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Mick had married a Mexican woman, and they’d settled in this small border town so his wife could be close to her family. Mick was a die-hard Texan with rough edges and a spit-in-your-eye attitude. He was equally at home with the locals and the Mexicans. Everyone knew that Mick was a good man to turn to in times of trouble. He had helped many other people as well as Jonas.
Not all of Mick’s endeavors were on the up-and-up, though. Even as a kid Jonas had figured that out. A brothel was illegal in Texas, yet Mick operated one in plain sight of the sheriff and the town. Jonas knew that Mick had some sort of arrangement with the sheriff. For a certain amount of money, the sheriff turned a blind eye. A lot of illegal activity—drugs, prostitution, smuggling—went on in this town, yet nothing was ever done about it. Brewster was the only one who could put a stop to it—and he chose not to.
Illegal immigration was also a big problem. No matter how tight the security, Mexicans always managed to find a way to get across the Rio Grande undetected. It was routine for illegals to show up at Brewster farms wanting work. Brewster had always hired them, and Jonas continued that practice. If they proved to be good workers, he tried to help them get a Green Card so they could continue to work without fear of being caught. It was a lengthy process, but worth waiting for. Many extended families—parents, brothers, sisters, uncles, aunts and cousins—came to work for Brewster. Once here, they usually stayed—only going home for visits.
Some went farther into Texas or other states. It made Jonas sick when he heard of illegals dying from heat, exhaustion and thirst while hiding from the border patrol. Then there were the “coyotes”—as the Mexicans called them—who smuggled illegals across the border for a price and transported them deeper into Texas. They jammed as many people as they could into a concealed truck. If the Mexicans didn’t die from suffocation, and if the driver managed to slip through the checkpoints without suspicion, they had a ticket to freedom. It was a roll of the dice and the Mexicans took it.
Jonas remembered the first time he had helped to burn the sugarcane for harvesting. Three bodies were found huddled together. No identification, nothing on them, and everyone knew they were illegals. Unfortunately, it was something that happened too often. When Jonas took over Brewster Farms, he warned the Mexicans when the cane was going to be burned. He wanted the word spread on both sides of the border. He then had Juan use a foghorn and circle the fields, informing everyone in Spanish that the burning was about to begin. So far he hadn’t had to witness such an awful scene again.
During peak season, temporary Mexican laborers came by the busload with a special pass to work. They couldn’t go farther than twenty-five miles from the border and they had to return to Mexico at night. It was a good arrangement and it helped everyone. In the winter months, seasonal workers came from up north to avoid the bad winters. The trailer park was a hive of activity during that time. Some workers came regularly and a reunion took place every year. All in all, everyone got along. Everywhere there was Mexican music mixed with country.
Mick slid an iced cola can and a bowl of roasted peanuts across the bar. Jonas took them and sat at one of the tables, propping his feet up on a chair. He took a swig of the cola and began to break the peanut shells.
Mick came over to the table. A white apron covered his large form. He chewed on a cigar. He never lit the thing, but he always had one in his mouth. “Why do you come in here, Jonas? You never buy any liquor or make use of my girls.”
“I don’t drink and I don’t need to pay for sex,” Jonas said, popping a peanut in his mouth. He glanced at Mick. “You got a problem with that?”
Mick held up his hands. “No problem. Just bad for business. In the old days I couldn’t keep you outta here.”
Jonas removed his worn hat and plopped it on the table. “The old days, Mick? I’ve forgotten what the hell they were like.”
“No, you haven’t,” Mick said, pulled up a chair and rolled the cigar to the other side of his mouth. “You made a mistake. You were young. Now it’s time to say adios to all that.”
Jonas ran his thumb over the sweat on the cold can. “Yeah, if only it were that easy.”
“Brewster can’t control you forever,” Mick told him. “Not unless you let him.”
Jonas looked at his friend.
“You’ve paid your dues,” Mick added forcefully.
Jonas went back to rubbing his thumb over the can. He didn’t want to talk about Brewster or the past. It was over, but his dues would never be paid, not until…
Mick caught that stubborn look and changed the subject. “I got two illegals over at my place. They’re scared but they need work.”
“How old are they?”
Mick sighed. “Why do you always have to ask that?”
“Because I’m not working kids.”
Mick chewed on the cigar. “They’re both sixteen.”
