To Love And Protect
To Love And Protect
Muriel Jensen
She'll make Christmas magic…in spite of him!In all his years as a cop, Ben Palmer had seen some hard cases. But Corie Ochoa took the cake. There was more hostility in her gorgeous five-foot-one frame than he'd seen in hardened criminals. Not to mention her uncanny knack for getting herself in trouble. But she was his adopted brother's sister, and he was going to help her whether she liked it or not. And clearly, she didn't.Too bad. He hadn't come all the way to Texas to let this infuriating woman off the hook. Every instinct told him there was more to this story…and to her.
She’ll make Christmas magic...in spite of him!
In all his years as a cop, Ben Palmer had seen some hard cases. But Corie Ochoa took the cake. There was more hostility in her gorgeous five-foot-one frame than he’d seen in hardened criminals. Not to mention her uncanny knack for getting herself in trouble. But she was his adopted brother’s sister, and he was going to help her whether she liked it or not. And clearly, she didn’t.
Too bad. He hadn’t come all the way to Texas to let this infuriating woman off the hook. Every instinct told him there was more to this story...and to her.
Ben Palmer? It couldn’t be.
In complete disbelief, she saw him coming toward her, picking up speed as the tree she was hoisting began to fall. Six feet and a couple of inches of darkly gorgeous but self-righteous, self-satisfied male who despised and distrusted her... What was he doing here? As though her life wasn’t already fraught with more problems than she could deal with. He—
She lost her balance completely as he tried but failed to help.
“Corie?” he asked.
She wanted to say something clever, sound flippant, as though it didn’t matter that he was the man she hated and he considered her an incorrigible criminal. “No, I’m the Druid that came with the tree. Of course, it’s me.”
She felt his sigh against her forehead. “I know it’s you. I want to know if you’re okay.”
“No, I’m not okay. I have twelve feet of tree on me and six feet of hateful man.”
Dear Reader (#u2299cc02-bcf3-5cd9-a157-0694e6647440),
I love November. It’s a time for giving thanks, a preparation for the holiday season, a time for family. And that’s what Manning Family Reunion is all about. Jack, from In My Dreams, is determined to put his family back together after most of a lifetime of separation.
To Love and Protect is Corie’s story. She was four years old when the Manning kids were separated, and her life took a much different path from Jack’s. She’s small in stature but big in courage and resourcefulness—with an interesting tendency toward flaunting the rules when necessary.
Ben, Jack’s adopted brother, is all heart. But as a police officer, he has great respect for the rules and serious concerns about Jack’s devotion to his newly discovered sister. Particularly when she presents a threat to their family, and Jack is away on his honeymoon. It’s Ben to the rescue—or is it?
Happy holiday season!
Muriel
HEARTWARMING
To Love and Protect
Muriel Jensen
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
MURIEL JENSEN lives with her husband, Ron, in a simple old Victorian looking down on the Columbia River in Astoria, Oregon. They share the space with a loudmouthed husky mix and two eccentric tabbies. They have three children, eight grandchildren and five great-grandchildren. Their neighborhood is charmed, populated with the kindest and most fun-to-be-around people.
In loving memory of Wayne McVey, who was a wonderful friend to Ron and me, who loved Starbucks, and onion rings, casinos and dinner at Dooger’s. And to Diane McVey, who soldiers on without him. Love you both!
Contents
Cover (#ufb7dcd03-8d9f-54eb-8848-a8dd8687329a)
Back Cover Text (#u1502bc77-8880-50fd-8294-c39163b0e056)
Introduction (#u05c659ad-08e8-5645-abca-0f9051cbad15)
Dear Reader
Title Page (#ua658b4c8-98d7-57dd-a606-09c6ee9bed1d)
About the Author (#u9f82dedf-2339-5490-b29a-99a04cee36a0)
Dedication (#udb9c7df2-fcd2-523d-a3a2-4aa231e156a8)
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
EPILOGUE
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#u2299cc02-bcf3-5cd9-a157-0694e6647440)
“I’M GOING TO wring her pretty ballerina neck,” Ben Palmer told himself as he drove from the airport in McAllen, Texas, to Querida, where his quarry lived. He studied the side of the road for the break in the dry brush he remembered from a couple of weeks ago when he and his brother, Jack, had been here together in search of Jack’s sister. He was glad Elizabeth Corazon Manning Ochoa wasn’t his sister—the little thief! As if her full name wasn’t enough to deal with, her given name was the Spanish word for heart. It should have been whatever the Spanish word was for trouble. “There it is.”
He turned right onto the narrow, bumpy lane, watching for the Rio Road sign. High weeds lined the path that led to the impoverished little two-block-long downtown. The side with city hall, the post office and the library, all built in traditional Spanish style with arches and red-tiled roofs, looked tidy and well-kept in contrast to the stores and services opposite them and the run-down bed-and-breakfast at the very end. Fall flowers lined the street on the city hall side but the commercial businesses looked as though they struggled to stay alive.
He slowed as he passed the Grill, the café where Corie waitressed. It was the only structure on the block that looked even mildly prosperous. He noticed that her black Ford truck was not in the parking lot. She must have the day off.
Remembering the directions to her home from the last visit, he turned onto Hidalgo Road just beyond downtown.
Two minutes later he pulled the SUV to a stop across from the little house she rented and saw immediately that her truck wasn’t there, either. Maybe she was at Teresa McGinnis’s foster home.
He drove to the property and pulled up to the chain-link fence. A crowd of children played in the front yard. Behind them stood the large hacienda-style home, its faded pink stone a picture of Old West glory.
He knew Corie spent much of her free time helping Teresa, who’d brought her here when she was twelve. He could see the backyard where Corie usually parked but the only vehicle there today was Teresa’s old dark blue Safari van. He hoped she knew where Corie was.
He parked then took a moment to stretch after climbing out of his rental car. The temperature was in the low seventies in this eastern reach of the Rio Grande Valley and he soaked up the sunshine while his usually active muscles protested the long confinement on the plane. When he’d left Oregon this morning it had been thirty-seven degrees. He told himself to relax but he was wound tighter than a spool of cable.
He pushed open the gate and walked up to the house, ignored by all the children but two boys he guessed to be about nine and ten. The younger one was short, sturdily built and appeared to be Hispanic, while the older, taller boy had shaggy, carrot-red hair and blue eyes. He was scrawny but smiling. The boys flanked Ben as he strode up the walk to the house.
“Who are you?” the older boy asked as he ran alongside Ben to keep up. He offered his hand. “I’m Soren.”
Ben stopped to shake hands. “Hi, Soren. I’m Ben.”
Soren indicated his friend. “This is Carlos.”
The boy shook Ben’s hand but didn’t smile. He pointed to three little boys playing with a tether ball. “Those are my brothers.”
“Hi, Carlos. Good to meet you.” Ben started toward the house. “Excuse me, guys. I came to see Teresa.”
Both boys stopped. Soren’s smile faded. “Are you from Corpus Christi?”
Ben stopped, too. “No. I’m from Oregon. Why? Are you expecting someone from Corpus Christi?” Cyrus Tyree of Corpus Christi, Teresa’s landlord, was part of the reason Ben was here.
