Читать книгу To Love And Protect - Muriel Jensen - Страница 9

CHAPTER ONE

“I’M GOING TO wring her pretty ballerina neck,” Ben Palmer told himself as he drove from the airport in McAllen, Texas, to Querida, where his quarry lived. He studied the side of the road for the break in the dry brush he remembered from a couple of weeks ago when he and his brother, Jack, had been here together in search of Jack’s sister. He was glad Elizabeth Corazon Manning Ochoa wasn’t his sister—the little thief! As if her full name wasn’t enough to deal with, her given name was the Spanish word for heart. It should have been whatever the Spanish word was for trouble. “There it is.”

He turned right onto the narrow, bumpy lane, watching for the Rio Road sign. High weeds lined the path that led to the impoverished little two-block-long downtown. The side with city hall, the post office and the library, all built in traditional Spanish style with arches and red-tiled roofs, looked tidy and well-kept in contrast to the stores and services opposite them and the run-down bed-and-breakfast at the very end. Fall flowers lined the street on the city hall side but the commercial businesses looked as though they struggled to stay alive.

He slowed as he passed the Grill, the café where Corie waitressed. It was the only structure on the block that looked even mildly prosperous. He noticed that her black Ford truck was not in the parking lot. She must have the day off.

Remembering the directions to her home from the last visit, he turned onto Hidalgo Road just beyond downtown.

Two minutes later he pulled the SUV to a stop across from the little house she rented and saw immediately that her truck wasn’t there, either. Maybe she was at Teresa McGinnis’s foster home.

He drove to the property and pulled up to the chain-link fence. A crowd of children played in the front yard. Behind them stood the large hacienda-style home, its faded pink stone a picture of Old West glory.

He knew Corie spent much of her free time helping Teresa, who’d brought her here when she was twelve. He could see the backyard where Corie usually parked but the only vehicle there today was Teresa’s old dark blue Safari van. He hoped she knew where Corie was.

He parked then took a moment to stretch after climbing out of his rental car. The temperature was in the low seventies in this eastern reach of the Rio Grande Valley and he soaked up the sunshine while his usually active muscles protested the long confinement on the plane. When he’d left Oregon this morning it had been thirty-seven degrees. He told himself to relax but he was wound tighter than a spool of cable.

He pushed open the gate and walked up to the house, ignored by all the children but two boys he guessed to be about nine and ten. The younger one was short, sturdily built and appeared to be Hispanic, while the older, taller boy had shaggy, carrot-red hair and blue eyes. He was scrawny but smiling. The boys flanked Ben as he strode up the walk to the house.

“Who are you?” the older boy asked as he ran alongside Ben to keep up. He offered his hand. “I’m Soren.”

Ben stopped to shake hands. “Hi, Soren. I’m Ben.”

Soren indicated his friend. “This is Carlos.”

The boy shook Ben’s hand but didn’t smile. He pointed to three little boys playing with a tether ball. “Those are my brothers.”

“Hi, Carlos. Good to meet you.” Ben started toward the house. “Excuse me, guys. I came to see Teresa.”

Both boys stopped. Soren’s smile faded. “Are you from Corpus Christi?”

Ben stopped, too. “No. I’m from Oregon. Why? Are you expecting someone from Corpus Christi?” Cyrus Tyree of Corpus Christi, Teresa’s landlord, was part of the reason Ben was here.

“No, but somebody came from there and he made Teresa cry,” Soren said. He and Carlos exchanged an angry look. “We’re going to have to go.”

“Go?”

“Live somewhere else. We don’t want to. We want to stay right here.”

Suddenly they were surrounded by the other kids, girls and boys who looked younger than Soren and Carlos. One little girl held a large purse over her arm. Ben guessed they’d overheard the conversation about leaving. They ran along with Ben and his two new friends as they climbed the step to the broken-down veranda. He wished the kids would go back to their play. He liked kids as a rule. Many of his friends had them and he found them amazing. But this trip was about saving Jack’s sister, himself, Jack and his new bride from jail. He didn’t have time for the distraction of soulful eyes and needy little faces.

