by June Faver
Beau fisted his hands at his waist and took a wide stance. “You mean you haven’t seen Josh since the shooting?”
“That’s for sure.” Pete nodded. “Josh was in the shed earlier that morning, but when we found that guy a-bleeding out back, Josh was nowhere to be found.” He jerked his head toward the rear of the building. “His car is still there. I know he wouldn’t just run away and leave his car behind.” Pete rubbed his eyes with both hands. “And he’s got money due come payday.”
The back door opened, and two big, burly men came stomping inside. They headed for the little counter where Pete kept the coffee urn filled. One of the men gave Pete a nod and then looked over the Garrett men before filling his thermos. The other man filled his thermos and popped the stopper in the top. “Yer outta java, Pete. I cleaned you out.”
“Okay,” Pete called after the retreating forms.
“You must make a mean cup of coffee, Pete,” Colton said.
Pete shrugged. “Vern always had me make coffee for the customers, but then the truckers found out it was here, and they started loading up.” He scratched his head thoughtfully. “I’m pretty sure Josh told ’em.”
“Does Josh have a gun?” Beau asked.
Pete shrugged. “Well, sure. Everyone around here has a gun. Don’t you?”
“Well, sure,” Colton said.
Big Jim made a scoffing sound. “Of course. We’ve all got guns—shotguns and rifles.”
“Scott was shot with a 9 mm. The doc recovered bullet fragments from his chest,” Beau pronounced. “So they’re looking for someone with a handgun—a Glock, maybe.”
“How the hell do you know this?” Big Jim’s voice boomed out.
“I asked the deputies who were standing guard.” Beau shrugged. “It seemed like the most direct way to get a straight answer.”
Big Jim frowned. “I hope the sheriff knows his deputies are giving out information.”
“Your friend Sheriff Rollins probably doesn’t know as much as his deputies.” Beau was aware that challenging his father, especially in public, was not a good idea. He sucked in a breath and tempered his tone. “I’m just worried about Dixie. This is her business, and there have been two violent acts committed right here by person or persons unknown. I don’t want her to be in danger, so, yes, I’m interested in finding out what happened.”
There was a moment when Beau’s intense blue eyes and Big Jim’s equally intense blue eyes were locked.
Colton slapped Beau on the shoulder. “Well, I don’t blame you, Bro. I wouldn’t want Leah anywhere around here until the crimes are solved…right, Dad?”
A muscle near Big Jim’s mouth twitched. “I suppose that’s reasonable. I’ll see what my ‘friend’ the sheriff will share with me.”
“Thanks, Dad.” Beau turned back to Pete. “Now, what can we do for you today?”
Pete appeared to be frozen in place, apparently not used to the spirited exchange between father and son. “Um, well, I suppose the best thing would be to check on the shed. I can’t really lift those big bags of feed that are out back. There are a couple of orders that need to be filled. Maybe if you fellows could line up the bags on the loading dock, I could manage to get them into the back of the customers’ trucks.”
“Sure, we can do that. Just show us what to do. Maybe if you called those folks to tell them they can pick up their orders, we might be able to load them for you.” Big Jim started for the back without waiting for the others, but they quickly fell into step. They traversed through the store, past the small animal enclosures and racks of flower and vegetable seeds, then outside and across the yard to the shed.
When all four men had climbed the stairs to the loading dock, Pete pointed out the large sacks of seed he needed moved to the edge of the dock.
“We’ll get you lined out, Pete,” Big Jim bellowed. “What’s up there?” He pointed to the loft at the far end of the building.
“We store some of the product up there. Things that aren’t usually ordered, but Vern had a couple of customers he ordered special for…and the big rolled bales of hay. There’s a conveyor belt up there to move them down to ground level.”
“That’s handy,” Big Jim said. “We’ll take care of everything.”
Pete seemed grateful to be escaping the Garretts’ company, retreating to the safety of the store.