“No, but somebody came from there and he made Teresa cry,” Soren said. He and Carlos exchanged an angry look. “We’re going to have to go.”
“Go?”
“Live somewhere else. We don’t want to. We want to stay right here.”
Suddenly they were surrounded by the other kids, girls and boys who looked younger than Soren and Carlos. One little girl held a large purse over her arm. Ben guessed they’d overheard the conversation about leaving. They ran along with Ben and his two new friends as they climbed the step to the broken-down veranda. He wished the kids would go back to their play. He liked kids as a rule. Many of his friends had them and he found them amazing. But this trip was about saving Jack’s sister, himself, Jack and his new bride from jail. He didn’t have time for the distraction of soulful eyes and needy little faces.
“Do we have to go now?” a little boy asked. He stood with the group of three Carlos had identified as his brothers. They looked remarkably alike.
Before Ben could reply, a pudgy little girl about eight in glossy black braids said authoritatively, “I think it’s against the law to make us go. Families get to stay together.”
“Oh, yeah?” Soren turned on her. “Where’s your dad?”
The little girl folded her arms, the question apparently compromising her confidence. She answered more quietly, “He’s coming to get me.”
“When, Rosie? You’ve been here six months. Families don’t always get to stay together.”
One of the little boys said, “Maybe he died. Our mom died.”
“He’s not dead!” Rosie’s voice cracked, her eyes a heartbreaking mixture of anger and sorrow. “He’s coming for me.”
Ben stood in the middle of the turbulent little group. He stretched both arms out, prepared to explain that he needed time to talk to Teresa. But the children crowded around him as though his open arms offered shelter. He was speechless for an instant.
“Ah, well...when families don’t get to stay together,” he heard himself say, “you can sometimes make your own family with friends. That happened to my brother, Jack. His mom had to go away for a long time, so he came to live with my parents and me. He’s part of our family now.”
“That’s being adopted,” Rosie said knowledgeably. “But my dad’s coming to get me, so I don’t want to get another family. I want to stay with Teresa until he comes.”
“The man said Teresa can’t stay here.” Carlos’s voice was gentle. If Soren was the leader of this group, Carlos was its chaplain. “We...”
The front door opened and Teresa stood there, a plump toddler in her arms. Roberto, Ben remembered, seemed permanently attached to her. As he had the last time Ben was here, the baby reached for him.
“Hey. You remember me.” He laughed and took the little guy from Teresa, flattered and distracted by his wide smile and eager reach.
“We’re staying right here for now,” Teresa told the children firmly. “And I don’t want anyone talking about going away until we know what’s going to happen.” She focused on one child, then the next, until she’d looked into each of their faces with the determination in hers. It was a matter of presence. As a cop, Ben knew all about that. You had to believe you were invincible so that whoever you were trying to convince believed it, too. She was good.
The kids looked at each other with clear suspicion, but they didn’t seem quite as worried anymore. Soren and Carlos, older and possibly more experienced in such situations, simply walked away, more in the spirit of doing as she asked rather than believing what she said.
Teresa refocused on Ben. She was average in height, in her forties, had short, rough-cut dark hair, wore little makeup and was blessed with good bone structure. The strong, caring woman inside showed through in her dark eyes and her warm smile, making her attractive.
“Ben,” she said, offering her free hand. “How are you? Corie tells me Jack got married and you and she stood up for him and his bride when you took her back with you for Thanksgiving.”
“He did.” Ben smiled at the memory of that morning while Roberto chewed on the collar of his shirt. “He was so happy that Corie was there. I don’t know if anyone else will ever understand how he’s longed to put his family back together.”
Teresa nodded. “I think I do. I deal with broken families on a daily basis. Would you like to come inside? You look angry under that smile and that worries me. Your being here has to have something to do with Corie.”
“Thank you. It does. Do you know where she is?” He didn’t want to bring up what he thought Corie had done. He was pretty sure Teresa didn’t know Corie had stolen Delia Tyree’s jewelry in the first place, much less sabotaged the return of the jewelry he and Jack had orchestrated. “Her truck isn’t at the restaurant or her home.”
“She went to get a tree,” Teresa said.
“A tree?”
“A Christmas tree.”
He frowned. “It’s still November.”
“It’s November 28 and this is a house filled with children. They’ve talked of nothing but Christmas since Halloween.” She laughed at his confusion then turned her head toward the back of the house and the sound of an engine. “There she is now, Ben. What did you want to see her about?”
“I just want to talk to her.” He followed Teresa through the house to the kitchen and the back door.
She stopped there and smiled inquisitively as she reclaimed the toddler. “Something that couldn’t be done by phone? Or email?”
The real answer to that was complicated, so he took the simple approach. “Yes,” he said.
“Okay. Well, if we can clear a path through the children, and you help us unload the tree, we’ll find a quiet place for you to talk.”
Every child who’d been playing in the front yard was now part of a shouting, excited crowd gathered at the back of Corie’s truck. From where Ben stood, it looked as though Jack’s sister had brought back a sequoia. Part of the tree stuck out past the lowered tailgate, a red flag attached, and the main body, branches swept upward, spilled over the sides. The children squealed in excitement.
Wondering how Corie intended to get the giant thing out, he started around Teresa to lend a hand. The tree had been loaded top-first onto a tarp, he noticed, so that its weight would be coming right at her. Corie made a broad gesture with both arms and shouted orders he couldn’t hear over the din of the children’s voices. They all backed out of the way.
She pushed up the long sleeves of her plain blue T-shirt and stood still for a moment, studying the tree. It occurred to him later that he should have acted then, but he was momentarily paralyzed by the sight of her small, shapely body and what seemed like a foot and a half of glossy black hair shifting sinuously, seductively, over her shoulder, thin bangs above a dark, thoughtful stare. Then she firmed her expressive mouth and reached for the tree.
She pulled hard and the tree slid toward her. As he hurried forward, hoping he wasn’t going to have to explain to Jack why he’d allowed his long-lost little sister to be crushed by a Christmas tree, he saw that Corie was using the tarp to move the tree. He gave her points for smarts, but strode toward her as she leaned it against the tailgate, suspecting she was still in danger. Was she really going to try to lift it?
Of course, she was. She leaned into the tree, wrapped her arms around it about a third of the way up from the bottom and pulled.
He shouted her name and picked up his pace.
As she tried to hold the tree upright, presumably so the children could see it better, she turned toward the sound of his voice. Both her arms were lost in the tree, which was much more than twice her height. Her eyes and mouth widened in complete surprise when she saw him.
She lost control of the tree.
* * *
AT THE SOUND of that male voice, Corie Ochoa’s hard-to-muster Christmas spirit seized and cramped. Ben Palmer? It couldn’t be.
In complete disbelief, she saw him coming toward her, picking up speed, six feet and a couple of inches of darkly gorgeous but self-righteous, self-satisfied male who disliked and distrusted her. What was he doing here? He...
And then she remembered she was holding a tree. A big one. She felt the weight of it push against her as that momentary distraction caused her to lose her grip. The weight of the tipping tree drove her backward and she struggled futilely to disentangle her arms.
