by Linda Warren
Her mother placed a glass of iced tea in front of Abby. She squeezed her eyes shut for a second to block out the image of Jonas’s rigidly masculine face, then took a quick swallow. Cool—soothing, just what she needed.
“Have you been with Jonas all this time?” Gail asked as she took a seat.
“Yes.” Abby looked directly at her.
“Abby—”
“Don’t start, Mom,” she cut in. “I’m old enough to make my own decisions about Jonas.”
“Yes, you are, sweetheart, but your emotions are so battered, I’m afraid you’ll do something you’ll regret.”
Abby took another sip. “I won’t regret doing anything with Jonas.” As she said the words, she realized that they were true. She didn’t know a lot about Jonas, but she knew he wouldn’t hurt her.
“Abby!” her mother said in shock, but Abby didn’t respond. Instead she asked a question.
“Did you know Jonas’s parents?”
“Oh my, yes. He was a mean drunk and she was a— Well, she had Jonas when she was sixteen and she wasn’t ready to be a mother. She left him with anyone who would keep him and went running around trying to have a good time. When her husband would find her, he’d beat her and take her back home. Finally one night he beat her to death. Those poor kids were caught in the middle.”
“It’s so sad. I don’t understand why the authorities didn’t do something.”
“This is Hope, Texas, sweetheart,” her mother reminded her. “Nothing gets done here. They couldn’t even keep Jonas in foster care.”
No, he’d lived a heart-wrenching existence on the street. He shouldn’t have had to live like that.
She shook her head. “How did Jonas start working for Mr. Brewster?”
Gail shrugged. “I’m not sure. That was when your grandmother was ill and I was away helping take care of her. I asked Abe about it, but he said only that Brewster had hired the Parker boy and was treating him like a slave. He never said anything else. Of course, your father wasn’t one to ask questions or listen to gossip.”
“I didn’t get that from him, did I?”
“No, you’ve always loved to ask questions. I think you get it from Sybil.”
“Oh, please, don’t tell me I’m like Aunt Sybil.”
Gail smiled and patted her hand. “Genes are something you can’t deny, sweetheart.”
The words had a chilling effect on Abby. Jonas believed the same thing. His father was bad so therefore he was, too. But that wasn’t true. She went to bed with that thought in her head. There had to be a way to convince him otherwise. The idea rattled her. Jonas was taking precedent over avenging her father.
She grabbed her pillow and held it close. Tomorrow she’d concentrate on Mr. Brewster and Delores Alvarez, but tonight she’d think about Jonas.
THE NEXT MORNING she called Holly and told her that Jonas was going with her to Mexico. Holly thought it was great. Abby didn’t mention the incident in the park. That was too personal to share just yet. She then called her editor and explained that she couldn’t return any earlier than planned.
Later, she went to the sheriff’s office to see if he’d found out anything about her car or the file room door. He hadn’t. Neither had he gotten around to questioning Edna, Jules or Darby. Abby got the feeling he wasn’t going to do a thing. Evidently she did not rank as a top priority. So much for the law in Hope, Texas.
Afterward she drove to the hospital to see Mr. Brewster. She found him sitting up in bed looking much better. He was still on oxygen, and machines were monitoring his heart, but he appeared to be his normal cranky self.
“Abigail, come in, come in,” he said when he saw her.
She walked closer to his bedside. “You seem better.”
“I ain’t dead yet. Disappointed a lot of people. But it’s just a matter of time—even I know that.”
Abby wasn’t sure. Mr. Brewster was the type of person who stared death in the eye and laughed. He seemed immune to pain and suffering; nothing touched him, not even the thought of dying. Well, maybe that wasn’t true. He didn’t want to die until he saw his daughter. That had to mean he had a heart in his body somewhere.
“Jonas told me what happened,” he said. “Are you all right?”
That concern in his voice startled her, then angered her. “No, I’m not all right,” she said heatedly. “It was awful being locked in that suffocating room, not to mention having my tires maliciously slashed. This is getting dangerous, but you can put an end to it right now.”