“Okay, let’s get these bags shifted to the dock.” Beau and Colt grabbed the first of the bags, and they sidestepped out onto the loading dock.
“Hope it doesn’t rain,” Colt said, casting a glance at the clear blue sky.
“Not a chance,” Beau said. “But we can find a tarp around here somewhere.”
They returned to the shed and hauled the next bag out onto the loading dock while Big Jim wandered around the shed, poking into things. The two brothers stacked the bags into two areas, separating them into the two different orders. Just as they went inside to get the last of the bags, they heard Big Jim yell from above.
“What the hell? What are you doing there?” This was followed by the sound of a scuffle.
Beau and Colton lost no time in racing up the narrow metal staircase. When they reached the loft, they found Big Jim holding a small dark-haired woman by her shoulders.
She struggled to free herself, kicking at him and trying to bite his arms.
“Whoa! What you got there, Dad?” Beau grasped her from the back, earning himself a head butt to the chin and her bare feet kicking against his legs.
Big Jim glowered at the young woman. “Just hold on there, girl. What are you doing up here?”
“Hey, there’s more of ’em!” Colton shouted from behind the large bales. “Stop!”
Beau was amazed when his brother emerged from the hay holding two more young women by the arms.
Big Jim called the sheriff, and within minutes the sound of sirens could be heard but wound down to a wail outside the shed. Moments later, the sheriff and two deputies ran inside, calling out for Big Jim.
Big Jim leaned over the edge of the loft. “Up here, Sheriff. We got three suspicious characters who sure don’t belong here.”
The young woman in Beau’s arms went limp, tears streaming down her face. She began speaking to the other girls in Spanish. The younger girls broke into tears, wailing at the top of their lungs.
The sheriff came puffing and panting up the staircase, his face red and with beads of sweat gathered on his forehead. “Whatcha got there, Big Jim?” He stood bent over with his hands on his thighs, trying to catch his breath.
“We were trying to give Pete a hand with the loading dock when we found this bunch up here.” Big Jim pointed to a space behind the large hay bales. “They seem to have made a little hidey-hole back there.”
The three young women had collapsed down to the dusty, straw-covered wooden floor. They sniffled and wailed softly, seemingly resigned to their fate.
Sheriff Rollins, having recovered somewhat, mopped his brow before stuffing the sweaty handkerchief back in his pocket. “Do any of you girls speak English?”
This was met with silence and surly looks from the first young woman, who sent scathing glares all around before tossing her hair and sitting up straighter.
“Okay, if that’s how you gonna be…” The sheriff turned to his deputies and made a motion for them to move in. “Well, let’s show these girls the amenities of our finest jail cell.”
The girl Beau had helped subdue was trying to appear cool, but he could tell she was frightened. She was probably sixteen or seventeen. The other two were even younger. “Look, Sheriff, these girls are just kids.”
The deputies busied themselves applying handcuffs to all three young women, which set off a new round of high-pitched wails. They were hustled to their feet, and then the deputies led them down the stairway.
The older girl was last to go. She threw one final baleful glare at Big
Jim, and then her gaze lit on Beau. Her image remained seared in his brain long after they had left the loft.
Chapter 11
Big Jim parked his truck and led the way into Tio’s Mexican Restaurant. Two of his sons followed behind. They were grim and silent.
Big Jim removed his Stetson and hung it on a peg beside the entry. Beau and Colton followed his example.
“Good to see you, Mr. Garrett.” Milita Rios, the owner’s daughter, greeted them with a smile. “You want a table or a booth?”
“A table would be best, Milita. We need a little shoulder room.” Big Jim trailed behind her to a round table and took a seat facing the entry. Beau and Colton took a chair on either side.
Milita laid a menu in front of each man and departed, only to return a few moments later with three glasses of ice water. She noted the untouched menus and raised an eyebrow. “I take it you gentlemen know what you want.”
Big Jim raked his fingers through his thick silver hair. “Sure do. Bring us three of the Monterrey Platters and some sweet tea.”