“You wouldn’t lie to me, would you?” Mick knew that sixteen was the youngest age that Jonas would allow.
“I haven’t lied to you since you were eight years old. I told you the truth even when it hurt.”
He had. Mick had always been straight with him, so there was no reason to doubt him. Jonas had a strict rule about children. He refused to work them. Brewster gave him enough leeway to enforce it.
“Send them over,” he said. “I think there’s a couple of beds in a trailer. Make sure they’re aware of the rules—no liquor or drugs on the premises. As long as they behave, they’ll have a safe place to work. Tell them to ask for Juan and fill out papers, and they can start work tomorrow.”
“Thanks, Jonas,” Mick said. “How about another Coke?”
“Sure, why not.”
On his way to the bar, Mick asked, “What’s Brewster got you in a snit about today?”
“It’s not Brewster.”
Mick set another can in front of him. “Then, it has to be a woman.”
Jonas took a swallow. “Women, Mick? How in the hell do you figure them out?”
“I don’t. I just enjoy them.”
Jonas laughed. “That’s very good advice.”
“Then, why the hell don’t you take it?”
Jonas didn’t answer. Mick wouldn’t understand, anyway. Jonas tipped his head back and drank thirstily.
Mick watched him for a moment. “Why don’t you get on your Harley and head for parts unknown. What the hell can Brewster do?”
Jonas pushed hair away from his forehead. “In my dreams, Mick…only in my dreams.”
Neither spoke for a moment, then Mick said, “Is this about the pretty Duncan woman who’s been hanging around the Brewster mansion? She’s a nice piece of—”
Jonas stopped him. “Don’t talk trash.”
“Then, it is about Abigail Duncan.”
“Brewster’s using her, and I can’t figure out why.”
“It’s not your business, is it?”
Jonas gulped down more cola. “No, but…”
“But what? You’re concerned for her?”
“No, dammit. She needs to get her ass back to Dallas where she belongs.”
Mick chuckled. “Or maybe she belongs in your bed.”
Jonas’s eyes narrowed on Mick. “Is that all you ever think about?”
Mick chuckled again. “It’s good business and it’s why you’re so wound up. You can’t get the Duncan woman out of your head.”
Jonas twisted the can. “Your dime-store psychology stinks.”
“But I’m right, ain’t I?” Mick said gleefully. “Take the woman to bed and get her out of your system. That will solve the problem, and you’ll definitely be in a better mood.”
Jonas stood, laid some bills on the table, picked up his hat and walked out. Mick was wrong, he told himself. He didn’t want to take Abigail Duncan to bed.
Liar! resounded a voice in his head. Okay, she was attractive with her blond hair, green eyes and knockout body, he admitted, but she was a career woman with a divorce behind her. He didn’t need someone like that. His life was messed up enough the way it was.
On the way back to the office, Jonas decided Mick was out of his mind. He also decided he would stay out of Ms. Duncan’s life. He’d warned her. Now she could do whatever the hell she wanted.
CHAPTER TWO
THE RINGING OF THE TELEPHONE woke Abby at two in the morning. She groped for the receiver and brushed hair out of her eyes at the same time. “Hello,” she mumbled.
“Ms. Abigail Duncan?”
“Yes.”
“This is Hope Medical Center. Mr. Simon Brewster has had a heart attack, and he’s asking for you.”
Abby scooted into a sitting position. “Is he all right?”
“He’s still alive, if that’s what you’re asking, and he wants to see you.”
“Me? Why?”
“I’ve just been instructed to call you.”
“Oh.” Mr. Brewster wanted to see her. She wasn’t part of his family. Maybe it had something to do with the memoirs.
“Ms. Duncan?”
“Yes.”
“Are you coming?”
“I…uh…” She hesitated for a moment, then added, “I’ll be right there.”
Abby hung up the phone wondering if she’d made the right decision. Her mother wouldn’t like this, but the man was probably dying. Abby had to see him. She dressed hurriedly in jeans and a knit top. Luckily the phone hadn’t woken Gail. Abby made her way out the back door and to her car. Within minutes she was parking in front of the small hospital.
