On The Texas Border

by Linda Warren

  “Maybe,” she admitted tightly, and remembered Earl had told her almost the same thing. It used to take a lot to make her angry, but these days any little thing set her off. And there didn’t seem to be anything she could do about it. “I’m just getting tired of everyone trying to keep me from doing this.”

  He could see that nothing was going to stop her…absolutely nothing. “Come back and let’s talk.”

  She trailed behind him to the sofa and sat down.

  “We have to be very careful,” he said.

  “I realize that.”

  “I’m not sure that you do,” he replied. “You said you’ve been to Mexico many times. Where did you go?”

  “I once went with some friends to Matamoros for a weekend, and my friend Holly and I went to Cancún for a week. But my parents and I have shopped in Nuevo Hope ever since I can remember.”

  “That was as a tourist, and Mexicans welcome tourists with open arms. That’s how they survive. This will be different. You’ll be asking questions, poking your nose into private affairs. Mexico is a poor country, but the people are proud and rugged individuals and they don’t take kindly to foreigners asking personal questions. We don’t want to step on any toes.”

  “Sounds as if you know the people well.”

  “I’ve worked Mexican laborers for years, some legal, some not, and I’ve been to Mexico to meet some of their families. They’re proud of the ones that come here and are able to get a Green Card and work and make good money to send home. Others keep trying to come here and many lose their lives. But it doesn’t stop the illegal immigration because everyone wants a better way of life.”

  “I’m aware of all that.” She could see that Jonas was very passionate about the Mexicans and their plight.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to get carried away—but are you prepared for the heat, the dust, unpaved roads and the general poverty?”

  “As much as I can be.”

  “Good. We won’t need a tourist card to spend a day, and we’ll walk. It’s too much of a hassle to take a vehicle over there. The driving is horrendous, and there are basically no traffic rules.”

  “Walk?”

  “You got something against walking?”

  “No,” she replied shortly. “I assumed we’d be driving.”

  “We won’t,” he snapped. “From what I read in Delores’s file, her parents live just outside Nuevo Hope. Some streets are marked, some are not. With a little luck, her family shouldn’t be too hard to find.”

  “Then, we should be able to do this in the one day?”

  “Yes.”

  “By tomorrow night I could know why Mr. Brewster fired my father.”

  He watched the bright anticipation in her eyes for a moment, then said, “I’ve always learned to expect the unexpected.”

  She bit her lip. “You still think Mr. Brewster is up to something?”

  “Yeah, I do. I know him, Abby, and he doesn’t do anything without a reason.”

  “Then, why do you continue to work for him? He treats you terribly.” The words came out sharper than she had intended, but she wanted an answer to that question.

  “That’s my business,” he said woodenly, and got up to carry his glass into the kitchen. The subject was clearly off-limits, but that had never deterred her before.

  “I’d still like to know,” she said softly.

  Her voice did crazy things to his resolve. He could feel himself wanting to tell her, and that unnerved him. He never talked about the past, but maybe if he told her, she’d see Brewster in a new light. Maybe she’d give up this crazy plan to avenge her father. He was afraid, though. Afraid that she’d see him in a new light, too. A light that would send her running away from him forever—which could only be a good thing, he told himself. There was no room for her in his life. Hell, he didn’t have a life, so why was he even worrying about what she might think of him.

  He walked slowly back to the sofa and sat down again, propping his bare feet on the coffee table.

  Abby kicked off her shoes and curled her feet beneath her. “How long have you worked for Mr. Brewster?”

  Silence.

  “Jonas?” she prompted.

  Continued silence.

  She bit her lip, wondering how to get past that ironclad control. Just when she thought he wasn’t going to say a word, he spoke.

  “Twenty years, to be exact. I started when I was fifteen.”

  Fifteen! She remembered he’d said he lived on the street as a teenager. Could that mean…? “Did Mr. Brewster take you in?”

  “Something like that.”