Beau wasn’t sure he had an appetite for that much food, but he hadn’t the appetite to argue about it either. He passed his unopened menu to Milita, who collected them all and retreated to the kitchen. She returned quickly with a bowl of salsa and a tray of warm corn tortilla chips.
Other diners wandered in and were seated. In a short time, Milita brought their tea. She set the tall glasses down on paper coasters and then leaned back and crossed her arms over her chest. “It’s probably none of my business, but I’ve never, ever known three Garretts to be sitting around a table with glum faces and not talking to each other.” She gave each of them a searching look. “So, who’s going to tell me what’s going on? You know I’ll find out eventually.”
“Sit down,” Big Jim said, his voice gruff. When Milita slid into the chair across from him, he shook his head. “I’m not one to gossip, but you might be able to help.”
She leaned forward, gazing at him earnestly. “Of course, Mr. Garrett. I’ll help if I can.”
“You know the troubles at the feed store?”
She nodded. “I’ve heard about Mr. Moore getting killed and then some other guy who got shot there—and now Josh Miller is missing.” She glanced around. “People are saying he probably got killed too.”
A muscle near Big Jim’s mouth twitched, but he was silent.
Beau took a deep breath and jumped in. “We were at the store this morning, trying to help Pete, and we found three girls in the loft—three very young Hispanic girls who appear to speak no English.”
“In the shed behind the store?” Milita clasped her hands on the table. “You do know I speak fluent Spanish?”
Big Jim nodded. “That’s what I was thinking. Maybe you can help the sheriff out by having a chat with those young ladies.”
She looked around the restaurant. “Well, sure. After the lunch crowd is served, I can go over to the sheriff’s office. You can let him know.” She pushed back from the table and stood, smoothing her skirt. “Right now, I have customers to wait on.” She gave them a wink and went to work the room.
“Good idea, Dad,” Beau said. “And I thought you brought us here because it’s your favorite restaurant.”
Big Jim gave out a snort. “I can always eat Mexican food, but I did happen to think maybe Milita could help those girls.” A wry smile spread across his face. “Every once in a while the old man has a good idea.”
Milita came out of the kitchen balancing three platters and set them on the table. “Enjoy, gentlemen.”
“This was definitely a good idea,” Colton said as he picked up his fork.
Beau followed suit. Suddenly his appetite had returned.
* * *
At the hospital, Dixie and Roger learned that Scott had improved but was still not out of the woods. He had not regained consciousness.
Dr. Cami Ryan tried to convince them to go home. “Seriously, there is no point in you two hovering. This man needs to heal. His body has sustained a lot of trauma, but he’s a remarkably strong and fit person. I have hopes that he will bounce back, but do not disturb him.” She turned to Dixie. “I heard you have a little girl. You should be with her.”
Dixie nodded. “I’m sure you’re right, but my friend Roger needs me too.”
Roger straightened his shoulders. “No, she’s right. Go be with Ava. Don’t allow her to become more countrified. I’ll stay here with Scott.”
“But I—”
He patted her hand. “No, you’re a mother first. I’ll call you if there’s a change.”
Dixie finally agreed to leave but promised to bring Roger’s car back that evening.
Roger’s lips tightened. “Don’t let that cowboy drive my Audi.” He handed over the keys.
Dixie huffed out a sigh. “Roger, you’ve got to get over this grudge you have against Beau. Look at me. I’m happy…really happy.”
Roger gazed at her sadly. “I believe you are. I just can’t get over all the things Mamie told me about the Garretts and about your Beauregard in particular.” He shook his head, sadly. “You know I love you dearly and I’ll try to give him the benefit of the doubt.”
“That’s all I ask.” She smiled and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Don’t be such an old fusspot, Roger. I promise you’ll like my cowboy if you give him half a chance. He’s the real deal.”
Roger made a noise in his throat that sounded more like a growl than agreement. “I’ll call when there’s a change.”