He frowned. “How can I do that?”
“By telling me about my father and forgetting about your daughter. She hasn’t wanted to see you in thirty years and she probably doesn’t want to see you now.”
He gave a gruff laugh. “That won’t work, Abigail. We have a deal.”
She didn’t have a ready response. She wanted to walk out the door and keep going, but her feet wouldn’t move. A force stronger than her kept her rooted to the spot. She would keep her word even though she was beginning to have doubts.
“Someone got nervous,” Mr. Brewster was saying. “Thought their inheritance was in jeopardy. But I can do whatever the hell I please with my money. I’ll make that very clear to everyone, so you don’t have to worry.”
“But I am worried,” she told him. “I hope you’re not using me for some sadistic reason of your own.”
“Ah.” He brushed away the thought with a wave of his hand. “You’ve been listening to Jonas.”
“Is he right?”
“No, he’s not right,” he bellowed. “Jonas thinks he knows me, but he doesn’t.”
“He probably knows you better than anyone.”
“Yeah, we’ve been together a long time.”
Silence.
Abby was stunned. Was that actually emotion for Jonas she’d heard in his voice? It couldn’t be. They were sworn enemies. That was one of the first things she’d learned when she’d come here. She had to dig deeper.
“You said you owned Jonas—”
“It’s a long story, Abigail, and it doesn’t concern you.”
That’s what Jonas had said, and she was getting tired of hearing it. She wanted answers.
“Oh, I think it does,” she informed him. “Suddenly I’m in the center of your life—somewhere I don’t want to be—so everything about you concerns me.”
“If you’re that curious, get Jonas to tell you.”
“I will.”
“Good luck. Getting anything out of Jonas is like pulling teeth.”
“Have you ever tried a little care and kindness?”
He lifted a shaggy eyebrow. “No, never entered my mind.”
“How did you get him to change his mind about going to Mexico?”
“Just turned the screws a little.”
“That means you have something on him, and it doesn’t bother you to use it when it suits you.”
He nodded. “When you get to be my age, you use everything at your disposal.”
She stepped closer to the bed. “So what do you have on him?”
“Abigail,” he grunted. “Don’t try to trick me. I’m a master at it.”
She’d just bet he was. A master at deception and deceit, too. People were pawns to him. Knowing that, why couldn’t she make herself walk out the door?
He broke into her thoughts. “I gave Jonas tomorrow and the next day off. So get this done quickly. I can’t afford to give him any more time than that.”
Abby’s eyes narrowed. “Doesn’t Jonas have any free time?”
“Whenever I say he can.”
“And he accepts that?”
“Hell, no. Jonas never accepts anything graciously. He gets mad and leaves every now and then, but he always comes back. I can count on it.”
“You sound very sure.”
“Yep, I am, so don’t be putting silly notions in his head.”
“Like what?’
“Like, well, you know. Just don’t do it. Jonas belongs here.”<
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She was taken aback. There was that note in his voice again—a note that said he cared, which was ludicrous because Mr. Brewster didn’t care about anyone.
“Why are you still standing there?” he barked. “Go find my daughter before my ticker gives out.”
“I will,” she replied calmly. “But you understand I can only do so much. If she doesn’t want to see you, I can’t force her.”
“The deal is, Abigail, you talk to Delores and tell her what I said. Whatever happens after that, I will accept.”
“Fine, then, we’re in agreement. I’ll see you in a few days, hopefully with your daughter.” She turned toward the door.
“Oh, you’ll find her. I have no doubt about that.”
She swung around. “Why are you so sure?”
“Money, Abigail. It will be the deciding factor.”
Abby frowned. “You want me to offer her money?”
“Of course not, but money to Delores is like sugar to a fly. It will draw her back, and I will get my wish.”
“You’re a cruel old man.”
He nodded. “So I’ve been told.”