She heard the children screaming as she and the tree went down. Just before she hit the grass, a steely grip on her arm yanked her sideways, pulling her body away from the trunk and probably her arm out of its socket. A branch thwacked her in the face.
Dislocated arm beats crushed sternum, she thought as she landed on her back on the lawn, buried beneath twelve feet of Leyland Spruce. And something else. Curiously the branches weren’t crushing her as much as she’d expected. Then she realized she was not alone in her bowery tomb. Ben Palmer was lying on top of her.
“Great,” she said, pushing on him. “You’re just what I need right now. Who sent you? The Grinch? The Ghost of Christmas Past?”
He didn’t reply.
She pushed again but the tree was heavy and so was he. “Ben! Would you please move?” she demanded. She wasn’t sure how he’d accomplish that, but she was sure he was as uncomfortable being body to body with her as she was with him.
He groaned.
“Ben?” she asked worriedly, then said his name louder when his reply was another groan. “Are you hurt?”
“Corie?” Teresa lay on her stomach, looking at Corie through the lacy pattern of needles and branches. “Are you all right? You got smacked by a branch and I think the trunk might have hit Ben hard.”
“I’m okay. I just can’t move,” Corie replied. “Call 9-1-1.”
“No.” The single word came firmly if a little quietly from Ben, followed by a small gasp of pain. “No. Just...give me a minute.”
Relieved to hear his voice, though the words he spoke usually annoyed her, she said, “I don’t have a minute, Ben. You weigh a ton. I think my stomach is coming out my ears.”
“I believe that’s physically impossible. But there seems to be a lot coming out of your mouth.”
There. Annoying. “Hey!” she complained.
“Relax. Maybe we can roll out of here.” He sighed and wrapped his arms around her. “You’re sure you’re okay?”
“Apart from the fact that I have twelve feet of tree on me and six feet of hateful man?”
He muttered something unintelligible then it felt as though he tried to boost himself off her and couldn’t. He tried again. No luck. It alarmed her that she was very aware of every muscle in his body pressed into every soft surface of hers.
“Don’t panic,” he said. “I can’t lift up, so we’re going sideways. Okay?”
“Please hurry. Before we start growing moss.”
“Keep your hands tucked in,” he said sharply. He cupped the back of her head in one of his hands, tucked her face into the hollow of his shoulder and, with a leg wrapped around hers, rolled them sideways.
Teresa and the older children pulled on them. Sweaty little hands grabbed her arm. Ben pushed her away from him. Suddenly she was on her knees, the sun on her face.
She reached toward Ben, who lay on his back, his chest moving comfortingly up and down, a broken branch of the tree still covering him. Corie dragged it away and she and Teresa pulled him clear.
Teresa put her hands to Ben’s face and looked him over feature by feature. “Oh, Ben. Can you see? Does your head hurt?”
His thick, blunt eyelashes rose up then down. “I’m fine.” He rolled over and stood carefully. When he straightened, he wobbled.
Corie put his arm around her shoulders and wrapped hers around his waist. “Easy. Don’t fall,” she pleaded, “or we’ll never get you up.”
“We could put him in the wheelbarrow,” Soren suggested helpfully, hovering around them. “Want me to get it?”
Ben smiled and Corie heard a low laugh escape him. “No, thanks. I can make it.”
With Teresa on his other side, they started for the house. “Just go slowly,” she instructed as though he were one of the children. “Let us share your weight. Boys, run and open the door and make sure the couch is clear.”
Let them share his weight. He felt like Gulliver being led away by the Lilliputians.
Ben let them lead him to the sofa but refused to lie down. As soon as he was seated Teresa headed for the kitchen. Ben ran a hand over his face to clear blurry eyes and looked up at Corie. “You’re sure you’re okay? There’s a bruise near your cheekbone.”
“I just carried you across the yard, didn’t I?”
He saw a hint of humor in her expression. He couldn’t stop an answering smile—until he remembered why he was here. But before he could raise the subject, Teresa returned with two wet washcloths. She placed one unceremoniously on his upturned face and the other she put against Corie’s cheek.
“That bruise might be from Ben’s shoulder,” she said, “when he went down on top of you. I’m sure the trunk missed you, but you got a branch in the face. I think you’re okay but... Ben? Are you? The trunk smacked right into you.”
“Yeah.” He held the cold cloth to his face one more minute then took it down. His back prickled and he shifted uncomfortably. “Apart from having needles down my shirt.”
“I’ll get you another shirt and wash that one for you. How’re you doing, Corie? Want a glass of water? A cup of tea?”
“I’m fine, thanks.”
Nine little bodies crowded around them as Teresa left the room again. Rosie held Roberto.
“Everything’s okay,” Corie told them. “I’m fine. Ben’s fine. You can go play.”
Carlos frowned and pointed outside. “But the tree.”
“We might have to leave hauling it in until tomorrow. I have to go to work pretty soon. We’ll get it up, don’t worry.”
Ben thought they looked more disappointed than worried.
“Why don’t you go keep an eye on it,” he told the children. “I’m coming out in a minute and I’d like you to help me bring it into the house. Does anybody know where the Christmas tree stand is?”
“I do.” Soren took off, Carlos and the other children right behind him.
The moment they were out of earshot, Corie sat beside him. “We’ll take care of the tree. Why are you here, anyway?” she asked sharply.
With a quick glance around to make sure no one had lingered, he replied quietly, “I want to talk to you about the jewelry you stole from Tyree. But I’d rather do it in private.”
She made a sound of disgust and stood. To think she’d saved his life. Well, actually, he’d gotten into trouble trying to save hers. Still—same old Ben. Suspicious. Judgmental. “Yeah, well, I don’t want to talk about it at all.”
“You don’t have a choice.”
“Everyone has a choice. You know what happened. You were there.” It was such an injustice that Jack had come in search of her after all those years on the very day she’d chosen to break into Cyrus Tyree’s house and steal the jewelry that could secure the future of Teresa’s foster home.
He stood beside her, a good head taller than she was. She looked right into his face so he wouldn’t think he could intimidate her with his size.
“I was, but something seems to have changed along the way,” he said. “I put the jewelry into a priority-mail box and sent it to Tyree. But, according to the news report on national television, what was delivered was not what I sent. Mrs. Tyree held up a handful of Mardi Gras beads for the camera. Not the diamonds, emeralds and gold that you stole and that I packed up and mailed back.” He folded his arms, biceps rounded under the thin cotton of his shirt. “How’d you do that?”
She felt such dislike for him at that moment she didn’t trust herself to remain in his presence. She started to walk away but he made the mistake of stopping her again.
* * *
BEN DODGED FISTS, fingernails, even feet as he caught her to him when she rounded on him like a cornered coyote.
“What about the security footage Tyree claims to have from that night?” He grabbed a flailing fist. “I’m guessing it’s just a matter of time before someone recognizes you then—by extension—Jack and Sarah and me.” He freed her hand and turned her so that her back was against him. He asked angrily in her ear, “You want to talk about that? Your war-hero brother’s reputation ruined because he tried to help his thieving little sister? Not to mention Sarah’s reputation and mine.”