“Do we have to go now?” a little boy asked. He stood with the group of three Carlos had identified as his brothers. They looked remarkably alike.

Before Ben could reply, a pudgy little girl about eight in glossy black braids said authoritatively, “I think it’s against the law to make us go. Families get to stay together.”

“Oh, yeah?” Soren turned on her. “Where’s your dad?”

The little girl folded her arms, the question apparently compromising her confidence. She answered more quietly, “He’s coming to get me.”

“When, Rosie? You’ve been here six months. Families don’t always get to stay together.”

One of the little boys said, “Maybe he died. Our mom died.”

“He’s not dead!” Rosie’s voice cracked, her eyes a heartbreaking mixture of anger and sorrow. “He’s coming for me.”

Ben stood in the middle of the turbulent little group. He stretched both arms out, prepared to explain that he needed time to talk to Teresa. But the children crowded around him as though his open arms offered shelter. He was speechless for an instant.

“Ah, well...when families don’t get to stay together,” he heard himself say, “you can sometimes make your own family with friends. That happened to my brother, Jack. His mom had to go away for a long time, so he came to live with my parents and me. He’s part of our family now.”

“That’s being adopted,” Rosie said knowledgeably. “But my dad’s coming to get me, so I don’t want to get another family. I want to stay with Teresa until he comes.”

“The man said Teresa can’t stay here.” Carlos’s voice was gentle. If Soren was the leader of this group, Carlos was its chaplain. “We...”

The front door opened and Teresa stood there, a plump toddler in her arms. Roberto, Ben remembered, seemed permanently attached to her. As he had the last time Ben was here, the baby reached for him.

“Hey. You remember me.” He laughed and took the little guy from Teresa, flattered and distracted by his wide smile and eager reach.

“We’re staying right here for now,” Teresa told the children firmly. “And I don’t want anyone talking about going away until we know what’s going to happen.” She focused on one child, then the next, until she’d looked into each of their faces with the determination in hers. It was a matter of presence. As a cop, Ben knew all about that. You had to believe you were invincible so that whoever you were trying to convince believed it, too. She was good.

The kids looked at each other with clear suspicion, but they didn’t seem quite as worried anymore. Soren and Carlos, older and possibly more experienced in such situations, simply walked away, more in the spirit of doing as she asked rather than believing what she said.

Teresa refocused on Ben. She was average in height, in her forties, had short, rough-cut dark hair, wore little makeup and was blessed with good bone structure. The strong, caring woman inside showed through in her dark eyes and her warm smile, making her attractive.

“Ben,” she said, offering her free hand. “How are you? Corie tells me Jack got married and you and she stood up for him and his bride when you took her back with you for Thanksgiving.”

“He did.” Ben smiled at the memory of that morning while Roberto chewed on the collar of his shirt. “He was so happy that Corie was there. I don’t know if anyone else will ever understand how he’s longed to put his family back together.”

Teresa nodded. “I think I do. I deal with broken families on a daily basis. Would you like to come inside? You look angry under that smile and that worries me. Your being here has to have something to do with Corie.”

“Thank you. It does. Do you know where she is?” He didn’t want to bring up what he thought Corie had done. He was pretty sure Teresa didn’t know Corie had stolen Delia Tyree’s jewelry in the first place, much less sabotaged the return of the jewelry he and Jack had orchestrated. “Her truck isn’t at the restaurant or her home.”

“She went to get a tree,” Teresa said.

“A tree?”

“A Christmas tree.”

He frowned. “It’s still November.”

“It’s November 28 and this is a house filled with children. They’ve talked of nothing but Christmas since Halloween.” She laughed at his confusion then turned her head toward the back of the house and the sound of an engine. “There she is now, Ben. What did you want to see her about?”

