by Linda Style
A lump formed in her throat and suddenly tears welled up. “I was so scared I wouldn’t find her,” she admitted, and the tears began to roll unchecked down her cheeks.
“Hey.” He pulled her into his arms. “But you did and everything’s fine.”
Suddenly, as if she had no control, her tears evolved into great huge sobs that came from deep inside. She couldn’t make them stop. “Everything isn’t fine,” she cried, gulping air.
He held her closer, patting her back and stroking her hair, his moves tentative, as if he wasn’t sure what to do. He was murmuring soothing words, but that just made her sob even harder.
She pulled away and sputtered, “It’s n-not fine, because I lost her. And you could’ve lost this place, and it would’ve been my fault.”
He held her at arm’s length, incredulity in his eyes. “But it didn’t happen. You didn’t lose her. And the reason you didn’t was because you wouldn’t quit. Look at you. You’re all cuts and bruises and you still didn’t quit. Not many people would’ve kept going like that. I wouldn’t have. I wish I had half your determination.”
She rubbed her sleeve across her cheeks. “You do?”
He nodded. “I do. I admire that trait a lot.”
Tears started to run again. “I feel like a broken faucet.” She wiped her eyes again with her sleeve.
He admired her. He wished he had her determination. Her heart swelled.
“Maybe you should get a little rest,” he said as he reached behind her to plump up her pillow. She leaned back against it.
“Can you stay with me for a little while?”
“Sure.” And he leaned back against the pillow beside her.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
J.D. HAD LEFT her room somewhere in the wee hours of the morning. Now she stretched like a lazy cat, remembering how nice it had felt to fall asleep with him next to her.
Nice for her, anyway.
Lord. What must he think? She knew what he’d said, but did he mean it? Or was he just trying to calm her down, make her feel better?
Somewhere inside, she didn’t believe that was the case. He’d seemed sincere, and he’d stayed there with her, cradling her in his arms until she fell asleep.
She wanted to feel good about that, but instead she felt needy and dependent. Maybe he thought she was pathetic. Here it was almost noon, and she was still in bed.
She got up, dressed and went to the kitchen. J.D. had removed all the doors and hinges from the cabinets and had somehow gotten the supplies she’d had on her list. Stripper, rags, sandpaper, chisel, turpentine, and a small tool kit sat on the counter near another covered tray. A yellow sticky note was stuck on top and it had her name on it in J.D.’s bold handwriting. Smiling to herself, she lifted the cover. A cellophane-wrapped sandwich, a small bag of chips and a pickle.
Still smiling, Maddy poured herself a cup of coffee that smelled as if it had been brewing all morning and sat down to eat.
After that, she went to the kennel and gave Zelda her food and antibiotics, and then stayed to play with her for a while. Zelda seemed her old self and reveled in the company. Maddy had been right. Zelda was lonely.
The rest of the day flew by, and after dinner Maddy went to the old bunkhouse to set up shop for her new students. Filled with a mixture of excitement and trepidation, she took stock of her supplies. What else did she need? Tablets? Pens? She had all those. What was she missing?
Could she even do this? She’d been comfortable teaching Juana and Carlos, but how would she be with more people in the room? Some of Mariela’s children might be too young to learn because they couldn’t talk yet, but Maddy had told her to bring them along anyway. Mariela was a widow and had no one but Juana to help her. If she didn’t have anyone to watch the children, she might not come.
Then there was Benito. Would he come?
He’d said he’d try it, but that was before he’d run off. And today, when she’d gone to talk with him, he’d disappeared, even though he’d been right there the minute before. J.D. had assured her he was okay and that he’d be in class tonight. She wasn’t so sure.
“Need help?”
Maddy looked up. J.D. walked toward her, his long-legged strides purposeful, his thighs powerful. The man made her stomach flutter and her heart skip a beat. “No. I think I’m okay. I don’t know how comfortable the benches will be for small children, though.”
His forehead furrowed. “Small children?” He glanced at the seating arrangement—two long picnic tables with attached benches that Carlos had brought in from the yard, and the extra chairs and table from before. “Benito should be fine with what’s there.”
“No, not Benito. I was talking about Mariela’s children.”
Surprise registered in his eyes.
“Oh, dear. With so much going on, I guess I forgot to tell you that I invited Mariela and her children to attend the class.”
“Is there anything else that slipped your mind?”
“No.”
He was quiet for a moment, then said, “Make sure you close everything up tight when you’re done. And shut off the lights.”
Well, that threw her. She’d expected a protest. She was almost afraid to say anything. “It’s okay with you, then?”
He shrugged and turned to go. “It’s your class. I guess you know what you can handle and what you can’t.”
She didn’t. Not at all. Only he didn’t need to know that. Hands clasped behind her, she rocked back on her heels. “Right. It’s going to be a lot of fun.”
Carlos entered the building; Juana and her sister and family not far behind. Maddy checked her watch. “It’s almost time.”
“Yeah, and I’m leaving.”
“You can stay, you know.”
“You think I need English lessons?”
“No,” she said, smiling. “But you’re still welcome to stay.”