And that was how Teresa found them; Corie flailing in his arms, her legs bicycling the air a foot off the floor.
Her expression changed as she approached them, a red sweatshirt in her hand. The warm, sweet-natured woman was now the wild coyote pup’s mother.
“Put her down,” she said.
He did.
To his complete surprise Corie explained. “I started it.” She combed her fingers through her tangled hair and spared him a quick, dark glance. “We’ll put the tree in the stand, then I have to get to work and he’s going back to Oregon.”
“I’m not going back to Oregon,” he corrected.
“Don’t you have a job? Aren’t you Beggar’s Bay’s most vigilant and disagreeable cop?”
He smiled blandly at her. “I am, but I’m on leave. Built-up vacation time.”
Teresa looked from one to the other, her expression grave. “What is this about?”
Unwilling to rat out Corie, Ben said nothing.
Corie waved both hands in a gesture that suggested it was difficult to explain. “It’s nothing for you to worry about.”
Teresa clearly didn’t believe her but finally handed Ben the shirt and said wryly, “That’s good, because I’m overextended on worry at the moment. Give me your shirt, Ben, and I’ll throw it in the wash. This one was Soren’s dad’s.”
Ben yanked his shirt off. The sleeve’s hem caught on his watch and Teresa reached up to help him then winced at something on his back.
Corie, looking away from a formidable six-pack of abs, walked around him to see what had caused such a reaction. A large bruise, already livid, ran from the middle of his back at an angle across his left shoulder.
Teresa touched it gingerly. “You pulled Corie away from the trunk, but it must have glanced off you. Does it hurt?”
He flexed the shoulder and hesitated just an instant. “Not much.”
She came around him to offer help with the sweatshirt then gasped again at the still livid scar Corie hadn’t noticed since she’d been trying hard not to look at his bare chest. It was on his left shoulder, an inch long and bright red.
He pulled on the sweatshirt. “I got shot,” he said when his head reappeared. “I’m fine. The bullet hit muscle. I had surgery. No big deal.”
Still angry, Corie had to admit that it was a desecration of such a perfect torso. She remembered what it had been like to have her body covered by his under the tree. She ignored the heat flushing her cheeks and reminded herself that she hated him despite his perfect chest and shoulders.
Soren and Carlos joined them breathlessly with a rusty stand that was far too small for the tree.
“That’ll never do,” Teresa said. “Corie, do you have time to go to Wolf’s Hardware for a bigger one before you go to work?”
Happy for an excuse to leave, Corie ran out to her truck.
* * *
BEN HAD THE most willing team he’d ever worked with. The biggest problem was that most of them were under four and half feet tall and had no sense of self-preservation. Teresa and the kids each grabbed a handful of tarp and helped him pull the tree as far as the back door.
“Okay, drop it,” he ordered, turning to see that everyone had complied.
Teresa smiled. “Usually, I have to do this by myself. Of course, I buy a six-foot tree, but this is Corie. She wants this Christmas to be special.” She didn’t explain, though the strain of the eviction threat showed in her face.
He put himself into the spirit Corie and Teresa were trying to create for the children. He’d flown out from Oregon to talk to Corie, but that was going to take a little longer than he’d imagined. So, if he had to wait for her, he may as well make himself useful.
He looked for Soren and Carlos. “Can you guys help Teresa clear a path for us inside?”
As the boys were shepherded indoors, he was left with the other seven children. They came closer and stared at him. The small girl in blue-striped shirt and shorts, tiny feet in too big flip-flops, that purse still over her arm, asked, “Are you Santa?”
Two of Carlos’s brothers scorned the question. “Santa’s fat!”
“He brings presents, not trees.”
The youngest boy stuck up for her and pointed at Ben. “He wears a red shirt.”
Ah. The loaner shirt had prompted the question.
“I’m Ben,” he said. “I’m a...friend of Corie’s.” Inaccurate but a good way to explain his presence to the children.
“So are we.” The little girl smiled that they had something in common. “She said Santa’s gonna come to see us. For sure, this time.”
Another girl maybe a year older in a similar striped shirt and shorts took a step forward. “He doesn’t always come,” she said as though it were a tough truth she’d accepted. “Sometimes he doesn’t have toys left.”
A third girl in the same uniform made a face. “Our mom doesn’t have a lot of money. She’s working so she can come and get us. Sometimes you have to help Santa pay for stuff.”
“You don’t have to buy presents,” Carlos’s younger brother Rigo said. “The elves make them.”
“They have to buy the stuff to make them with.”
“No, they don’t. It’s magic.”
“There’s no magic,” Rosie said in her know-it-all voice. “Santa comes if you’re good but not if you’re bad.”
Ben prayed for Teresa’s return, but she was busy. He was it.
“I think Santa loves all kids,” he said. “And if you do something wrong, he understands that we all mess up sometimes, and he gives you another chance.”
The middle girl in stripes asked hopefully, “You think so?”
“I do,” he replied with confidence.
Immersed in his deep discussion with the children, he missed Corie’s return and was surprised to find her standing behind Rosie when he glanced up. She held a Christmas tree stand in a very large box. Her midnight eyes looked into his.
“He’s right,” she said to the children without looking away from him. “Everybody gets another chance.”
He heard Teresa say, “Okay. We’ve cleared a path.” Ben was aware of the children climbing over the tree and going inside but he didn’t move, still ensnared by Corie’s gaze.
“Interesting that you know about the second-chance thing.” She spoke under her breath as she passed the stand to Teresa. “And yet you don’t apply it.”
“That,” he said, tearing his gaze away, “is because I’m not Santa.” He took a large step over the top branches, grabbed the tarp and yanked the tree inside.
CHAPTER TWO (#u2299cc02-bcf3-5cd9-a157-0694e6647440)
CORIE WATCHED BEN assemble the outsize Christmas tree stand with all the boys helping. She was impressed that he somehow maintained a sense of humor she hadn’t known he had. He fitted the trunk into the stand with the tree still on the ground, then righted it and asked her to help hold it while Teresa gave centering directions.
When it was in place, they all stood back to admire it.
“Wow,” Rosie said on a reverent gasp. Even without decoration, it was magnificent.
“Holy s—!” Soren exclaimed.
Teresa frowned at him. “Soren Peterson.”
“Sorry.” He turned to Ben. “I’ll bet you swear.”
“Sometimes,” Ben admitted. “But never at Christmastime. And never around little kids.”
“Yeah,” Rosie said. “Even if Santa gives second chances, you’ve used yours all up. You won’t get anything.”
Soren glowered at her. “Neither will you, ’cause you’re always mean.” He stalked away. Corie went to follow him, but Teresa caught her arm. “You go to work. I’ll talk to him.” She turned to Ben. “You’ll be back tomorrow to help decorate? We need someone tall for our ladder.”
Ben opened his mouth to tell her he was here only to talk to Corie, but the children told him they were going to have hot chocolate and cookies and he had to come. The youngest Stripe Sister, as he’d designated them, held his hand.
“Sure,” he said. “Thank you.”