“I just want to talk to her.” He followed Teresa through the house to the kitchen and the back door.

She stopped there and smiled inquisitively as she reclaimed the toddler. “Something that couldn’t be done by phone? Or email?”

The real answer to that was complicated, so he took the simple approach. “Yes,” he said.

“Okay. Well, if we can clear a path through the children, and you help us unload the tree, we’ll find a quiet place for you to talk.”

Every child who’d been playing in the front yard was now part of a shouting, excited crowd gathered at the back of Corie’s truck. From where Ben stood, it looked as though Jack’s sister had brought back a sequoia. Part of the tree stuck out past the lowered tailgate, a red flag attached, and the main body, branches swept upward, spilled over the sides. The children squealed in excitement.

Wondering how Corie intended to get the giant thing out, he started around Teresa to lend a hand. The tree had been loaded top-first onto a tarp, he noticed, so that its weight would be coming right at her. Corie made a broad gesture with both arms and shouted orders he couldn’t hear over the din of the children’s voices. They all backed out of the way.

She pushed up the long sleeves of her plain blue T-shirt and stood still for a moment, studying the tree. It occurred to him later that he should have acted then, but he was momentarily paralyzed by the sight of her small, shapely body and what seemed like a foot and a half of glossy black hair shifting sinuously, seductively, over her shoulder, thin bangs above a dark, thoughtful stare. Then she firmed her expressive mouth and reached for the tree.

She pulled hard and the tree slid toward her. As he hurried forward, hoping he wasn’t going to have to explain to Jack why he’d allowed his long-lost little sister to be crushed by a Christmas tree, he saw that Corie was using the tarp to move the tree. He gave her points for smarts, but strode toward her as she leaned it against the tailgate, suspecting she was still in danger. Was she really going to try to lift it?

Of course, she was. She leaned into the tree, wrapped her arms around it about a third of the way up from the bottom and pulled.

He shouted her name and picked up his pace.

As she tried to hold the tree upright, presumably so the children could see it better, she turned toward the sound of his voice. Both her arms were lost in the tree, which was much more than twice her height. Her eyes and mouth widened in complete surprise when she saw him.

She lost control of the tree.

* * *

AT THE SOUND of that male voice, Corie Ochoa’s hard-to-muster Christmas spirit seized and cramped. Ben Palmer? It couldn’t be.

In complete disbelief, she saw him coming toward her, picking up speed, six feet and a couple of inches of darkly gorgeous but self-righteous, self-satisfied male who disliked and distrusted her. What was he doing here? He...

And then she remembered she was holding a tree. A big one. She felt the weight of it push against her as that momentary distraction caused her to lose her grip. The weight of the tipping tree drove her backward and she struggled futilely to disentangle her arms.

She heard the children screaming as she and the tree went down. Just before she hit the grass, a steely grip on her arm yanked her sideways, pulling her body away from the trunk and probably her arm out of its socket. A branch thwacked her in the face.

Dislocated arm beats crushed sternum, she thought as she landed on her back on the lawn, buried beneath twelve feet of Leyland Spruce. And something else. Curiously the branches weren’t crushing her as much as she’d expected. Then she realized she was not alone in her bowery tomb. Ben Palmer was lying on top of her.

“Great,” she said, pushing on him. “You’re just what I need right now. Who sent you? The Grinch? The Ghost of Christmas Past?”

He didn’t reply.

She pushed again but the tree was heavy and so was he. “Ben! Would you please move?” she demanded. She wasn’t sure how he’d accomplish that, but she was sure he was as uncomfortable being body to body with her as she was with him.

He groaned.

“Ben?” she asked worriedly, then said his name louder when his reply was another groan. “Are you hurt?”

“Corie?” Teresa lay on her stomach, looking at Corie through the lacy pattern of needles and branches. “Are you all right? You got smacked by a branch and I think the trunk might have hit Ben hard.”