Mr. Brewster was in ICU, and Abby was shown into a waiting area. Three people were sitting in the small room. Abby recognized them immediately. They were Mr. Brewster’s so-called family. Edna Kline, tall and heavyset, was Mr. Brewster’s sister-in-law. His wife’s sister. She had been at Mr. Brewster’s house several times while Abby was working on the memoirs. Edna always had her son, Jules, in tow. In his fifties, Jules was short and thin, very unlike his mother. He didn’t seem to have a job. Abby knew that Mr. Brewster supported them.
The other person was Darby, a cousin who turned up when he needed money. He was in his sixties and traveled a lot…mostly at Mr. Brewster’s expense.
“What are you doing here?” Edna asked cattily, her ample bosom heaving as she got to her feet.
“Mr. Brewster asked to see me,” Abby answered, feeling as if it was none of Edna’s business.
“Whatever for?” Darby asked. “You’re just someone who works for him.”
As he walked closer, she got a whiff of his breath. The man had been drinking.
“You’ll have to ask Mr. Brewster,” she replied evenly.
“Have you got your eye on Uncle Simon’s money?” Jules asked nastily.
Before Abby could respond, Edna moved close to her. “Let me tell you something, missy. Take your little notepad and tape recorder and get the hell away from Simon.”
“Ms. Duncan,” a nurse called from the doorway. “Mr. Brewster will see you now.”
“What?” Edna choked. “We’ve been waiting much longer than she has.”
The nurse stepped into the room. “Mr. Brewster asked that you all go home. He only wants to see Ms. Duncan.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Edna hissed. “We’re his family.” She pointed at Abby. “She’s nothing.”
“I’m sorry,” the nurse said. “Those are Mr. Brewster’s wishes.”
“Well, I never.” Edna expelled a long breath and sank heavily into a chair.
Abby followed the nurse out the door, but not before she heard Jules say, “We have to put a stop to this.”
Oh God, Abby thought. She didn’t want to be here and she was certainly no threat to them.
The nurse showed her into a darkened room. Mr. Brewster lay in the bed, hooked to machines and oxygen. His skin was pale, his breathing shallow.
“Come in, Abigail.”
His voice sounded strong enough. She stepped closer to the bed. “You wanted to see me?”
“Yes, I’m glad you came.”
She didn’t know what to say, so she said nothing.
His fatigued brown eyes stared at her. “Don’t look so scared, Abigail. I’m not dead yet.”
“I…I…” She wasn’t scared, but words wouldn’t come. The room, the machines and the hospital reminded her of her father’s last days. He’d been in excruciating pain and his heart had been filled with sorrow—mostly caused by this man.
“I have a favor to ask of you.” His voice penetrated her troubled thoughts.
She found her voice. “If it’s about the memoirs—”
He stopped her. “No, it isn’t.”
Abby swallowed. “What is it, then?”
He took a ragged breath. “Many years ago I had an affair with a Mexican girl who worked in my house.”
Abby was taken aback by the statement. She had expected to hear a lot of things, but this wasn’t one of them. She forced herself to listen.
“She had a child, a girl, whom I refused to acknowledge as my daughter. She left and returned to Mexico with the baby. I don’t deserve anything from them, but I have to see my daughter’s face before I die.”
Abby shook her head. “I’m not sure how this concerns me.”
“I want you to find my daughter,” was his shocking reply.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“Mr. Brewster, I’m not a detective. You need a private investigator.”
“No.” He shook his head. “They would drag this out for money and leak tidbits to the papers. I won’t have that. You’re a reporter. You can do this. The mother’s name is Delores Alvarez. Jonas has all the information on her in his files. He’ll go with you.”
A man moved from the shadows, and until that moment, Abby hadn’t even realized Jonas was in the room.
“I’m not going,” Jonas said tersely. “I already told you that.”
“You’ll do what I tell you to do,” Mr. Brewster roared, his face turning red in anger.
“Calm down, Mr. Brewster,” the nurse ordered.
Mr. Brewster took a couple of deep breaths. “I own you, Jonas,” he murmured. “Remember that.”
Abby wondered what the old man meant, but didn’t have time to ponder it. She could see that Jonas wasn’t backing down. A full-fledged argument was about to erupt.
“Mr. Brewster, I’m not searching for your daughter,” she told him before the situation got out of control. “I wouldn’t even know where to start. There are reputable people who can help you. Besides, you should concentrate on getting better and—”
“You have to do it,” he breathed heavily. “You’re a woman close to her age. She’ll listen to you. Tell her I’m sorry. I just want to see her. That’s all.”