His gaze softened. “I’ve got other things to do. How about a rain check?”
She smiled. “Anytime.”
As he walked away, he pointed a finger at her and clicked his tongue. “Later, kiddo.”
Kiddo. She smiled. Petunia. He had lots of pet names for her, it seemed, and that made her feel…what? It made her feel good. Special. That was it. It made her feel that he liked her.
She gathered up papers and went to the table to sort out her work sheets. There were different ESL teaching methods, but since she wanted to do the most with the short time she had, she’d picked immersion with some support in their native language, hoping she’d teach them enough English to function in the U.S.
“Señorita Inglewood?”
Maddy swung around. “Yes, Carlos.”
Carlos tipped his head toward the door. Benito was headed inside, and he was carrying some long cushions.
For the benches. So the children would be more comfortable. Special. Yes, she felt special indeed.
NO MATTER HOW APPEALING it might be to sit in on Maddy’s class and watch her teach, J.D. had more important things to do.
He opened the glass door to the gun cabinet, lifted the 12-gauge from its slot and then went outside. He lodged the rifle in the back window of his truck and within five minutes he was driving down the bumpy, dusty back road to El Camino del Diablo, the route most used by illegals entering the country.
El Camino del Diablo. The Road of the Devil. Or the more popular term, the Devil’s Highway—a hundred-and-thirty-mile stretch of the most desolate, inhospitable terrain in the nation. An arid dusky landscape where rugged, waterless mountain ranges blocked direct travel, where temperatures soared to a hundred and twenty degrees and dozens of stone crosses gave testament to those who’d paid the ultimate price in search of a better life.
Thirst and blast-furnace heat weren’t the only enemies on El Camino. Windstorms, bandits and drug smugglers compounded the problems.
When he reached the furthermost point of the ranch, the sun had slipped below the distant mountains and the sky glowed pink on the horizon. He
got out, pulled down the tailgate and made a ramp with a heavy board. Then he rolled one of the barrels from his truck.
He unhitched the chain securing the empty barrel to a concrete slab and secured the new one in its place. Then he rolled the empty one into his truck, wondering how long it had been empty. Maybe two weeks was too long between fillings. He climbed into the truck and he drove another ten miles and unloaded the second barrel and then another ten miles for the third. He left his truck lights on to see, and as he rolled down the last one, he noticed the keg he’d left before was missing.
Whoever had taken it had to have had a vehicle. He got his flashlight and looked for signs, tire tracks, brushed-over footprints, drag marks.
Just then, a low gravelly voice came from an arroyo behind him. “Well, well, fancy meeting you out here, Rivera. I should’ve guessed you’d be involved.”
J.D. swung all the way around. Sheriff Collier was standing behind him with four men at his side. All four had clothes drenched with sweat, mouths caked with trail dust, lips cracked from dehydration. Some looked as if they could barely stand, yet they were handcuffed together like a chain gang. The sheriff must’ve lain in wait for the men to come for water.
“Involved in what?” J.D. shone his flashlight around and saw the sheriff’s truck hidden in a wash behind a large paloverde tree. In the back was the missing barrel.
“You and your bleeding-heart groups can drop all the water you want, but it isn’t going to change anything. We seized nearly two hundred thousand pounds of marijuana and eighteen hundred pounds of cocaine from smugglers last year. You’re not helping anyone, Rivera. You’re aiding and abetting.”
“It’ll help them.” He nodded to the men. The “bleeding hearts” the sheriff had mentioned was Humane Borders, a Tucson-based group that had set up more than twenty water stations in the desert to reduce the number of deaths. But J.D.’s reason for doing this was personal. A little water would’ve saved his father’s life.
“They’ll get what they need when I bring them in.”
“Doesn’t look like they’ll make it without water, Sheriff.” J.D. walked to the barrel, took the cup that was chained to it and filled it to the brim.
The sheriff didn’t move, but one of the men lurched forward and the others stumbled along. He held the cup out and the first man grabbed it and drank in huge gulps. “Gracias, señor,” he said when he’d finished, a resigned acceptance in his eyes. J.D. had seen that look before—in his father’s eyes right before he died. And in his dreams, J.D. saw it in his partner’s eyes. He’d been responsible. Both times.
“De nada.” He filled the cup again and gave it to the next man, and the next, and all the while, the sheriff stood there, his hands clenched at his sides and his body tense with rage.
When the last man finished, J.D. said, “I’ll be more than happy to help you take these guys in, Sheriff.”
The sheriff’s mouth twisted. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll butt out and mind your own business.”
“Well, y’know, I’ve never really been good at judging what’s good for me, so I think I’ll follow you in, anyway. Just in case you need a little help with these guys.” But more to make sure the men reached their destination in one piece.
Sometimes coyotes or other unscrupulous individuals paid a person’s fee to cross over, and the “clients” were then placed into servitude until the debt was paid. Modern-day slavery. J.D. figured some big businesses in the area were involved, and he hoped to someday catch them in the act. But failing that, if he followed the sheriff to the border station, at least he’d know that all of these men would go back where they belonged.
“You interfering with my job?”
He shrugged. “Public road, Sheriff.”