“I’m okay. I just can’t move,” Corie replied. “Call 9-1-1.”

“No.” The single word came firmly if a little quietly from Ben, followed by a small gasp of pain. “No. Just...give me a minute.”

Relieved to hear his voice, though the words he spoke usually annoyed her, she said, “I don’t have a minute, Ben. You weigh a ton. I think my stomach is coming out my ears.”

“I believe that’s physically impossible. But there seems to be a lot coming out of your mouth.”

There. Annoying. “Hey!” she complained.

“Relax. Maybe we can roll out of here.” He sighed and wrapped his arms around her. “You’re sure you’re okay?”

“Apart from the fact that I have twelve feet of tree on me and six feet of hateful man?”

He muttered something unintelligible then it felt as though he tried to boost himself off her and couldn’t. He tried again. No luck. It alarmed her that she was very aware of every muscle in his body pressed into every soft surface of hers.

“Don’t panic,” he said. “I can’t lift up, so we’re going sideways. Okay?”

“Please hurry. Before we start growing moss.”

“Keep your hands tucked in,” he said sharply. He cupped the back of her head in one of his hands, tucked her face into the hollow of his shoulder and, with a leg wrapped around hers, rolled them sideways.

Teresa and the older children pulled on them. Sweaty little hands grabbed her arm. Ben pushed her away from him. Suddenly she was on her knees, the sun on her face.

She reached toward Ben, who lay on his back, his chest moving comfortingly up and down, a broken branch of the tree still covering him. Corie dragged it away and she and Teresa pulled him clear.

Teresa put her hands to Ben’s face and looked him over feature by feature. “Oh, Ben. Can you see? Does your head hurt?”

His thick, blunt eyelashes rose up then down. “I’m fine.” He rolled over and stood carefully. When he straightened, he wobbled.

Corie put his arm around her shoulders and wrapped hers around his waist. “Easy. Don’t fall,” she pleaded, “or we’ll never get you up.”

“We could put him in the wheelbarrow,” Soren suggested helpfully, hovering around them. “Want me to get it?”

Ben smiled and Corie heard a low laugh escape him. “No, thanks. I can make it.”

With Teresa on his other side, they started for the house. “Just go slowly,” she instructed as though he were one of the children. “Let us share your weight. Boys, run and open the door and make sure the couch is clear.”

Let them share his weight. He felt like Gulliver being led away by the Lilliputians.

Ben let them lead him to the sofa but refused to lie down. As soon as he was seated Teresa headed for the kitchen. Ben ran a hand over his face to clear blurry eyes and looked up at Corie. “You’re sure you’re okay? There’s a bruise near your cheekbone.”

“I just carried you across the yard, didn’t I?”

He saw a hint of humor in her expression. He couldn’t stop an answering smile—until he remembered why he was here. But before he could raise the subject, Teresa returned with two wet washcloths. She placed one unceremoniously on his upturned face and the other she put against Corie’s cheek.

“That bruise might be from Ben’s shoulder,” she said, “when he went down on top of you. I’m sure the trunk missed you, but you got a branch in the face. I think you’re okay but... Ben? Are you? The trunk smacked right into you.”

“Yeah.” He held the cold cloth to his face one more minute then took it down. His back prickled and he shifted uncomfortably. “Apart from having needles down my shirt.”

“I’ll get you another shirt and wash that one for you. How’re you doing, Corie? Want a glass of water? A cup of tea?”

“I’m fine, thanks.”

Nine little bodies crowded around them as Teresa left the room again. Rosie held Roberto.

“Everything’s okay,” Corie told them. “I’m fine. Ben’s fine. You can go play.”

Carlos frowned and pointed outside. “But the tree.”

“We might have to leave hauling it in until tomorrow. I have to go to work pretty soon. We’ll get it up, don’t worry.”

Ben thought they looked more disappointed than worried.