Abby walked out of the room feeling again as if someone were pulling her strings. She was so absorbed in her own thoughts that she didn’t see Edna Kline until Edna called her name.
“Just a minute, missy, I want to talk to you.” Edna practically bounced after her. The big hat on her head wobbled with her agitated movements. When she reached Abby, she grabbed her by the arm and pushed her into a waiting room. “I warned you to stay away from Simon.”
Abby pulled her arm free. “I think you did more than warn me.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about locking me in the file room and slashing my tires.”
“Oh, please.” Edna bristled. “Jonas mentioned that, but believe me I’m not that juvenile.”
Abby stepped close to her. “Somebody is, so now I’m warning you. Stay away from me.” She moved toward the door, but Edna blocked her way.
“I can’t do that until you stop encouraging Simon. A daughter in Mexico?” She laughed caustically. “If he believes that, he must be getting a touch of Alzheimer’s. It’s ridiculous, and you’re not doing him any good by indulging his stupid fantasy.”
Abby watched the color fluctuate in Edna’s cheeks. “A daughter would really cut into your inheritance, wouldn’t she?”
“There isn’t a daughter,” Edna screeched.
“We’ll see,” Abby said and walked away.
“You’ll regret this,” Edna shouted after her, but Abby didn’t turn back.
ABBY WAITED THE REST of the day for Jonas to call, but he didn’t. She had dinner with her mom and waited. By seven, she’d had enough. She grabbed her purse and told her mother she was going out. Gail had a barrage of questions, but Abby didn’t answer any of them.
She headed straight for the warehouse. She had on jeans and a white knit top. Maybe she should have changed—but what for? she asked herself. Jonas wouldn’t notice.
She couldn’t believe he hadn’t called. He’d said he would, and Jonas always kept his word. Something had to be wrong.
As she drove up, she saw Juan standing by an old truck. She asked where Jonas was, and he pointed to the stairs on the side of the warehouse.
“Does he live there?” she asked.
“Sì,” Juan answered and got into his truck.
Up until that moment she’d had no idea where Jonas lived. She’d assumed he lived in a house. But where? She’d never gotten that far in her thinking. No wonder he was here all the time. He never left. Why did he put up with this? she wondered.
She climbed the stairs slowly, and found a solid wood door. It was ornately carved, and she knew it came from Mexico. Tentatively she tapped the brass knocker.
There was no answer. She heard soft music. That meant he had to be home. She tapped again. The music stopped and the door was yanked open. “Juan, if you—” Jonas paused when he saw her.
Abby’s breath caught in her throat. Jonas stood there in nothing but a towel. His hair was wet from the shower and there were droplets of water on his naked body.
“Abby.” Her name came out in a rush.
“Jonas, I’m sorry, I didn’t—”
“Come in. I’ll get some clothes on.” He disappeared from her sight.
She stepped into Jonas’s home and glanced around. There was a large living area and a kitchen. Cream-and-green Mexican tiles covered the floor. The walls were cream and the moldings were a delicately carved wood that set off the room. The beams on the ceiling were the same dark wood.
The furniture was hunter green and a large multicolored area rug enhanced the living area. On one wall was an entertainment center with a large TV. A picture of a little girl hung on another wall, and Abby walked over to study it. This had to be his sister. The only family he had.
Jonas returned in jeans and a T-shirt, no shoes and his wet hair slicked back. Clothes didn’t still the tingling in her stomach. Something in her reacted so strongly to him. It had happened the first time she’d met him, when he’d said “Howdy, ma’am” in that deep Texas drawl.
He strolled to the refrigerator and got a chilled bottle of water. “Want one?” he asked as he twisted off the cap.
“No, thanks,” she answered, and moved closer to the kitchen. The countertop was cream with a green border and the backsplash had fruit and vegetables painted on the tiles. Who had helped him decorate this apartment? she wondered. A woman? She couldn’t believe the jealousy that swirled through her. Jonas probably had more women than she could count, and his personal life had nothing to do with her. Not one little thing. Why couldn’t she believe that?