Abby inhaled deeply, trying to understand this strange request. “Mr. Brewster, I can’t, but—”
“No,” he cut in, took a breath, then asked, “Why did you agree to write my memoirs?”
Thrown by the question, Abby chewed on the inside of her lip, searching for the right words. Her motive was not altruistic, and she had difficulty telling him that. She didn’t understand why. Mr. Brewster had hurt her father, so she shouldn’t worry about his feelings.
“What’s the matter, Abigail?” he taunted. “You think the truth will hurt me?”
“I…”
“Nothing touches me anymore. My heart is like a rock. I’m not sure what’s keeping me alive.”
“I keep wondering the same thing,” Jonas slipped in.
“You see, Abigail, Jonas knows me, and he keeps waiting for me to draw my last breath. Not because he’s after my money but because he wants his freedom. But he will never be free of me…not even when I die.”
Abby threw up her hands. “Okay, I’ve had enough. This is getting weird, and I’m not getting involved.” She turned toward the door.
“You agreed to write my memoirs to get information about your father.”
She swung around, her eyes huge in her pale face.
“What?” He lifted an eyebrow. “You think I didn’t know?”
Abby swallowed hard. She felt as if she were a puppet and he were pulling her strings, manipulating her. She didn’t like that feeling…not one little bit.
“Here’s the deal, Abigail Duncan,” he went on. “You want something, and I want something. Let’s hammer out the details.”
“You think you can manipulate me?”
His eyes stared into hers. “Yes,” he answered. “And I’ll tell you why. You’re a reporter and you need to clear Abe Duncan’s name. I’m the only one who can do that.” He paused, then added with a touch of cynicism, “Or the town can go on believing the rumors.”
Blood began to pound through her numb body with exhilarating speed. “You’re a cruel old man,” she said angrily. “How can you be so—”
“Enough,” he ordered briskly. “What’s it going to be?”
Thoughts ran riot in her head. This was what she’d been waiting for—to hear the reason her father had been fired. She thought of all the years her father had worked for Simon Brewster, all the hard work and service he had given, only to be tossed aside like an old shoe. And the rumors. Abby would do anything to put an end to the rumors.
She raised her eyes to his. “Let’s hammer out the details,” she said quietly.
“Have you lost your mind?” Jonas shouted.
She ignored him.
“Good,” Mr. Brewster said, as if Jonas hadn’t spoken. “I knew I could count on you.”
Abby wrestled with her conscience. Could she do this? She didn’t know a thing about finding people, and she didn’t understand why he wanted her to find his daughter. There were so many other avenues. But he’d given her no choice. Not if she wanted the truth.
“All you have to do is go into Mexico and find Delores,” Mr. Brewster was talking. “Her family doesn’t live far from the border. They’ll be able to tell you where she is.”
“If it’s that simple, anyone can do it,” she reasoned.
“We’ve been through this. I want someone I can trust. Someone Delores can trust.”
“Are you sure you can trust me?” she fired at him. “After all, I am Abe Duncan’s daughter.”
“Touché, Abigail.” He sighed with admiration. “To answer your question, yes, I trust you implicitly.”
“Aren’t you the man who told me in his memoirs never to trust anyone?”
“Are you gonna pick at every little thing I’ve said or are you going to help me?”
She didn’t want to help him or have any part in this bizarre mess. But she had to push aside her feelings and remember why she was doing this.
“Why hasn’t Delores come back before now?” she asked. “Wouldn’t she want the best for her child?”
“I told her that if she ever came back, she’d regret it, and she knew I meant what I said. I’m not proud of the way I acted years ago, but…now that I’m near death, I have this need to see my daughter. She’ll be close to thirty, probably with a family of her own.”
This was crazy, and when she heard herself say the words, she knew they were the craziest thing she’d ever said. “Okay…I’ll try to find her.”
“I have your word.”
“Yes, you have my word.”
“Good,” he said, and seemed to relax.
“Why did you fire my father?” she asked, holding her breath as she waited for the answer.
That sinister smile she was beginning to associate with him curved his blue lips. “You don’t think I’m stupid, do you, Abigail?”
“No, of course not.”
“You find Delores, then we’ll talk.”
Frustration ran through Abby. She was close—so close—but she should have known better. Simon Brewster wasn’t going to make this easy for her.