Cursing, Sheriff Collier herded the men into the back of his vehicle and took off, spitting sand and dust in J.D.’s face.
He followed the sheriff all the way to the border station at Lukeville, then circled around to go back home. As he peeled out, he gave the sheriff a two-finger salute and smiled. “Adios, amigo.”
MADDY PUT the final touch on one of the kitchen cabinet doors, then dropped the brush into a can of turpentine. The whole job had only taken one week to finish. She felt good about that—and with the results. The stain on the cabinets was a rich warm oak, and the semigloss varnish gave it just the right patina. J.D. and Carlos had carried the doors to one of the outbuildings so that Maddy could work on them without disrupting Juana, who was now cooking full-time in the kitchen.
Between teaching and working on the kitchen project, she’d been busier than she’d ever envisioned—from the time she awakened till the time she went to bed, sometimes at midnight.
Her students were a delight, and with each passing day she became more excited about their progress. Benito had taken to the lessons like a scholar. He even came early, supposedly to prepare for class, but she knew it was so he could practice his English with her.
In one week’s time, she and Ben, as he’d asked to be called, had developed a friendship she wouldn’t have imagined when she’d first met him.
But he still gave little information about his personal life, and for a while now she’d had more than a lingering suspicion he wasn’t telling the truth. There was a reason he’d jumped from the truck—a reason he didn’t want her to meet his aunt and uncle.
But until he was comfortable enough to talk with her about his family, she wasn’t going to push it. She certainly didn’t want him running away again.
Taking care of Zelda had become a pleasure instead of a dread-filled chore, and sometimes she even brought Zelda into class with her. Mariela’s children loved having the dog there and Zelda seemed to like it just as much.
In two short weeks, she’d developed a deep commitment to the jobs she’d taken on at Tripplehorne and had come to feel an attachment to the ranch as well. She’d started out wanting to prove something to herself, but now she rarely thought about that. The ranch and the people she worked with had become important to her—almost as if they were family.
In the past week, she’d worked side by side with J.D. and found a quiet reassurance in doing so. He didn’t compliment her at every turn—that wasn’t his way. But his expectations for her were high—and to her, that was the best compliment he could give.
“Looks great.”
Maddy turned and J.D. was standing there. He’d been working outside all day and he smelled like fresh air and sweat, and his hair looped over his forehead in the sexiest way. “Thank you. They came out even better than I expected.”
“I knew when I saw your work plan that you’d do a great job.”
“Really? What a nice thing to say.”
“I’m not being nice, it’s the truth.”
“Humor me. I think it’s nice. You’re nice, too, though you do everything you can to give the opposite impression.”
He cleared his throat. “Did you figure all that out on your own or did you read it in one of those self-help books of yours?” He wasn’t being snide. It was just a question. He’d noticed the books when he was fixing the light in her room.
“I’ve learned a lot from books, but what I’ve learned about people has been on my own.”
“What if you’re wrong? What if I’m not nice,” he teased.
“It doesn’t matter. One of the things I did learn from those books is that, right or wrong, I’m entitled to my opinion—even when someone doesn’t agree with it.”
He crossed his arms over his chest and grinned. “Well, for future reference, keep those kinds of opinions to yourself.”
She laughed. “Now you sound like my father. He could never understand that sometimes people don’t want a response. Sometimes they just need to say what’s on their minds.”
He cracked a sexy smile. “It’s a guy thing. And as long as we’re giving out opinions here, I think you should take a break. You’ve been working harder than a stevedore.”
“Oh, I will be taking
a break, tomorrow in fact, for the September Festival. I promised the ladies I’d help out.”
“Okay.”
“Have you thought any more about coming along? It’d be fun. You could work the booth with me.”
“Uh…I don’t think so.”
“Why not? You need a day off more than I do.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Well, I think you do. That’s my opinion and I’m sticking to it.”
She’d moved closer so she was standing right in front of him. He placed a hand on her upper arm, a glint of amusement in his eyes. “While your opinion is immensely important, it wouldn’t be in your best interests for me to do that. I’d only spoil your fun.”
“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that.”
“Besides, I’ve got a busy day. Lots of work to do.” He started for the house.
She shrugged. “Have it your way.”
Yeah, he would. Because he knew what being around her was doing to his libido. He knew that sooner or later his testosterone-induced fantasies were going to send him over the edge and he couldn’t be responsible for what might happen. Being with her had changed him in many ways.
With each passing day, he found himself thinking more and more about Maddy and wondering what it would be like to have her there permanently. He thought about how happy his grandparents had been together and his mother and father.
Though his parents had only had six years together, the love between them was unshakable. Why else would his mother go to Mexico with his father and never return—not even to see her own parents? Not until she was sick and dying.
What would it be like to have someone love you that much? He’d never even been close to that kind of relationship with anyone, not even with Jenna. When she broke off their engagement after the accident, it simply confirmed what he knew to be true—what had always been true for him.
People always left—one way or another.
But for some crazy reason, thinking about Maddy crossed every barrier he’d ever put up to protect himself. He wanted her. Wanted to spend the rest of his life with her.