sure do, my friend. I’ve known you since you were a kid, and I can tell you exactly what you’re thinking and feeling.”

Mick was right. He’d been Jonas’s only friend for a long time. “So what am I thinking and feeling?” Jonas asked slowly.

“Abigail Duncan has you all riled up. Ain’t seen you this troubled since—”

“Leave it alone, Mick.”

At the tone in Jonas’s voice, Mick shifted gears. “Brewster has a daughter? Ha.”

Jonas’s eyes narrowed. “Where did you hear that?” he asked sharply, then answered his own question. “Oh, yeah, you have a daughter and a sister-in-law who work in the hospital. If Brewster finds out they’re spreading rumors, they could lose their jobs.”

“But he won’t find out, will he, my friend?”

Jonas leaned across the table. “Tell them to keep their mouths shut.” He settled back in his chair. “Besides, I’m not sure the story is true.”

“You got doubts about Brewster?”

“Yep, and there ain’t a thing I can do about it.”

“What do you want to do?”

“Nothing” was his quick answer. “I don’t want anything to do with the damn situation, but Brewster is insisting that I go with her.”

“Ah.” Mick nodded, chewing thoughtfully on his cigar. “If Brewster is sending you, what does he need the Duncan woman for?”

Jonas twisted the Coke can. “It has to do with the memoirs she’s writing. Finding the long-lost daughter is going to be the big ending, and he wants her there to witness all the little details.”

“I see.” Mick nodded again. “And you’re going along as a bodyguard.”

“Something like that, but Ms. Duncan doesn’t want my help.”

“But you’ll go, anyway.”

“Yeah.” He swallowed some Coke. “I told Brewster I would.”

“It’s probably not a bad idea.” Mick rubbed his chin. “A woman alone in Mexico, poking her nose into family matters—it could get dangerous.”

Jonas knew that. Mexicans had a strong sense of family, and they didn’t like outsiders interfering.

Mick stood. “I gotta get back to work.” He patted Jonas on the shoulder. “Good luck, my friend.”

As Mick walked away, Jonas watched the activity in the bar. It was after nine and the place was filling up. Jim Colson, the bank president, was dancing with Teresa Gomez. Their bodies were welded together, and soon they’d be in one of Mick’s rooms upstairs. Jim had a wife and three kids, and Sunday morning he’d be on the front pew in church singing his praises to the Lord. Jonas, who’d never been part of a real family, didn’t understand a man who was willing to jeopardize everything he had.

Of course, no one ever breathed a word of Jim’s infidelities. His bank owned the mortgages on most of the homes and titles to most of the vehicles in this town. And Brewster owned the bank. For the first time, Jonas wondered if Brewster really had had an affair with a Mexican girl. It wasn’t outside the realm of possibility, he supposed.

Workers were piling into the bar to drink, dance and have a good time. It didn’t matter that they had to work tomorrow. They lived for the moment. Jonas thought that was a damn good idea. Maybe Jim had the right idea, too. Tomorrow was a crapshoot, anyway.

He stood and laid some bills on the table. “G’night Mick. It’s been a long day.”

“Jonas.”

Jonas fitted his hat on his head and glanced at Mick.

“Don’t be so down about this. You’ll spend time with a pretty woman and that ain’t bad. It’s the best way I know to get rid of those tight muscles.”

Jonas didn’t respond. He just walked outside to his truck. But he knew what Mick was suggesting. Dammit, he wasn’t listening to Mick.

When he reached the office, he saw her car parked in front. That crazy woman. She was still searching through the files. Well, she could search until the cows came home. He was going to bed. He headed for the outside staircase that led to his apartment over the warehouse. He had built it twelve years ago with Brewster’s approval. He’d gotten tired of sleeping on a cot in a storeroom.