To Love and Protect

by Muriel Jensen

  “But I just brought you coffee. Doesn’t that deserve a reward? Come on. It’s 2:00 a.m.”

  “Teresa tells the children that we do nice things because we want to, not because we want something in return.” She firmed her expression, but this frivolous side of him was an interesting discovery.

  “Well, Teresa isn’t here. Can I see? Please? I was one of those kids who had a terrible time waiting for Christmas. Mom and Dad used to let me open a present every other day the last week as a sort of safety valve.”

  “Aren’t you embarrassed to admit that? The fact that at thirty-one you’re still behaving the same way?”

  “No.” He was firm in his lack of shame. “What is it? Is it a jacket like everyone else is getting?” He came closer. She could smell his subtle aftershave and the cedar fragrance that still clung to him after all those days of being around the play set. He smiled winningly. “Come on. Just a peek.”

  She rolled her eyes, more amused than impatient. “I’ll tell you what. I can’t let you see it, but you can feel it because I need your help to finish it.”

  He looked puzzled but hopeful. “Okay. How do we do that?”

  “You have to go back to the foot of the bed and turn toward the mirror.” She pointed to the full-length mirror on the back of her closet door. “Then close your eyes.”

  “You’re not going to hurt me are you?” he asked as he backed out of the narrow space her sewing machine occupied to the foot of the bed. “Because I know the old ‘close your eyes and I’ll give you a big surprise’ joke.”

  “Believe me, I’m tempted,” she said, still holding the jacket behind her. “But, no. Close your eyes.”

  He did. She asked him to extend his left arm and then slipped the sleeve of the jacket over it. Without being asked, he extended his right arm then reached backward so she could slide the other sleeve over it. Eyes still closed, he grabbed the sides and pulled the jacket into place, shrugging until it fit—perfectly.

  Excited that it looked even better than she’d imagined, she stepped in front of him to zip it up. Instructing him to “Stay right there, eyes closed,” she went to the sewing machine, where she’d left the turtleneck she’d cut off the sweater. She’d slit it down the front, intending to attach it to the collar.

  She turned back in shock to discover him, eyes wide open, looking at his reflection.

  “Ben!” she complained, smacking his arm.

  He didn’t seem to notice. He looked happy, amazed, delighted with his present. He stretched both arms and shrugged, assessing the garment’s flexibility in the shoulder. “Corie,” he said, his voice filled with awe as he continued to look at his reflection. “It’s great. Really. It’s so cool. I love it.”

  He turned and looked about to wrap her in his arms and crush her to him, but before she could be rattled by the gesture, he put her aside and looked in the mirror again. “I can’t believe how skilled you are at this, that someone in New York didn’t just make you stay, give you your own studio.”

  She laughed, enjoying his pleasure in her work. “Thank you, but the talent out there in fashion design is beyond anything you can imagine. I’m really small potatoes. But...”

  He seemed to hear something significant in her pause and turned to look at her. “But?”

  She showed him the soft, woolly band of fabric. “This is going to go inside the leather collar,” she said. She stood on the trunk at the foot of her bed, giving herself the height advantage so she could fit the wool around his neck without him having to bend.

  He stood still and asked again, “But what?”

  She liked this completely different perspective on him, his eyes slightly lower than hers so that he had to look up. His throat was warm, his chin a little stubbly. He put his hands to her waist to prevent her from falling. Her tripping pulse made her acutely aware that what was between them awaited action. “I’ve been thinking about going to school,” she admitted, doing her best to focus on the jacket. With the collar in place, she turned him toward the mirror. “How does that feel? Is it comfortable or just in the way?”

  He studied his reflection then caught hers over his shoulder and smiled warmly. “It’s great, Corie.”

  “The collar?”

  “School.” He tugged up a little on the wool and turned his head one way, then the other. “So is the collar. It’s very soft and it’ll be nice and warm.” He turned back to her, bracketed her waist in his hands and lifted her off the trunk. “You know I think you’re smart and gifted just as you are. And that you’d fit in anywhere if you let yourself.”

  She leaned into him, allowing herself the indulgence, and wrapped her arms around him. The leather jacket made him feel like a bear. He wrapped his arms around her and tightened his hold. Neither of them said anything. The moment didn’t need words.

  She imagined being able to walk into his embrace whenever she wanted and let herself reel out the fantasy. A home in Oregon, his detective agency under way, online classes for her. Starting a line of clothing to test the market, then one day going national.

  Children. Children who weren’t just on loan, but would forever be a part of her life.

  A pipe dream, but fun to indulge—at least for a minute. She finally brought her arms between them, wedged a little space and said wearily, regretfully, “I have to get some sleep. I’m glad you like the jacket.” She reached up to pull the loose fabric from around his neck. He caught her free hand and brought it to his lips.

  “Thank you for doing this for me.”

  She hitched a shoulder. “I put my ornament on the tree and look at it every day. So, you’re often on my mind.”

  He tipped her head up. “Do you really think it’s the ornament that makes you think about me?”

  Before she could answer, he lowered his head toward her. She raised her mouth to his, feeling every millisecond of anticipation until their lips met. She felt the connection lock into place. The kiss told her in no uncertain terms why he was on her mind. Because they would belong to each other if she could let it happen.

