by Maria Lima
"About what?” I asked.
Pete's gaze rose and met mine again. “Nothin’ that need concern y'all. I'll handle it."
I extended my senses a wee bit, enough to sense his outer energy, his aura for lack of a better word. Everyone had one, even vampires. A dark muddy brown-red-gray color surrounded him. Ugh. Disgusting. I stopped looking for more. Not a man I wanted to know better ... in any way at all.
Kevin looked at me, then back at Pete. “Fine. We'll go on then. Keira?"
Kevin's hand was out, motioning forward, as if to direct me. I wasn't about to go that easily. Something didn't sit right with me. The man they were holding back looked tired, run down. Not that the other two guys were spic-and-span; on the contrary, they'd obviously been working hard. Sweat stains on their shirts, dirt and mud streaked jeans spoke of the manual labor these guys did all day. Thing was, the little guy's shirt was nearly threadbare, his jeans cheap imitations of the other men's Levis and Wranglers. His face, though mostly unlined, was weathered and tired looking and didn't have the telltale hat line that the others had. He couldn't be older than in his early thirties, but his eyes looked a great deal older.
"Who is that man?” I stepped forward, intending to walk the few yards to the group. The two men hadn't let up their grip on the smaller one.
Pete spat another disgusting brown glob. This one landed far too close to my shoes for comfort. I was glad I had boots on.
"Sorry,” he said. “Didn't mean nothin'. Y'all don't need to worry ‘bout this guy. Some spick trespasser. Judge P don't like no strangers on his property."
A defiant glare met my own curious gaze.
"Okay, fine,” I said, ignoring the pejorative. “I'm sure he didn't mean anything by it. Why all the hubbub?"
Pete shrugged. “Workin’ a new horse. Didn't want her to spook."
I could buy this, except there wasn't a horse around, and though I couldn't be sure from this distance, the hoof marks inside the corral weren't fresh. In fact, I couldn't smell horse at all. If they'd been working a new horse, it hadn't been anytime today.
Kevin tried again. “Look, I've seen enough here. Why don't we go on back into town. We can go over the paperwork—"
"Yo, sis, ‘sup?” Tucker sauntered into view from behind the horse barn. His easy gait belied the question I could see in his eyes.
"Apparently, a trespasser,” I said, keeping my gaze on Pete's face. His expression didn't change, nor did his posture, but I saw a muscle in his cheek twitch—once. I'd never met this guy before a few minutes ago, but that was standard male-speak for “I'm tense".
"Huh.” My brother closed the distance, stooping over on the way and picking up a loose stick. “That happen often around here?” He asked, looking first at Pete and then at Kevin, who was standing as far away as he could from us without actually leaving. The broker was decidedly uncomfortable. He technically represented the Judge in this sale, but he also needed to play the congenial realtor with me, make sure that I was happy.
Tucker's stance was open, relaxed; his hands played with the stick as if he were bored. I knew better.
"Good question, bro,” I said and moved closer to him. “My friend wants a place for privacy,” I addressed Kevin. “If trespassers are common, well...” I let my voice trail off and watched Kevin's face blanch, then turn red.
"I'm sure—"
"Ain't had any before."
Pete's declaration overrode Kevin's hesitant answer.
"Ah.” I moved a little closer to the small group of cowboys. By this time, the other hands had left the barn and joined the party. Two other men joined the first two. None of them spoke a word. “So, how come this guy came here? After all, this isn't exactly the information highway. This piece of land is about as far from anywhere in this county that you're likely to get. Far as I know, there's not really anything that this is between. And he sure as hell doesn't look like an advance scout for a mall developer."
"Between?” I'd obviously confused Kevin.
"You know, between here and there ... or there and here. Whatever. This isn't a likely property for anyone traveling through to cross.” I was right. The reason I was here because it was the one place between the highway crossings and the Wild Moon. Shit.
I shot a glance at Tucker, who'd picked up on my unspoken thought.
He stepped closer to the group of men, towering over the group. He topped me by six inches, and the tallest of the men by at least a foot. They each were compact, tough sinewy cowboys, of the type that roamed Central and South Texas when this was Mexican land.
"So, you looking for the Wild Moon?” My brother asked the captive man.