“Why don’t you go keep an eye on it,” he told the children. “I’m coming out in a minute and I’d like you to help me bring it into the house. Does anybody know where the Christmas tree stand is?”

“I do.” Soren took off, Carlos and the other children right behind him.

The moment they were out of earshot, Corie sat beside him. “We’ll take care of the tree. Why are you here, anyway?” she asked sharply.

With a quick glance around to make sure no one had lingered, he replied quietly, “I want to talk to you about the jewelry you stole from Tyree. But I’d rather do it in private.”

She made a sound of disgust and stood. To think she’d saved his life. Well, actually, he’d gotten into trouble trying to save hers. Still—same old Ben. Suspicious. Judgmental. “Yeah, well, I don’t want to talk about it at all.”

“You don’t have a choice.”

“Everyone has a choice. You know what happened. You were there.” It was such an injustice that Jack had come in search of her after all those years on the very day she’d chosen to break into Cyrus Tyree’s house and steal the jewelry that could secure the future of Teresa’s foster home.

He stood beside her, a good head taller than she was. She looked right into his face so he wouldn’t think he could intimidate her with his size.

“I was, but something seems to have changed along the way,” he said. “I put the jewelry into a priority-mail box and sent it to Tyree. But, according to the news report on national television, what was delivered was not what I sent. Mrs. Tyree held up a handful of Mardi Gras beads for the camera. Not the diamonds, emeralds and gold that you stole and that I packed up and mailed back.” He folded his arms, biceps rounded under the thin cotton of his shirt. “How’d you do that?”

She felt such dislike for him at that moment she didn’t trust herself to remain in his presence. She started to walk away but he made the mistake of stopping her again.

* * *

BEN DODGED FISTS, fingernails, even feet as he caught her to him when she rounded on him like a cornered coyote.

“What about the security footage Tyree claims to have from that night?” He grabbed a flailing fist. “I’m guessing it’s just a matter of time before someone recognizes you then—by extension—Jack and Sarah and me.” He freed her hand and turned her so that her back was against him. He asked angrily in her ear, “You want to talk about that? Your war-hero brother’s reputation ruined because he tried to help his thieving little sister? Not to mention Sarah’s reputation and mine.”

And that was how Teresa found them; Corie flailing in his arms, her legs bicycling the air a foot off the floor.

Her expression changed as she approached them, a red sweatshirt in her hand. The warm, sweet-natured woman was now the wild coyote pup’s mother.

“Put her down,” she said.

He did.

To his complete surprise Corie explained. “I started it.” She combed her fingers through her tangled hair and spared him a quick, dark glance. “We’ll put the tree in the stand, then I have to get to work and he’s going back to Oregon.”

“I’m not going back to Oregon,” he corrected.

“Don’t you have a job? Aren’t you Beggar’s Bay’s most vigilant and disagreeable cop?”

He smiled blandly at her. “I am, but I’m on leave. Built-up vacation time.”

Teresa looked from one to the other, her expression grave. “What is this about?”

Unwilling to rat out Corie, Ben said nothing.

Corie waved both hands in a gesture that suggested it was difficult to explain. “It’s nothing for you to worry about.”

Teresa clearly didn’t believe her but finally handed Ben the shirt and said wryly, “That’s good, because I’m overextended on worry at the moment. Give me your shirt, Ben, and I’ll throw it in the wash. This one was Soren’s dad’s.”

Ben yanked his shirt off. The sleeve’s hem caught on his watch and Teresa reached up to help him then winced at something on his back.

Corie, looking away from a formidable six-pack of abs, walked around him to see what had caused such a reaction. A large bruise, already livid, ran from the middle of his back at an angle across his left shoulder.

Teresa touched it gingerly. “You pulled Corie away from the trunk, but it must have glanced off you. Does it hurt?”

He flexed the shoulder and hesitated just an instant. “Not much.”

She came around him to offer help with the sweatshirt then gasped again at the still livid scar Corie hadn’t noticed since she’d been trying hard not to look at his bare chest. It was on his left shoulder, an inch long and bright red.