  He raised his head with obvious reluctance, pulled off the jacket and handed it to her. He kissed her one more time and then left the room, closing the door behind him.

  She turned off her light and, holding his jacket to her, lay on the bed, closed her eyes and gave her dreams full rein.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CORIE HAD NEVER seen the Grill looking so festive. She and Polly gathered with Hector and Abelia and their children to admire their work fifteen minutes before guests were due to arrive. They decorated every year, but with more holiday parties booked this year than ever before, Hector had gone all out. Or, his wife and children had.

  Wreaths had been fastened to the ceiling, fitted around the lights, with glass balls contributing sparkle. Garland, all around the room, was draped with icicles and red-pepper ornaments. Glitter-sprayed cacti decorated every table, each one on a red cloth.

  Mariachis dressed in dark blue stood in a corner at the back, setting up.

  The aromas of roasted corn on the cob, carne asada, frijoles á la charra with onions, garlic, tomatoes and jalapeño, and a spicy quinoa dish filled the room.

  Hector had dimmed the lights as they always did for dinner, but tonight the place came to life like the dining room at the North Pole—if cacti grew there.

  “It’s perfect,” Polly said. “I think the town should be very pleased with you.”

  “I hope so,” he said, wearing a chef’s coat and hat—a formality he seldom indulged. “All right. Let’s everyone get ready and put our best foot—and food—forward. Think of the tips.”

  Within an hour, music filled the space, conversation was deafening and everything and everyone sparkled. Abelia tended a bar set up for the occasion and Corie and Polly kept the appetizer trays filled.

 
When it was time to sit for dinner, Pimental stood at the front of the room and made a speech of welcome. He sounded like any other public servant, proud of the town, proud of its employees, proud of their work for the community. It was too bad, Corie thought, looking over the crowd, that it wasn’t sincere.

  Sukie sat in a far corner at a table with other administrative assistants, who listened attentively. Her eyes kept shifting to Pimental’s wife, a dark-haired, fortysomething woman in a sequined-silver dress, who occupied the chair beside him at the head table. She either didn’t know, or didn’t care, that he wasn’t faithful. Sukie’s expression was a mixture of sadness and resentment.

  At a smaller table near the front, Cyrus and Delia Tyree, in elegant holiday attire, sat with Bigelow, long divorced and without a date. His daughter and Chris Norton completed the table. She wondered why the Tyrees were here when this party was for employees. They might just be guests of the deputy mayor, or maybe they paid enough property taxes on their holdings in Querida to be welcome at any town function.

  Corie and Polly were busy pouring coffee and taking drink orders through dinner.

  At one point Tyree leaned across the table toward Chris in animated conversation. Delia, beside him, glanced back at the head table and a look passed between her and Pimental that spoke of shared intimacies. Fortunately for them, neither Mrs. Pimental nor Sukie noticed. Man with a death wish, Corie thought, stringing three women along.

  On one of her rounds with the coffeepot, Corie saw Pam Porter from the school district lean toward Pimental. In a not-so-quiet voice she said, “I’m surprised they’d have her serve us tonight when she assaulted you.”

  Corie stopped, coffeepot poised, recognizing the danger of the moment. It was so tempting...

  Pimental dismissed any concerns with a flick of his fingertips. He smiled up at her with angelic forgiveness. “I just had to make her understand that I love my wife. She leaves me alone now.”

  “Actually...” Corie began on a laugh, prepared to straighten everyone out on what had really happened. But then she looked around at all the happy guests, Hector flushed with their praise as he wandered from table to table. She couldn’t ruin the evening.

  With a dark look at Pimental, she turned away, seemingly unable to control the pot in its sideways tilt and spilling a very small stream of hot coffee in his lap.

  He gasped, quickly leaning backward and shifting in his seat. She headed to the kitchen, pretending she hadn’t noticed, pleased with herself.

  “Corie!” Abelia, taking more ice from the freezer, pushed her in the direction of the storage room. “Please get more swizzle sticks. I dropped a box on the floor.”

  “Sure.” The storage room was at the back of the building. Corie went deep into the long, narrow space since beverage supplies were kept at the back. She climbed onto a step stool to reach into a top shelf. The transom window was open to let cool air into the crowded restaurant and she stopped still when she heard the sound of Tyree’s voice in the gravel yard outside.

  “I don’t see what’s so hard about it,” he was saying. “I own the building and I don’t want her there. Get her out.”

  “I uphold the law, Mr. Tyree.” That was Bigelow.

  There was a scornful laugh. “No, you don’t. You do what Pimental tells you, and I told him I want her out.”

  “I meant,” Bigelow said carefully, temper in his voice, “that she has a lot of friends and if we throw her out just before Christmas—children and all—we’ll create a lot of bad publicity.”

  “It’s my house!”

  “She’s renting it. That makes it her house. And they know what they’re talking about. After my run-in with that cop from Oregon, I looked for loopholes, but there aren’t any. You can’t make her leave without following the steps.”

  “What’s the cop doing here, anyway?”