"Perdoname,” the soft voice barely registered at first. “No comprendo, senor. No hablo Ingles."
Oh, bloody fucking hell. My Spanish was of the “una cerveza, por favor” and “La plume de ma tante” kind, semi-remembered lessons in Spanish and French mixed in with the everyday colloquialisms common in Central Texas. I couldn't actually speak the language. I don't think Tucker was any better at it than I was.
"Who can help translate?” I asked, looking around at the men. The ground suddenly became a great deal more fascinating than any of us, because to a man, including Pete, they dropped their gazes and stared intently dirtward.
"Kevin?"
"Sorry,” he said with a shrug. “I can barely order a beer.” As he spoke, his hand suddenly came up and started groping at the phone on his hip. He murmured an excuse and stepped aside to answer it.
"Perdoname, senorita, senor, busco a mi hermano.” The small man tried to step forward, but was blocked by one of the others.
"Callate!” The cowboy hissed at the trespasser, then tipped his hat toward me. “Sorry, ma'am. He don't—"
"I'll handle this.” Pete glared at the cowboy, who immediately looked back at the ground.
Okay, I'd had enough of this posturing. I started to speak, intending to tell the foreman exactly what I thought. “I'm thinking that you and your boys need to take this gentleman—"
"Hey, Keira, sorry to interrupt, but I have to get back.” Kevin's voice held apology, if not a little relief. I knew this whole exchange was killing him inside. The last thing a broker wants is some sort of dustup at a property he's showing. Especially with a jerk like Pete.
"What is it?” I kept my eye on the cowboys in the corral, their hands still on the small man's shoulder. None of them were moving, they stood still, waiting for some decision to be made.
"Got a double-911-star page from the Sheriff's office. All hands to report. Seems we got some missing kids."
"I'm sorry, what?” I turned to Kevin, who shrugged.
"I'm a volunteer fire fighter. Part of the job. Guess they're mounting a search."
Huh, that wasn't good. I nodded at Kevin, then shot a glance at Tucker who was staring at the men, as if trying to memorize their faces.
"Okay, fine, let's go. So, Pete, what are you going to do with this gentleman?"
Pete scowled at me, obviously not wanting to answer. Tucker glared back at him, his silence saying more than I was willing to say out loud. After all, even if I thought that Tucker and I could take all those guys, I wasn't about to advertise our special nature—not to these clowns, and especially not to Kevin.
"We'll take him outside the judge's property.” Pete spat out the words.
"Not good enough,” my brother growled.
"Where the hell d'you want me to take him, then? Give him a free ride back to Me-hee-co?” Pete spat again, this time, spewing out a brown globule of chewing tobacco. He was obviously angry, but not daring enough to stand up to Tucker.
"A humane person would take him into town and drop him at the café ... or even up to the bus stop up at the main town crossroads,” Tucker answered, his voice as neutral as Switzerland.
"We'll take Mr. Trespass into town,” I said, striding forward. “That'll get him out of your hair.” And answer a few questions for me, too, while we were at it.
Pet
e grabbed my arm as I stepped past him. “You can't do that."
"Why the hell not?” I yanked my arm out of his grip, impatient with all this crap.
"Yeah,” Tucker said. “Why the hell not?” He'd softened his voice even more. A small part of me wanted to see the asshole foreman stand up to Tucker and to see my brother go all hellhound on him.
The sane part of me wanted us to get out of there with that poor scared man. Whatever he wanted, we could figure it out, see if we could get it for him and make sure he had some money and bus fare to take him home. Then I'd make sure Adam not only fired Pete's ass, but I'd talk to the local landowners to make sure he didn't get another job anywhere around here. Whatever the trespasser had done, I was sure that it didn't warrant this kind of treatment. I figured this Pete probably treated most of the hands, exchange or not, pretty badly.
"He ... we'll ... I'm foreman here, and I'm supposed to take care of this stuff.” Pete straightened his spine at the last, a bantam rooster facing the wolf in the henhouse. I almost laughed as that description skipped through my brain.
"And you did.” Tucker side-stepped Pete and put his hand on the trespasser's shoulder. “Como se llama?” He smiled at the small man.