He pulled on the sweatshirt. “I got shot,” he said when his head reappeared. “I’m fine. The bullet hit muscle. I had surgery. No big deal.”

Still angry, Corie had to admit that it was a desecration of such a perfect torso. She remembered what it had been like to have her body covered by his under the tree. She ignored the heat flushing her cheeks and reminded herself that she hated him despite his perfect chest and shoulders.

Soren and Carlos joined them breathlessly with a rusty stand that was far too small for the tree.

“That’ll never do,” Teresa said. “Corie, do you have time to go to Wolf’s Hardware for a bigger one before you go to work?”

Happy for an excuse to leave, Corie ran out to her truck.

* * *

BEN HAD THE most willing team he’d ever worked with. The biggest problem was that most of them were under four and half feet tall and had no sense of self-preservation. Teresa and the kids each grabbed a handful of tarp and helped him pull the tree as far as the back door.

“Okay, drop it,” he ordered, turning to see that everyone had complied.

Teresa smiled. “Usually, I have to do this by myself. Of course, I buy a six-foot tree, but this is Corie. She wants this Christmas to be special.” She didn’t explain, though the strain of the eviction threat showed in her face.

He put himself into the spirit Corie and Teresa were trying to create for the children. He’d flown out from Oregon to talk to Corie, but that was going to take a little longer than he’d imagined. So, if he had to wait for her, he may as well make himself useful.

He looked for Soren and Carlos. “Can you guys help Teresa clear a path for us inside?”

As the boys were shepherded indoors, he was left with the other seven children. They came closer and stared at him. The small girl in blue-striped shirt and shorts, tiny feet in too big flip-flops, that purse still over her arm, asked, “Are you Santa?”

Two of Carlos’s brothers scorned the question. “Santa’s fat!”

“He brings presents, not trees.”

The youngest boy stuck up for her and pointed at Ben. “He wears a red shirt.”

Ah. The loaner shirt had prompted the question.

“I’m Ben,” he said. “I’m a...friend of Corie’s.” Inaccurate but a good way to explain his presence to the children.

“So are we.” The little girl smiled that they had something in common. “She said Santa’s gonna come to see us. For sure, this time.”

Another girl maybe a year older in a similar striped shirt and shorts took a step forward. “He doesn’t always come,” she said as though it were a tough truth she’d accepted. “Sometimes he doesn’t have toys left.”

A third girl in the same uniform made a face. “Our mom doesn’t have a lot of money. She’s working so she can come and get us. Sometimes you have to help Santa pay for stuff.”

“You don’t have to buy presents,” Carlos’s younger brother Rigo said. “The elves make them.”

“They have to buy the stuff to make them with.”

“No, they don’t. It’s magic.”

“There’s no magic,” Rosie said in her know-it-all voice. “Santa comes if you’re good but not if you’re bad.”

Ben prayed for Teresa’s return, but she was busy. He was it.

“I think Santa loves all kids,” he said. “And if you do something wrong, he understands that we all mess up sometimes, and he gives you another chance.”

The middle girl in stripes asked hopefully, “You think so?”

“I do,” he replied with confidence.

Immersed in his deep discussion with the children, he missed Corie’s return and was surprised to find her standing behind Rosie when he glanced up. She held a Christmas tree stand in a very large box. Her midnight eyes looked into his.

“He’s right,” she said to the children without looking away from him. “Everybody gets another chance.”

He heard Teresa say, “Okay. We’ve cleared a path.” Ben was aware of the children climbing over the tree and going inside but he didn’t move, still ensnared by Corie’s gaze.

“Interesting that you know about the second-chance thing.” She spoke under her breath as she passed the stand to Teresa. “And yet you don’t apply it.”

“That,” he said, tearing his gaze away, “is because I’m not Santa.” He took a large step over the top branches, grabbed the tarp and yanked the tree inside.