  “Came to see the Ochoa chick.”

  Chick? An improvement over the Ochoa brat—or not?

  “Girlfriend?”

  “I don’t know. Her brother is his brother.”

  “So he’s her brother.”

  “No.”

  There was a moment’s silence while even Querida’s criminal element dealt with the weird Palmer-Manning situation.

  “He was there when her house was broken into, according to Chris’s report. So maybe he is a boyfriend.”

  “Somebody broke into her house?”

  “Yeah. A week or so ago.”

  “Cyrus. Here you are.” A woman’s voice. Probably Delia Tyree. “Can we go now? The only good thing about this party is Hector’s food. The guests at our party are going to love it.”

  “You’re a snob, Delia.”

  “Thank you, dear. One of the perks of having a rich husband. I’ll be in the car.”

  Corie stepped off the stool and onto the counter, hiding behind a stack of boxes in case they went by the doorway to the storage room. Well, that was interesting. She could only conclude from the conversation that since Tyree hadn’t known her house had been broken into, he wasn’t responsible for leaving the necklace.

  Remembering her errand, she reached for the swizzle sticks at the back of the shelf and hurried to the kitchen.

  It was well-known that the problem with a good party was that no one ever wanted to leave. And that held true tonight. Music continued to play, guests moved the tables aside and began dancing. Hector was thrilled with the evening’s success. Corie found him and Abelia dancing in the kitchen when only a few guests remained.

  Well after midnight, she and Polly cleared tables and loaded the dishwasher. While it ran, Polly saw the last of the guests out and Corie collected the garbage to take out to the back.

  In the cool darkness, she headed for the collection of trash cans at the corner of the building. Music from inside drifted out and the night air was filled with the aromas from dinner and the sweet sage bushes at the park. She stuffed the bags inside the trash can, humming along with the music as she replaced the lid and turned to leave. She stopped abruptly, cold fear filling her chest. She stood face-to-face with Pimental in the dim light of the alley.

  She forced a serene expression. “Party’s inside,” she said, walking around him.

  He caught her arm in a biting grip and yanked her back. “I want to talk to you.”

  “Aren’t you afraid I’m going to seduce you?” she taunted then tried again to move away. His pincerlike grip held firm.

  “You’re going to encourage Teresa to take her little foster home elsewhere,” he said. He leaned over her for effect. She smelled alcohol and an acrid cologne. “I want her out of there by the new year.”

  She looked into his face without flinching. She was afraid, but her anger had the upper hand. “I’m sure Bigelow told you about his efforts to deliver an eviction notice. They didn’t work.”

  He tightened his grip. She was sure she felt her humerus crack. “Let me clarify,” he said, giving her a little shake. “I have a photo of the night you broke into the Tyrees’ and stole Delia’s jewelry.”

  Everything inside her froze. He was lying. He had to be. She hadn’t seen anyone else. Of course, she’d been a little busy at the time.

  “Really. Why haven’t you showed it to the police?”

  “As a collector of information, I use it in the ways it serves me best. You think you’re so much better than me, so it’s good to make you think twice about that.”

  “I am better than you!” she said with heartfelt sincerity. “I’d never use the people around me for my own advantage or hurt them so that I can feel superior.”

  He shook his head at her tirade. “I want Teresa’s house, Corie. You’re going to get it for me because the photo I have—” he paused for effect, his threatening expression turning into a lazy, ugly smile “—is of your brother disarming the ala
rm system.”

  For an instant she couldn’t get a breath. She thought back frantically. She’d been the one who’d disarmed the alarm, left it dangling in the doorway, but Jack might have touched it when he’d followed her into the house. Pimental was just trying to intimidate her into doing what he wanted.

  “You’ll help me, won’t you?”

  She wouldn’t help him if he was on fire and she had a hose. Unless there was a chance he could hurt Jack.

  She had to gulp for air. “I’m a pretty good photographer myself,” she countered with sudden inspiration. “I was taking pictures of the kids in their Halloween costumes one afternoon and got a photo of you and Delia Tyree in the trees behind the park.”

  Uncertainty shone in his eyes. She held his gaze, hoping to convince him of what she said. Actually, she’d seen them walking there and wondered what they were doing together. Then she’d seen that look pass between them tonight. “I’m sure Tyree would love to know that. Whatever deal you have going with him over Teresa’s house might not survive that.”

  His voice came out dark and threatening. “Corazon Ochoa, you’re going to regret the day you met me.”

  “That happened a long time ago, Mr. Pimental,” she said. She slapped his hand away, walked around him and went back inside.

  * * *

  BEN GUESSED SOMETHING was wrong the moment she got into his SUV. She smiled and handed him a crispy chocolate churro left over from the party, but he caught a glimpse of concern behind the smile.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  “It was a wonderful party,” she replied, the smile staying in place. “They even moved the tables to dance after dinner. Hector was a big hit.”

  “Great. But what happened to you?”

  Her eyes widened in innocence. “What do you mean?”

  Apparently this was going to take some time. He pulled away from the curb and started home. “Something’s upset you.”

  She leaned her head back against the rest. “I’m just tired. It was a really long evening.”