"Ignacio Robles.” The man smiled tentatively at Tucker, then lost the smile as he caught sight of Pete's face. The foreman's mouth was set in a grim line, jaw muscles jumping as if to an inner drumbeat.
"Senor Robles,” I said, “would you like to come with us?” I gestured as I spoke, trying to convey my meaning, pointing to him, to me and Tucker, to the parked truck.
The small man's face was confused at first and I repeated my gestures.
A smile broke over his face. “Si, si, senorita, muchas gracias."
"Great, then. Let's get Mr. Robles back to town, shall we?” I stepped to the other side of the man in question, flanking him. “Kevin?"
Kevin looked at us, then at Pete, then at the group of cowboys. I could see the uncertainty in his eyes.
"Shit, man, get your keys and let's go.” Tucker dropped his hand from Robles’ shoulder and strode forward. Kevin fumbled in his pocket and pulled out the keys, following my brother. I was close behind, keeping one hand on Mr. Robles’ back and one swinging loose. I didn't expect any of the other men to do anything, but I wanted to be sure I was ready if they did.
"Back at Bea's okay ... to get your car?” Kevin asked as he put the truck in gear. “I need to check in with Carlton."
"Perfect,” I said. If there was one person in town I could trust to translate, it was my best friend and café owner, Beatriz Ruiz. We'd known each other for most of our lives. Despite everything, she still put up with me.
Ignacio Robles looked like a harmless man, but we'd know soon enough if he had any business with the Wild Moon—valid or in.
CHAPTER FOUR
"...here ... come ... here..."
"Yo, sis.” My brother's voice boomed inside the truck. “We're here."
"What? Sorry.” I'd started out of my daydream and rubbed my eyes.
Tucker popped open the back door and slid out, motioning for Robles to follow him. I was a little slower on the uptake.
"Did you hear—no, never mind. I'm a little tired,” I said to Tucker. I'd heard that whispering again, same as earlier in the morning. I shook my head to clear the fog. I was tired from a great deal of things other than a lack of sleep, but I hadn't yet been able to talk to Tucker about any of it. We'd ridden into town together, but I'd wanted to wait until after the property visit to discuss what was bothering me. Now, it would be later rather than sooner. First I needed to deal with Mr. Robles.
"Thanks, Kevin,” I said, automatically opening the door.
"Yeah, sure.” He tugged at his shirt collar and turned a little in the seat. “Y'all sure you...” He motioned to the parking lot, where Tucker and Ignacio Robles stood waiting for me.
"Yeah, we'll be fine. If he's not a mass murderer or evil terrorist, I'll make sure he gets a square meal and a ride to somewhere less isolated.” I cracked a smile. Kevin didn't return it.
"He's probably illegal.” Kevin stated a bald fact. “You okay with that?"
"Yeah, well, he still has to eat,” I said. “I'm not going to pass judgment on him. Besides, my problem was never with the workers.” My problem was with the landowners that paid them a pittance, then hung them up to dry when their usefulness was over.
"Okay, your call,” he said. “So, what about the ranch? I'll fax you over a contract, if you like. We've got the number, right? I kind of need to...” He waved over towards the Sheriff's office, a few doors down from Bea's and already a buzzing hive of activity. At least five pickups and a couple of SUVs were parked along the walkway that joined the various storefronts. A dozen people were mingling outside, roadie cups of coffee or soda in one hand, cell phones in the other.
"The place is fine, I'm sure my friend will want to make an offer.” Unless of course, there was something going on there that wasn't immediately evident. “We'll be in touch. And, Kevin?"
"Yeah?"
I nodded towards the gathering crowd. “You all need help, we'll be inside the café, ‘k?"
He smiled and nodded back. “Yeah, I'll let Carlton know. Could be a false alarm. You know kids."
"Yeah,” I replied. I was lying. I didn't actually “know kids."
Kids in my clan were expected to take off and do stupid stuff ... taught them valuable lessons, my dad would say. Yeah, well. I doubted that lessons like how to stalk deer, gather weather, or hide from humans when you were shifted were on the agenda for whoever these kids were. It was probably nothing. I hoped.
I slid out of the truck, shut the door and waved as Kevin strode over to join the group.