  She wanted to shake him. Mr. Brewster was right. Getting anything out of Jonas was impossible. She inhaled deeply. “Well, did he take you in or not?”

  He looked at her. “You aren’t going to stop, are you?”

  “No,” she said. “You want me to believe that you’re a bad person, so tell me just how bad you are.”

  “Too bad for you, Abby,” he said softly.

  “I doubt that. I—”

  “You don’t know me.”

  “I know—”

  “I killed Brewster’s son.”

  Had she heard him correctly? Yes, she had. There was no mistaking those words. They hung between them, and she wanted to slap them away—but first she had to understand what they meant.

  “Mr. Brewster said his son was killed in an accident with drunk teenagers. Everyone died at the scene.”

  “Not everyone.”

  She swallowed. “What happened?”

  Jonas didn’t look at her. But the fact that her voice wasn’t filled with disgust or shock—just a desire to know—made him long to share the trauma that had changed his life. The accident and the events that followed were buried deep within him, in a place no one had ever touched…until now. Words surged to his throat, and he heard himself speaking.

  “The Justice of the Peace pronounced everyone dead at the scene, and that’s the story that went into all the papers. But when they got my body to the morgue, they discovered I was breathing. They rushed me to the hospital.”

  “So you were with the kids who crashed into Mr. Brewster’s son?”

  “Yes.”

  “Were you driving?”

  “No, I was only fifteen, but I hung out with guys who were older. Eddie, the driver, had souped up his 1975 Mustang, and he and his friends were cruising. They saw me and asked if I wanted to have some fun. They’d stolen some beer in McAllen and they were already pretty high. We drove to Alamo Creek and finished off the beer. Eddie decided to show us how fast the Mustang would go. We hit speeds over a hundred on Alamo Road. Then this white Jaguar came up behind us and tried to pass. Eddie wouldn’t let him. Finally Eddie allowed him to pull alongside us. It was Brewster’s son. Everyone knew who he was. He was cursing Eddie, and Eddie rammed his car. They did that back and forth for at least a mile, each cursing the other. The farther we went, the faster we went. Then a truck appeared from the opposite direction, and all I remember is the screech of tires, the crashing of metal and the screams…nightmarish screams.”

  Abby didn’t say anything. She was locked in that young boy’s world of terror.

  “I woke up in a hospital in pain and shock. No one expected me to live, and at times I didn’t want to live. I was so scared.” He stopped for a second. “I guess I was in the hospital about two weeks when Brewster came to see me. He didn’t say a word. He just stared at me and walked out. The sheriff had been to see me, too, and asked a lot of questions. I answered everything truthfully, and the sheriff said I was in a lot of trouble because Brewster wanted someone to pay.” He paused again. “Brewster came every day after that. He never spoke. He would just look at me and leave. Then one day he asked how I was feeling, and I told him better. He said that was good because I had to pay for his son’s death.”

  He drew a deep breath. “You asked me why I go to Mick’s Tavern. He was the only real friend I had back then. He gave me a place to sleep and food to ea
t when I was on the streets, and he and his wife came to visit me several times in the hospital. Mick told me that the sheriff and Brewster were after my hide, but there wasn’t a whole lot they could convict me of. I tried to believe that, but Brewster scared the hell out of me. When I was able to walk again, I kept waiting for the sheriff to take me away. Then one day Brewster came into my room and started talking about his son. He said he had been thirty-one years old and planning to get married. He was ready to settle down and manage Brewster Farms. Brewster added that I had taken everything away, everything that mattered to him, and he would make sure I’d never have a day’s peace. He’d already fired the families of the other boys who’d been in the car, so I knew he wasn’t bluffing.”

  Abby held her breath as she waited for his next words.

  “On his next visit, he told me I’d be leaving the hospital in a few days and I could either go to jail or work for him. I had no idea what he was talking about, but I didn’t have to wait long for him to explain. I had taken his son and now I would replace him. I would work for Brewster with no privileges until the day he died. That way he could keep an eye on me and make my life a living hell. Still, working at Brewster Farms seemed a whole lot better than being locked up. But in the days, weeks and months that followed, it became very clear that I’d sold my soul to the devil to stay out of jail.”