As Teresa followed Soren, Corie touched Rosie’s dark head. “It would be nice if you wouldn’t always mention people’s bad points, Rosie. Usually they know when they’re wrong. Your job as a friend is to tell them they’ll do better next time.”
Rosie, who seemed to consider herself the world’s moral monitor, looked at her as though she were crazy. “But he said a bad word. He does it all the time.”
“He needs a friend,” Corie added. “Try to point out the nice things about him instead of the bad.” She gave Rosie a quick hug. “I have to go to work. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She cast a general wave in the direction of the children and they chorused a goodbye.
Shouldering a large, colorful straw satchel, Corie ran out the door. Ben followed, stopping her when she would have climbed into her truck. She rummaged in her bag and looked up at him impatiently. “What? I’m going to be late.”
“I’m here to talk to you,” he said firmly, “and I’m not leaving until I do.”
She yanked open the driver’s-side door and put her bag on the seat for easier access. “So, talk,” she said, but he got the distinct impression she wasn’t listening. That was confirmed when she dumped out the contents of her bag and growled when whatever she’d been looking for wasn’t there. She said the word that had gotten Soren in trouble.
Still ignoring him, she walked around the truck, patting her pockets. Too short to see into the truck bed, she put a foot on a tire and climbed up. Hands braced on the side, she leaned in, scanned front to back then leaped down again.
As she dusted off her hands, she noticed him and seemed surprised he was still there. She looked cross, but then, she usually did with him.
“Lost your keys?” he asked.
“I’m sure I’ve just misplaced them.” She glanced at her watch.
He pulled open the passenger’s-side door of his rented Navigator. “Need a ride to work?”
Her chin dropped onto her chest when she accepted that she did. With impressive precision, she swept the contents of her purse off the driver’s seat and into her bag, slammed her door closed and walked, arms folded, to where he stood.
“I do,” she said, “but I’d rather walk if you’re going to badger me the whole way.”
“There’d be no badgering required if you just answer my questions.”
She considered him a moment then climbed in. “Okay, but I’m almost late for work. I’ll answer your questions after.” She buckled her seat belt.
“What time is your shift over?”
“We close at nine. Cleanup takes a little while.”
“All right.”
When he pulled up in front of the café five minutes later she jumped out with a very reluctant, “Thank you.” She was about to close the door then stopped and sighed heavily. “If you come just before nine, I’ll get your dinner.”
He had to pretend not to be surprised. “Thank you. That would be nice.”
“Then you’re going back to Oregon?”
“Depends on how our conversation goes.”
She seemed to want to say more but simply closed the door and hurried inside.
That was a baby step forward, he thought, but it was forward.
* * *
CORIE PUT HER purse in the small back room that served as the supply storage and employees’ lounge, and tied on a white, ruffle-trimmed half apron while her personal history raced across her mind.
She’d been four years old when she and Jack and their younger sister, Cassidy, had been separated. She had only vague memories of her life until that day, impressions of a woman’s slurred voice, of eating peanut butter on bread in their bedrooms because there was shouting in the living room. She remembered Jack—dark hair, dark eyes, always there.
Then Roscoe Brauer, her mother’s boyfriend, had been shot, and she and Jack and Cassie had spent a couple of nights with Ben’s family, the Palmers. When their mother went to jail Cassie had been sent to her father, who lived in Maine, and Corie went to Texas where her father lived.
She remembered the big change her new life had been, her stepmother and two stepsisters, who’d made it clear from the beginning that she wasn’t welcome. Missing Jack and two-year-old Cassidy had hurt with a physical pain.
Her father, Miguel Ochoa, had explained that her mother, Charlene Manning, had been a singer in small clubs. She’d gotten caught up with friends who partied with drugs. Jack’s father, a drug dealer, died in the crash of a light plane when Jack was three. Miguel had also pushed drugs, but left her mother when even he thought she wasn’t sober long enough to be in a relationship. Cassidy’s father, a counselor, had tried to help her get her life on track, but that hadn’t lasted long either. She had died in jail.
Talk about baggage.
“Who’s that?” Polly Benedict asked, peering through the blinds that covered the café’s window. She was twenty-two, had a boyfriend who was always off with the rodeo and lamented Corie’s lack of a romantic relationship. “He’s gorgeous!”
Corie walked past her on her way to the kitchen. She glanced up at the clock and saw that she was two minutes early.
Polly, several inches taller than Corie, fresh-faced and curvaceous, and unfailingly cheerful, stopped her progress and pinched her cheek.
“Look at you! You’re smiling. My goodness, how long has it been since I’ve seen your teeth? Is he responsible for that smile?”
She didn’t feel like smiling, but customers hated a moody waitress.
“He’s my brother’s brother. That’s all. He’s...visiting for a few days.”
Polly frowned over the “brother’s brother” explanation. “You’ve explained that to me before, but it’s so weird. How many people have a brother whose brother isn’t their brother?”
Corie hooked her arm in Polly’s and led her toward the kitchen. “I know, but putting it that way only makes it worse. So, what’s going on tonight? What’s the special?”
The bell rang. “Order up, Pol,” Hector called as they walked into the kitchen. With a parting grin for Corie, Polly detoured to the window to pick up her order.
“Corazon!” Wiping his hands on a kitchen rag, Hector glanced up at the clock. “I thought you were going to be late. You’re always ten minutes early. Did I hear you talking about your brother’s brother who isn’t your brother? I thought they lived in Washington.”
“Oregon,” she corrected. “I promised him dinner if he comes before closing.”
Hector was not very tall but his apron covered a generous middle. He was laid-back and kind, unless someone criticized his food or mistreated an employee. He’d given Corie a job based on nothing more than Teresa’s recommendation, and Corie would be forever grateful. His restaurant was a favorite hangout for families and young people on a date. People came from around the county.
Hector whisked an egg and cream mixture. “Good. What’s he doing here? I mean, since he’s not your brother. And you said he didn’t like you.”
Corie was tired of things she couldn’t explain. “He came to talk.” She looked in all the pots to see what was on the menu tonight.
“His phone doesn’t work?” Hector was smart and her reply had been lame.
“He’s a cop, Hector. I used to be a thief. He thinks that Jack and I reconnecting means trouble for Jack.”
Hector frowned. “You want me to set him straight?”
She shook her head, smiling. “I’m going to do that.”
“By buying him dinner? Or was the plan that I give him dinner?”
She grinned as she passed him. “I’m buying him dinner.”
“Didn’t I see you go by earlier with a big tree in the back of your truck? That must have set you back. Christmas trees are a fortune this year.”
“It’s for Teresa and the kids.”
“I know. You’re so good to her, but someday you have to fly the nest a second time and concentrate on you.”
The bell rang over the front door, announcing customers. She began to fill water glasses.
“I’m doing just fine.”
* * *
IT WAS AN average Saturday night. They did enough business to run out of the special, but not enough that Corie and Polly couldn’t keep up. Families came and left while one couple had spent the past two hours gazing into each other’s eyes while their enchiladas de queso grew cold.