* * *
After their meal, the restaurant crowd had thinned out. Big Jim had called the sheriff to let him know that Milita would be coming by to help him communicate with the three girls.
“Beau, why don’t you accompany Miss Rios to the sheriff’s office? Colton and I can hang out here for a while to pass out menus and ice water.”
Colton expelled a hearty laugh. “Seriously, Dad?”
“Seriously, Colt. We can handle this place for a while. Beau, you hustle up Milita and let me know what the sheriff has to say.” He unclipped his keys from his belt loop and passed them to Beau. “Take care of the young lady.”
Beau retrieved his hat and escorted Milita to his father’s truck.
She settled into the passenger seat, chuckling. “I never thought I would see the day when Big Jim Garrett would wait tables at my father’s restaurant.”
Beau started up the truck and slipped it into gear. “Aw, my dad is pretty versatile. He knows all about hard work, and he made sure we know it too.” It was two long blocks to the sheriff’s office, and he parked right in front.
When he and Milita entered the building, a deputy pointed them to the back.
“Come on in here,” the sheriff called. “I kept the three girls separated. It seemed like the older one was trying to shut the other two up. Y’know? Like she was bullying them.”
“How can I help you, Sheriff Rollins?” Milita gazed at him steadily.
“If you could find out what these girls were doing at the Moore shed, that would be a great thing.” He lifted the sheriff’s department cap from his head and scratched the top of his thinning hair. “They might be runnin’ away from somethin’ bad.” He asked one of the deputies to bring in the two younger girls. When the deputy ushered them into the large office, they appeared to be terrified, clinging to each other and wide-eyed.
Beau tried to blend into the background, squeezing into a corner.
Milita’s expression morphed from concern to a pleasant smile. “Buenas tardes, muchachas. Mi nombre es Milita Rios. Estoy aquí para ayudarles. ¿Están en problemas?”
The girls glanced at each other and then reached for Milita. They began babbling at the same time.
Milita’s brows drew together. “¿Dónde están sus padres?”
After a long, chaotic conversation, Milita gathered the girls in
an embrace. “Sheriff, these two girls are sisters. This is Sofia. She’s fourteen, and her sister Ana is only thirteen. They’re from Matamoros, just across the border from Brownsville. They’ve been kidnapped by Valentina, the older girl.”
The one named Sofia clasped Milita’s hand and began speaking, her voice drenched with emotion. “Ella nos engañó. Ella ofreció a llevarnos a casa, pero estábamos drogado.”
“She says that Valentina offered them a ride home, but they were drugged. These poor girls have no idea where they are.”
Beau leaned forward. “How did they get from Mexico all the way up here to north Texas? That’s a long way to travel without knowing where you’re going.”
The girls drew back, clinging to each other.
He stepped back, holding his hands up in a surrender gesture. “Tell them I’m not a bad guy.”
Milita conversed at length with the two girls, who vehemently shook their heads and gestured. When Milita leaned back in her chair, her expression was sad but composed. “These young girls were kidnapped by this Valentina and her boyfriend, who has a big truck. The girls were transported in the back of the truck and woke up inside, bound with duct tape. Then the three girls were unloaded here several days ago. They’re confused since they were drugged and in the back of the truck. Then they were taken up to the loft and heard what sounded like gunshots. Valentina told them they better stay quiet or they would be killed. So they have been huddled together. She told them that another truck would come to pick them up.” She shook her head, her lips pressed tightly together. “Can you imagine what these horrible people had planned for these young girls?”
Beau had a pretty good idea of the fate that awaited them had they not been rescued. “Just glad we found them, but can you ask them about the gunshots again? See if they remember any other details.”
Milita asked more questions. For the most part, the girls responded but shook their heads. She turned back to Beau. “They said when they heard two shots they stayed very quiet behind the bales of hay. They heard sirens and were afraid they would be discovered. Valentina told them stories of how badly the ICE agents treated young girls.”