  Abby held a hand over her mouth to keep from gasping out loud. Finally, she understood why Jonas Parker stayed at Brewster Farm’s, why he took so much crap from Mr. Brewster. He was paying off a debt that wasn’t even his.

  “You could have left years ago, and Mr. Brewster couldn’t have done a thing,” she said into the stillness.

  “Yeah.” He leaned his head against the back of the sofa. “I realized that in my early twenties—probably the same time I realized I was an adult. But I didn’t go. I stayed. I just kept thinking about how much he’d lost. His wife died soon after the accident, and I felt I owed him. Besides, I’d given my word that I’d stay until he died.”

  So much more about Jonas became clear. Why he worked from sunup to sundown. Why he drove himself so hard. Why he was quiet and brooding at times. He’d survived through sheer grit and character. All the feelings she had for him culminated in that moment. Was this love? she wondered. No! It couldn’t be. She had only known him a few weeks. She was just feeling sympathetic—his story had touched her heart. As it would any woman’s.

  “Oh, Jonas,” she whispered.

  He turned his head to look at her. “It wasn’t so bad—well, the first year was, but after that things got better.”

  “What happened?”

  It was so easy to talk to her, and his words flowed freely. “Brewster had a storeroom cleaned out and a bed and dresser put in it. That was my home for the next few years. I worked in the fields from daybreak to dark, and Brewster didn’t pay me a dime. I didn’t complain. I felt I deserved it. Then Brewster made me go to night school and get my high-school diploma. I worked all day and went to school at night. When I graduated, he started to pay me a salary. I guess it was a test to see if I could stick it out. Later he sent me to college at night to take crop management and business courses. I’d always hated school, but I found myself wanting to learn more. Finally Brewster brought me in from the fields to the warehouse and then to the office.”

  “Did you ever think of running away?”

  “Lots of times, but I learned early that you can’t outrun the pain and that there’s a price to pay for the wrongs you do in this world.”

  “You didn’t do anything wrong.” She had to say it. “Oh yes, I did,” he answered quickly. “I’ve got bad blood in my veins. Liquor is what drove me back then. I stole it from Mick and anywhere else I could find it. When Eddie offered me free beer, I jumped at the chance and went along with whatever they wanted to do. That’s the type of person I was, and I have to fight every day not to become him again.”

  Unable to stop herself, Abby moved to wrap her arms around him. He stiffened immediately.

  “Abby.” The word came out as a low groan, but he made no effort to touch her.

  She held him tightly. “You are not bad,” she murmured. “And nothing you say is going to convince me of that.”

  JONAS WAS STRUGGLING not to touch her, not to turn his head and capture her lips. He should have known she wouldn’t react the way he’d wanted her to. She should be walking out the door, not torturing him. Damn, she felt so good, and the fragrant scent of her hair played hell with his control.

  “I…” Words failed him, as she kissed him below his ear. His head tilted toward the gesture, needing it more than he thought possible.

  “The sheriff was right the other day,” she whispered against his skin. “He admires the man you’ve become. Everyone does, me included. It took a lot of courage to turn your life around.”

  He was drowning in her words, going down so fast he had trouble breathing.

  She ran her hands through his hair. “Jonas.”

  “Hmm?”

  “Kiss me.”

  “Abby.”

  “Kiss me and mean it. Don’t hold anything back.”

  He turned his head, his lips inches from hers.

  Her hand trailed down to his chest. “Kiss me from here…your heart.”

  When she touched him, that organ—and others—sprang to life. Jonas reached up and removed the clip from her hair, and it fell to her shoulders. He cupped her face and gently took her lips. She quivered, and his mouth opened over hers in a slow languorous exploration.

  She moaned, and his hands traveled to her breasts. He tentatively touched them, then pulled her tight against him, breathing heavily into her hair.