Sukie Cunningham sat with her Kindle at a table at the back of the room. She was blonde and blue-eyed, a plump thirtysomething who had a taste for clothing from the junior department. She was administrative assistant to the deputy mayor, Robert Pimental. It was clear she’d been hired by Pimental for her curvaceous proportions and her too tight, too short clothing rather than her competence. Still, her pleasant personality and her look of wide-eyed innocence made her impossible to dislike.
Polly picked up a coffeepot, ready to do the refill rounds. “Do you think she has any idea Pimental is never going to leave his wife and marry her?” she asked Corie under her voice.
“I’m sure she doesn’t.” It was rumored that Sukie did more for her employer than mis-schedule his appointments and lose his messages.
“What is it about that man that appeals to her?”
“Power, I suppose. She thinks he can change her life. Her parents were poor and she waited tables here for a while before you came. But she forgot to put up orders, got them confused and dropped a tray of pies. She was always apologetic, but Hector was losing money. He finally had to fire her. Then Pimental hired her and eventually set her up in a little rental house on the other side of town.”
“She’s very loyal to him.”
Corie nodded but thought about the change she’d seen in Sukie recently—a loss of innocence in her eyes, a smile that didn’t come as easily as it used to. “She has been. I’m not sure what’s going on with them now. Maybe she’s catching a glimpse of the real him.”
Polly nodded. “Yeah. Crooked, mean, scary.”
“Yeah.”
Polly headed toward Sukie with the coffee.
* * *
BEN ARRIVED JUST before nine. He wore dark slacks and a dark cotton shirt. Corie had to stare for a minute. He’d combed his hair and actually dressed for dinner. In Querida. Good breeding was an impressive thing.
She led him to a table at the back. “Hector makes mean fajitas, wonderful camarónes—that’s shrimp if you’re not familiar with the word. All kinds of quesadillas, beef—”
He stopped her. “Camarones sounds wonderful.”
“Sautéed with lemon butter, done in salsa chipotle or á la diablo?”
“Diablo? Devil?”
“Yes. Pretty hot. Or we can go easy on the red chili.”
“I can take it,” he said. “Diablo. As it comes.”
“Something to drink? We have beer and wine.”
“Coffee’s good.”
She placed his order and brought his coffee. “Did you get a room at the B and B?”
“Yes. The owner seems suspicious of me, though. Mrs...?”
“McMinn.”
“That’s it. I don’t know what she thinks I’m doing here, but she seems convinced I’m up to no good.”
“Ah. That’s because I’m sure word is out now that you’re here to see me. She’s from Manzanita, a little town up the road where my family lived. We didn’t have a very good reputation. My father was a nice man, but hung around with people who weren’t, and Juanita was a dragon. My stepmother,” she explained. “She was unpleasant to everyone except her two daughters from a previous marriage.”
“But that’s them. How did you come by this reputation?”
She rested the coffeepot on the table. “One Easter when I was eleven, Juanita made dresses for her girls but not for me. Her girls were sweet and obedient. I wasn’t. Actually, they were scared and I wasn’t. I saw a dress in the window at a thrift shop, but I didn’t have any money. So, I stole it.” She arched an eyebrow. “Mrs. McMinn ran the shop at the time. She caught me and called the police. Juvenile Court made me pay it back. I think you’re considered suspect if you have anything to do with me.”
She couldn’t tell what he thought of that, but he finally nodded and said, “All right. Good to know.”
When Ben was finished, Corie took away his plate and put a dessert bowl containing custard with a sweet-smelling brown sauce in its place.
“Flan,” she said, “with caramel espresso sauce.” And walked away again, saying over her shoulder, “Best custard you’ll ever have.”
* * *
CORIE WAS CLEARING tables when Robert Pimental arrived just before closing. He stopped inside the door for a moment, supposedly to scan the room for Sukie but Corie suspected it was to pose there. He had visions of himself as an important figure who was generally irresistible to women. Sukie waved madly to get his attention.
He strode toward her table, about five-seven of portly arrogance. He’d come into office with his friend the mayor several years ago. The mayor had ALS and had been allowed to have a deputy for the times when the job was hard for him. The illness had sidelined the mayor a year ago and left Pimental to do pretty much as he liked in this town of two thousand.
Publicly, he’d made a few changes to earn favor with his constituents—removed parking meters, spruced up the park and playground, and created a committee to attract business to Querida.
Privately he was a philanderer with a Jaguar and an extravagant lifestyle, unusual for a small-town politician without a large inheritance.
Before Corie knew about his behavior in private, she’d gone to him for help in fighting Cyrus Tyree’s efforts to evict Teresa. She’d found him in an empty hallway, on his way to a meeting. Pimental had appeared willing to help until it became clear that he expected payment in return—and not in cash. When she’d turned to leave, he’d caught her arm to show her how generous she would have to be in return for his cooperation.
She’d swung her purse at him, forgetting that it contained a small coffee can in which she kept her tips. The loaded purse had left a visible scar above his right eye.
He’d been infuriated by her rejection—and her coffee can of tips—and had her arrested for assault. Fortunately for her, a delivery person had seen everything and volunteered to testify for her. Pimental had dropped the charges but there was venom in his eyes every time he looked at her.
As now. He stopped her as he made his way toward Sukie. “Coffee,” he said to Corie. “Decaf. And coconut cream pie.”
They were out of coconut cream. She couldn’t help but be happy about that.
* * *
BEN SAVORED THE last bite of flan and pulled his coffee cup toward him. A large man in kitchen whites approached his table.
“You’re Ben,” he said, offering his hand. There was an undercurrent of accusation in the statement.
Ben shook his hand and tried to stand in the narrow booth. “I am.” The man gestured him back down.
“I’m Hector, Corie’s boss.”
“Ah. Wonderful dinner. Those were the best shrimp I’ve ever had.”
“Thank you.” Hector squeezed into the opposite side of the booth. “Why are you here?” he asked bluntly.
Surprised by that question, Ben replied politely, “Family business.”
“But you’re not her family. Your brother is her brother, but you’re not...her brother.”
Ben laughed as Hector struggled with the family connections. “You must have her confidence if you know the Palmer-Manning family structure.”
“Manning?”
“Manning was their mother’s name and since their fathers came and went rapidly, their mother thought it was easier for all of them if they went by her name. Jack was adopted by my family, so he’s now a Palmer.”
Hector nodded, then tried to lean toward him but his girth was too firmly wedged into the booth to allow that. “She’s my friend,” he said, “and one of the best waitresses I’ve ever had.” He bobbed his head from side to side. “There are some not-so-good stories from when she was a kid. She had a tough life.”
Ben agreed with that but had to add, “She was arrested for assault just last year.”
Hector hooked a thumb in the direction of the man who’d arrived a short time ago. “Against him. She was defending herself from...you know.”
The man in question was now nuzzling a blonde, who seemed pleased by his attention. “That’s Pimental?”
“Yes.”
He didn’t seem particularly impressive or scary, though Ben had been a cop long enough to never trust appearances.
“Why is he allowed to remain in office if he behaves like that with women?”
Hector made a scornful sound. “The charges were dropped. The case never went to trial, but the point is, what happened wasn’t her fault. Don’t give her trouble about things she can’t do anything about.”