“What if I don’t find her?”
“You will.”
“You seem certain of that.”
“I know you, Abigail. You won’t give up until you find her.”
You don’t know me, old man, she had the urge to say, but she didn’t. She had to keep her emotions clear. “How can I be sure you’ll tell me the truth when I find her?”
“You have my word.”
“Do you think I’m stupid?”
Mr. Brewster started to laugh, but it turned into a cough. The nurse immediately adjusted the oxygen. In a moment he was better.
“You got fire, girl. Your father never had that.”
“Don’t criticize my father,” she snapped.
He ignored her words and asked, “Do we have a deal?”
“No, not until I have some proof that you won’t renege on your promise.”
Mr. Brewster watched her closely. “I’ll leave a sealed letter concerning the information you’re after with my attorney. When you return with my daughter, you can read the contents. Will that satisfy you?”
“Maybe,” she answered. “But I insist on seeing the letter and talking to your attorney.”
“No problem. Do we have a deal?”
He wouldn’t tell her a thing until he got what he wanted. It crossed her mind that he’d been planning this all along—but why her? Why had he chosen her to do this? It really didn’t matter. She was going to do it…for her father.
“Yes, we have a deal.”
“Good,” he said, and started to cough again.
Jonas took her elbow and pushed her out the door. He’d obviously decided that was enough for her, for him, for everybody.
“You…promised.” Brewster’s voice followed them.
“Are you serious?” Jonas asked roughly, once they were in the hall. “A daughter? My God, no one but you would believe that cock-and-bull story.”
“I have to find out about my father,” she said stubbornly.
“Your father was a good man. Why can’t you just leave it at that?”
Her eyes caught his in the dimness of the hallway. “I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors concerning my father.”
“What?” He shrugged. “That he embezzled money from Brewster?”
The words spoken so cavalierly filled her with anger. “My father never took from anybody. He always gave.”
“You brought it up, I didn’t,” he was quick to tell her. “Besides no one believes that trash, anyway.”
“But they’ve heard it, and it’s in their minds. I can’t stand the thought of my father having that kind of epitaph.” With that she headed for the elevator.
Jonas soon caught up with her. “Ms. Duncan, just let it be.”
“I can’t,” she said, and poked the Down button.
“Ms. Duncan, Simon Brewster lives by his own rules. It would be wise for you to go back to Dallas…far away from Brewster.”
“I can’t,” she said again, softly.
That ache in her voice threw Jonas. He was trying to remain detached from the situation, but the hurt in her eyes and the pain in her voice were making mincemeat out of that resolve.
They stepped onto the elevator in silence. Inside, Jonas tried again, “Ms. Duncan—”
“Please stop calling me Ms. Duncan,” she snapped. “My name is Abigail. Everyone calls me Abby. I would prefer it if you did the same.”
Jonas had a hard time hearing anything she was saying. All he could see were her full lips moving, her eyes sparkling and her breasts pressing firmly against her blouse. Mick was right. Jonas wanted her…right here, right now, in this elevator.
He was in big trouble.
The doors swished opened, and still Jonas didn’t move or speak. She watched him with a perplexed expression, probably wondering what was wrong with him.
Jonas reached out to catch the doors as they started to close. The action brought him to his senses. He was acting like a schoolboy, and he was anything but that. He’d had his share of women. He accepted them as they came into his life, enjoying the time he spent with them and then moving on to someone else. From the start of every relationship, he made it clear that there was no future with him. He had screwed up his life when he was fifteen years old, and he wouldn’t destroy anyone else’s.
He sensed in his gut that Abigail Duncan wasn’t a one-night stand or a casual affair. He avoided women like her—women who wanted commitment, family and babies. He had to admit he was attracted to her, but he could handle that without—
He suddenly realized she was waiting for an answer. Clearing his throat, he said, “We won’t be acquainted long enough for me to call you by your given name.”
Her eyes narrowed to green slits. “I don’t care. You’re not calling me Ms. Duncan in that tone of voice. You make it sound like I’m old enough to be your grandmother.”
Jonas walked out of the elevator, and Abby followed him. God, she was relentless. She was a woman who never gave up or gave in. He was beginning to see that.
As they walked out into the coolness of the September night, he turned swiftly—and she almost collided with him.