  “Jonas,” she cried.

  “Shh.” He kissed her hair, struggling with his feelings. He wanted her, but when they made love, he didn’t want it to be out of some misguided sense of sympathy on her part. He wanted more from her, for her…for them both. He wanted… He couldn’t even say the word in his head. But he could feel his heart opening slowly, experiencing something that had to be…what? Love? Was this how real love felt? When you wanted to be with someone totally and completely, sharing secrets and emotions you never dared to share with anyone else? Was love thinking of her more than you thought of yourself? He shook his head, not wanting to dig any deeper into his emotions.

  “Have you ever ridden a motorcycle?” he asked, to turn his mind to other things.

  She drew back and gazed into his darkened eyes. “No.”

  “Would you like to?”

  “Depends.”

  “On what?”

  “If I have to ride it alone.”

  A grin touched his face. “Most definitely not.”

  “Then, yes, I’d love to ride with you.”

  The way she said it curled his stomach into a warm ball, and he gently disengaged his body from hers. “My Harley’s in the warehouse. Let me get my boots on.”

  Abby wrapped her arms around her stomach as he disappeared into the bedroom, missing his warmth, his strength. She knew that this time he’d stopped kissing her not because he wanted to, but because he’d had to. They weren’t ready to take that big step, even though her body said otherwise. This wasn’t about physical gratification. It was about something much deeper. Something worth waiting for.

  Jonas returned wearing his boots and carrying two helmets. “Come on,” he said eagerly. “Let’s hit the highway.”

  She slipped into her shoes and quickly followed him out the door. In the warehouse, he removed a cover from a black-and-silver motorcycle. Abby didn’t know anything about motorcycles, but two things registered—big and expensive.

  “Shouldn’t we have leather jackets or something?”

  He grinned as he swung his leg over the seat and started the engine. The sound was deafening in the warehouse. He nodded to her, and she put on the helmet and climbed up behind him. He flipped on the lights and gassed the motor. Her arms tightened around his waist. They rolled out of the war
ehouse and soon were flying down the highway into Hope. The wind cooled her body, and the darkness of the night enveloped them…just her and Jonas.

  The streets were almost empty at this hour. The thought crossed her mind that if anyone saw her with Jonas, it would be all over town by tomorrow. She didn’t care. She hadn’t been this happy in a long time.

  Twenty minutes later, they were back in the warehouse. Abby jumped off and removed her helmet. “That was wonderful. It’s like flying and feeling free and…oh, I don’t know, but it was great.”

  Jonas smiled at her, got off, adjusted the kickstand and carefully covered the motorcycle.

  They walked out into the warm September night. “I don’t think you’d better come up,” he said quietly.

  She didn’t have to ask why. They had a big day tomorrow and they both had to have clear heads. Tomorrow. She had to concentrate on what that meant for her. It wasn’t easy when she could still feel Jonas’s lips on hers.

  “What time should we leave in the morning?” she asked as she made her way to her car.

  “I’ll pick you up at eight,” he replied.

  “Okay.” She turned to face him. “I’ll see you then.” She made herself get into her car. “Thank you, Jonas.”

  “You’re welcome,” he answered.

  You’re very welcome ran through his mind as he strolled to the stairs.

  Inside his apartment, he sat on the sofa and felt something beneath his hand. He picked it up. Her hair clip. He twirled it between his fingers, feeling her presence, her scent, and hoped he was doing the right thing…for Abby.

  CHAPTER NINE

  THE NEXT MORNING Abby was up early. She hadn’t slept much. Thoughts of Jonas had kept her tossing and turning. When she finally dozed, her dreams were troubled ones of her father, Jonas, Mr. Brewster and the impending trip to Mexico.

  She made her way to the kitchen for coffee. Her mother was already there, dressed and ready for work. She eyed Abby’s tousled hair and short nightgown.

  “You were out late last night, Abigail.”

  Abby poured a cup of coffee. “I was with Jonas. We were making plans to go to Mexico.”