“I’m not here to give her trouble. I’m here to find out the truth...” He doubted Corie had confided in her boss about stealing the jewels. “About some personal things.”
Hector measured him with a look. “All right. See that you don’t or I’ll have to give you trouble. And don’t think I can’t.”
“Understood.”
“Good.”
As Hector shifted out of the booth, angry words came from Pimental, who was now standing at the cash register with Sukie.
Ben leaned sideways to see what was going on.
“I got this,” Hector said and started toward Pimental and Corie, who stood behind the counter.
Ben wandered over anyway. Corie was handing back Pimental’s credit card. “I’m sorry,” she said. “It was declined. Do you want to use another one?”
Pimental pushed it back at her. “I said, run it again.”
“And I said,” she replied, “I ran it twice. It was declined. Twice.”
“That’s impossible.”
She turned the credit card processing terminal toward him. The word DECLINED was clearly visible on the small screen. “I’m sorry.”
“I’ll just bet you are,” Pimental said darkly.
Corie smiled blandly. “Is it possible your wife overdrew it and neglected to tell you?”
Ben had to admire her complete disregard for discretion considering the man was here with another woman. Pimental’s face flushed dark red.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Sukie stepped between Pimental and the counter and handed Corie several bills, hitting her with a mildly disapproving glance for the reference to Mrs. Pimental. “I’m sure it’s a mistake, but I’ll just pay until it’s sorted out.”
Corie made change and handed it to Sukie. Sukie gave her back a five-dollar tip. She smiled at Hector. “It was a lovely dinner, Hector. Good night. Come on, Bobby.” She looped her arm in Pimental’s and led him away.
He held Sukie back long enough to snatch the money out of Corie’s hand. “Personal comments are poor service,” he accused. “You don’t deserve a tip.”
As his customers walked out the door, Hector looked reluctantly amused. “Not nice to mention Mrs. Pimental.”
Corie conceded that with a nod. “I know. But it’s not like he tries to hide his infidelity or that Sukie doesn’t know she exists.”
“True. But you’re out five bucks.”
She grinned. “It was worth it.”
He reached into the till to pull out a ten-dollar bill and handed it to her. “Yes, it was. I enjoyed it, too. Let’s lock up.”
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_d399de73-ff23-500c-bfee-717b8c9ba666)
CORIE AND POLLY filled the dishwasher while Ben helped Hector turn chairs upside down on the tables to mop the floor. Hector told him how he’d gotten into the business, shown him pictures of his three boys and three girls and his wife, and said his daughters loved Corie because she helped them update their clothes to look new and fashionable. “When you’re a girl in school, that’s important,” he said. “And Corie has this gift with design.”
Ben had taken it all in. This flair for fashion was something he hadn’t known about her. He wondered if Jack did.
In the car on the way home he asked her about it.
“I’ve always perked up my clothes by adding trim or parts of other pieces.”
“Hector said his girls love what you do.”
She smiled at that. “They’re appreciative because they don’t have a lot of money and there’s a certain satisfaction in dressing up something to make it look new again. Or even better.”
“Jack never mentioned you designed clothing.”
She shrugged. “It never came up. A couple of years ago I went to New York and got a job with a designer just starting out. I got good, practical experience, but he had a bad season and ran out of capital. My style wasn’t thrilling to more traditional designers, so when I couldn’t find another job in the field, I thought rather than waitress in New York, where living was so expensive, I may as well come home and work here so I can save to go back, and I could help Teresa while I was at it.”
Ben pulled up in front of her house. “I hope you get to work in design again,” he said sincerely. He’d like knowing she was happily settled somewhere because it would make Jack happy. “Meanwhile,” he went on in the sudden quiet, “will you make me a cup of coffee and tell me the truth about the jewelry?”
She let out an exaggerated breath. “Come on in.”
In the dim light over the doorway he saw that the run-down little white house with red trim had probably once been a cozy home but was now badly in need of paint and a few homey touches. There was a little bit of lawn in front that someone was trying to maintain, but it was crowding out the short walkway and weeds were growing through the simple picket fence that surrounded it.
A look of weariness had suddenly replaced the anger he’d grown used to seeing in Corie’s eyes, and she looked as though she belonged in this sad little place.
Ben steeled himself against softness. Corie was pretty and fascinatingly fearless, but if she did have the jewels, she could be a danger to Jack and his brother had been through enough. Though she’d originally stolen the jewelry to sell it and buy the house and property Teresa rented to free her from the constant threat of eviction, the act was illegal.
Jack was on his honeymoon in the California wine country right now, and his parents were partying with his bride’s family in Branson, Missouri. It was up to Ben to make sure the film of Corie’s appearance on the Tyree property—and what would look like his, Jack’s and Sarah’s complicity in the jewel theft—somehow disappeared. He only hoped he wasn’t too late.
He followed her inside the small living room. He and Jack and Sarah had spent the night on this floor the last time he was here. They’d felt it necessary to stay close until they had Corie safely on the plane with them, back to Oregon. Jack had insisted she go home with them to meet their family. After the theft and Jack’s sudden appearance in her life, she’d been emotional and trying hard to keep her distance. Afraid she’d run off, Jack, Ben and Sarah had stayed the night with Corie.
He remembered the set of natural wicker furniture more appropriate to a patio than a living room; it looked feminine and had probably been more affordable than upholstered pieces. The cushions were a blue-and-white pattern, and mismatched coffee table and end tables and an old rocker made up the rest of the furnishings. A few floral prints on the walls brightened the space.
She dropped her purse on the sofa. “I’ll get that coffee. Make yourself comfortable.”
He sat on the rocker and looked out the window behind the wicker sofa at the dark, quiet street. Most of the homes in the neighborhood were a lot like hers, some a little nicer, some a lot less cared for. He knew this part of Texas was populated with low-income workers and probably a few illegals looking for a better life, with family on both sides of the border.
That was probably why some members of the town government of Querida managed to operate the way they did, perpetrating crimes they continued to get away with. Everyone had secrets. No one wanted to talk.
He thought if he could deal with being here, he might be able to do something about it. But this part of Texas was dusty and hot, and he missed the rivers and forests of home. His plan was to quit the force and open an investigative services business in Beggar’s Bay. He’d even half convinced Grady Nelson, his partner on the force, to join him part-time until he got the business under way.
Corie returned with a steaming mug and placed it on a small table beside him.
“Thank you,” he said as she went to sit on the sofa. She pulled out the pins and rubber band that held her hair up for work and made a sound of relief when it fell free in a rippled sheet. She massaged her scalp with her fingertips.
“How come you don’t wilt in the heat?” he asked. “You wrestled a tree, worked a busy shift and did verbal battle with Pimental.” He sipped the coffee then rested the mug on one knee. “And you still have the energy to make my life difficult.”
She met his grin with her own. “I’m part cactus. I almost froze to death in Beggar’s Bay. Fortunately, Sarah lent me a sweater she’d borrowed from your mom when she moved in with you and Jack after the fire in her apartment.”
He nodded. “The red one.”