“I’m sorry I didn’t call, but I just finished for the day,” he was saying. “It was one of those days when if anything could go wrong, it did. One of the trucks wouldn’t start after we loaded it, and other trucks were waiting to pull in. I had to call Bernie to get it going. Tempers were getting a little heated. We had to work through lunch to make up the time.”
He was talking fast but he couldn’t stop. It was disconcerting having her in his home. He didn’t want her here.
“You haven’t had lunch or dinner?” she asked.
“Not yet.”
Without even thinking about it, she marched into the kitchen. “I’ll fix you dinner.”
“No, you don’t have—” He stopped when she opened the pantry as if she had known exactly where it was.
She pulled out spaghetti and sauce. “Do you have any hamburger meat?”
“It’s frozen.”
She noticed the built-in microwave over the cook-top. “No problem. I can defrost it in minutes.”
Jonas gave up and sat on the green leather bar stool, watching her move about his kitchen. Her blond hair was clipped behind her head and emphasized her beautiful green eyes. The jeans showed off her slim hips and legs. Her breasts were outlined by the white sleeveless top, and he remembered how they had felt last night against his chest.
As much as he didn’t want her here, having her in his home gave him a warm feeling. He liked the feeling a lot. Dammit all to hell, he liked it too much. With other women, he’d always been able to put the skids on when things got complicated. Why couldn’t he do that with Abby?
CHAPTER EIGHT
ABBY PREPARED THE SPAGHETTI in record time. There wasn’t anything to make a salad out of, but she found fresh broccoli. She steamed it and made a cheese sauce. When she finished, she placed the meal on the bar in front of him.
“Do you have any wine?” she asked.
“I don’t drink” came the response.
“Oh.” She was disconcerted for a second, then thought of something. “So why do you go to Mick’s?” The words came out before she could stop them, and when she saw the look on his face, she wished she could snatch them back.
“How do you know I go to Mick’s Tavern?” His voice was low and stiff.
She shrugg
ed. “I guess I heard it somewhere.”
“Last night you said you hadn’t heard any rumors about me.”
She didn’t want to lie to him, but she didn’t want to hurt his feelings, either. Debating between the two, she decided Jonas could take whatever she said. “I haven’t heard any rumors, although my mom told me, so I guess that is a rumor.”
“What did she say?” he asked quietly.
She took a deep breath. “That you hang out at Mick’s and probably use the services he offers.”
“I see,” he said, and picked up his fork. “I hate to disillusion your mom, but I don’t drink and I don’t pay for sex.” He seemed to be saying those words a lot these days.
And she’d bet he never had to, either.
“Well,” she said to hide her nervousness, “what would you like to drink?” She opened the refrigerator. “You have Coke and water.”
“Coke will be fine.”
Abby put ice in glasses and set a cola in front of him. She remembered seeing peanuts in the pantry, and she got a bag and sat beside him. She snacked on peanuts and drank Coke, while he ate his dinner.
A million questions were buzzing through Abby’s head, but she’d wait until after he’d had his meal. Later, they put the dishes in the dishwasher together, and Jonas picked up his Coke and peanuts and headed for the living room. She grabbed her drink and followed. He sat in the large oversize leather chair, while she sat on the sofa.
“Are you ready to go to Mexico tomorrow?” she asked.
He glanced at her. “I was hoping you’d change your mind.”
She met his look. “I’m not going to do that.”
“Not even after being locked in the file room?”
“No.” She twisted the glass in her hand. “Mr. Brewster thinks it was someone in his family, and he said he’d put a stop to it.”
“And you believe him?”
Her eyes shot to his. “You’re trying to talk me out of going, aren’t you?”
He didn’t say anything, and his silence angered her. “Fine.” She jumped to her feet. “I’ll go alone.” She moved toward the door.
He caught her before she reached it. “Good God, you’ve got a short fuse.”