It was still broad daylight. By my reckoning, it was about two-thirty in the afternoon. The sun was still way too high in the sky and the temperature too close to summer for my tastes. I wanted to be indoors, in the cool rock-walled underground bedroom, sleeping next to Adam, despite our argument. Instead, I'd agreed to go visit this ranch in the middle of my night and stirred up who knew what in the process. I was hoping that Ignacio Robles was nothing more than one of hundreds of illegal workers that swam the Rio Grande and hoofed their way hundreds of miles north to find work at the local ranches and that the kids were off doing stupid kid things.
* * * *
"Hey, m'hija, what's up? I rarely see you around here during the day anymore."
Bea came out of the back of the restaurant, smiling and wiping her hands on a dishtowel. She knew exactly why I'd stopped hanging out at the café. Good thing we were best friends, or I could take what she'd said the wrong way. That was one of the reasons we were still friends, she knew that my not being around didn't mean that I hated her. We'd been friends since she'd taken pity on the new kid in school.
"For that matter, I don't see you around either.” She poked a finger at my brother, who laughed.
"You, Ms. Ruiz, are a tease,” I said as Tucker laughed.
"You see all that commotion outside?” She gestured with the dishtowel as another pickup came roaring into the parking lot.
"Yeah,” I said. “I heard missing kids?"
"Not so much kids as teenagers. Four of them,” she said. “The Wentz twins, Brittany Martinez and Jimmy Stahl. Frances Wentz says Missy and Matthew went out three-wheeling early yesterday morning and they never came home last night.
"This seems awfully quick calling a bunch of sixteen- and seventeen-year-olds missing,” I said. “At least, to call in a search party, anyway. It's spring break, isn't it? It's been barely twenty-four hours since they left. Maybe the kids took off somewhere to party."
Bea shrugged. “No idea. I don't know exactly what's up. I heard somebody saying something about a phone call. Maybe one of them got hurt or something."
"Could be,” I said.
"So who's this?” Bea motioned to Ignacio, who stood next to Tucker. “Another stray?” Bea's tone echoed the curiosity in her face. She'd
gotten used to my bringing visiting cousins in to the café, before my branch of the clan scarpered to British Columbia. We hadn't gotten many familial visitors, of course, over the last couple of years. “This one doesn't look like your typical family member."
"He's not,” I said, motioning for Ignacio to take a seat at the nearest table. Not that there was a lack of table space. At this time of day, the place was barren of anyone but Bea.
It was a smallish place, cozy, comfortable and homey. Two round tables that could seat up to six sat to the left of the green Formica cash wrap. To the right, four booths lined the floor-to-ceiling windows. The door to the kitchen was directly behind the cash register. A giant pot of coffee steamed aromatically on a small table behind the counter, complementing the glass case full of homemade goodies, from pasteles made from her grandmother's family recipes, to an assortment of pies that Bea bought from Mrs. Tschirhart, a local Alsatian widow who loved to bake.
"So...” Bea gave me a sidelong glance as she poured sugar from a large jar into one of the tabletop containers.
"I'm guessing you want to know who he is.” I walked over to the coffeepot, still not exactly sure how to explain the whole afternoon.
"You're guessing right.” Bea wiped the sugar dispenser and set it down on the table. I heard the thump from where I was standing.
"Have a seat,” I said, brushing by her as I seated myself, passing a mug of coffee to Ignacio. The small man watched the two of us, saying nothing. So far, it was fairly likely that he'd not understood word one. A good thing, come to think of it, because not too flattering so far. Stray was the word for him, but I'd hate to tell him that.
"Damn, the coffee smells great. What is it?” Tucker grinned at Bea, all but batting his lashes.
"New blend,” Bea said, answering Tucker. “Hill Country. A little pecan, a little chocolate, some cinnamon. Here, forget the mug by mug thing. I'll bring us a pot.” She eyed Robles cautiously, but busied herself for a few minutes gathering coffeepot and cups. Tucker mimed drinking to Robles, he nodded, then mimed back a hand washing gesture. Tucker smiled and pointed to the dark green sign with the standard white stick figures. The door to both washrooms was located directly beneath the sign, to the left of the cash wrap.