She seemed surprised that he remembered the color. He’d noticed it because the red had been dramatic with her dark features.
“About the jewelry...” he said, impatient with himself for letting her see that he’d been aware of her. He didn’t trust her but he’d have to be unconscious not to notice that she was beautiful. And a different woman when she was around those children. He took another sip of coffee. “Where is the jewelry?”
* * *
CORIE WISHED BEN PALMER would just go home. Life was difficult enough around here, trying to keep Teresa and the kids in their home and herself out of Pimental’s way. She didn’t need the annoyance of her brother’s brother. He reminded her of her childhood and everyone who dismissed her out of hand because she was that Ochoa brat from that awful family. He was clearly convinced that she was as bad as her legend.
“I believe you sent the jewelry back to the Tyrees,” she said, her tone deliberately airy because he looked so grave and she enjoyed refusing to take him seriously. “In a priority-mail box. Your partner, Grady, mailed it from Seattle when he went to visit his girlfriend, so no one would know that you and Jack were involved.”
“I never told you Grady mailed it.”
“Jack did. After making a point of explaining to me that I couldn’t possibly move forward in my life with such a crime behind me.”
He took exception to the subtle criticism of their brother in her reply and the suggestion that Jack was somehow unsympathetic. “Jack remembers the sweet little sister he lost all those years ago. He seems to be convinced that you’re the same person, and now his name could be compromised because Tyree has your burglary on tape. You might have a little more respect for all Jack’s been through to find you, and the fact that he risked himself that night to get you out of there.”
She’d regretted her cavalier response the moment the words were out of her mouth. But Ben made her prickly—like the cactus she claimed to be.
“I could never explain to you,” she said, “how important Jack is to me. I would never deliberately hurt him.”
“Right.” It was clear he didn’t believe her. She couldn’t imagine what she’d have to do to prove it. “So where is the jewelry?”
“You mailed it to Tyree,” she repeated.
“I’m sure you saw the interview with him on the evening news where Mrs. Tyree held up all the junk beads that arrived in the box.” He leaned back again, accusing gaze steady. “How’d you make the switch? And where’s the jewelry now?”
“I did see the news.” She folded her legs up on the love seat. Used to having her honesty called into question, she wasn’t sure why it was so particularly annoying when he did it. But it was. She held back the angry words on the tip of her tongue. “It’s interesting to me,” she said calmly, “that you’re convinced I somehow switched the jewelry for Mardi Gras junk. When would I have done that? I never saw the jewelry again after we got to your parents’ house. You took it from me, remember?”
She couldn’t tell whether or not she’d shaken his conviction of her guilt. His steady gaze gave very little away. He said nothing and waited for her to go on.
“And, you know, it makes me wonder what kind of cop you are,” she continued, unable to hold back her annoyance, “that it hasn’t occurred to you that Tyree did get the jewelry back, but because he’d probably already filed a claim with his insurance company and gotten paid, he decided to pretend that it was junk in that box. By going on television and flashing the dime-store beads, Mrs. Tyree can have her jewelry and he can keep the insurance money.
“He’s got somebody on security footage as having robbed him,” she continued, “so he’s golden with the insurance company. And you were careful to make sure you and Jack and Sarah weren’t implicated by mailing the package without a return address and from some distance from where you live. You can’t come out now and tell the authorities that you sent the jewelry back because then they’d know you helped me in the first place.”
He rolled his eyes. “Come on, Corie. Really? You want me to believe this is simple insurance fraud?”
“Why not?” She sat a little straighter. “Tyree is a smart-mouthed lawyer who defends the shady, and is one of Pimental’s cronies. I can’t suggest to anyone that he’s scamming the insurance company because that would suggest I knew the jewelry had been returned. The obvious conclusion would be that I sent it back. How could I have done that unless I’d stolen it in the first place? And I can’t separate you and Jack and Sarah from that night because you were there and are probably on film. See? Pays to mind your own business.”
“There’s no such thing as that when family’s involved. I know.” He forestalled her protest with a raised hand. “I’m not your family, Jack is. But he’s my family, so...what we now have is a big mess.”
“I’m used to messes,” she said. “Just go home and let me deal with this one.”
“And how are you going to do that with the surveillance tape out there? I’m surprised the Corpus Christi police haven’t arrested you already.”
“I was scared to death of that at first, but I got to thinking about it. It was so dark, there were so many bushes and trees, I don’t think there’s any way they could identify us. My truck is black and was in the bushes. We all stayed in the bushes when we ran to the house. That tape helped Tyree with the insurance company, but I can’t imagine it did the police any good.”
“I’d like to know that for sure.”
“So would I, but I don’t see how you can.”
“Then you underestimate me.” He pushed to his feet.
Corie wasn’t sure whether to be relieved that he was going or nervous about that “underestimate me” remark.
She stood, too. “What are you going to do?”
“Not sure. I have to see the tape. I guess I have to make friends with someone who can help with that, so I’m going to be around for a few days. And I promised Teresa that I’d help decorate the tree tomorrow. Shall I pick you up?”
She felt depressed and then resigned. “Sure.”
She followed him to the door and caught his arm when he would have stepped out. It was warm and muscled. He stopped instantly, looking down at her hand then up into her eyes. His were watchful, waiting.
“Yes?” he asked.
“You should think about this twice. Please.”
“Corie,” he said with a patience that surprised her. “We’ve just been through all this. After I find out what’s on the tape, maybe I’ll have time to prove your theory about Tyree defrauding the insurance company. In case you are spotted on it.”
She arched an eyebrow in surprise. “You believe me?”
“No.” He answered without hesitation. “But it’s a place to start.”
She wondered if he worked at being hateful or if it just came naturally. “Ben, you don’t know what you’re dealing with. You’re naive where Querida and Pimental and his cronies are concerned.”
“What?” He seemed as amused as he was offended. “Naive? I’m a cop. A cop who remains naive after nine years on the force isn’t doing his job.”
“You know what I mean. This little Texas town is filled with secrets. If anything happens to you, I’m sure I’d have to answer to Jack, just as you claim you’d have to if anything happened to me.”
She realized she was holding his arm and dropped her hand, suddenly self-conscious. Her fingertips still felt the soft light hair, warm sinew and the thrum of a steady pulse. Her own pulse, a little erratic, seemed to accelerate and steal her breath.
She stared at the shoulder muscle moving under his shirt as he put a hand on her arm.
“Then doesn’t that suggest,” he asked, “that we should work on this together to prevent Jack from getting angry at either of us? That is, if you are innocent and not afraid of exposure.”
“If we tried to do anything together,” she noted, “one of us wouldn’t survive. I’m thinking, you.”
“Well...see, now, rather than discourage me that simply challenges me. You think I’m not capable of being tougher than you are?”
“Oh, I know you’re tough,” she said, adding with complete conviction, “You’re just not as cussed as I am.”
He laughed softly. “Well, that may be true.”
* * *
THAT WAS HEAVY STUFF, he thought. She seemed completely convinced she had an iron interior. Of course, she couldn’t see into her own eyes. But he imagined that when she met her gaze in a mirror while putting on makeup or brushing her teeth, she did it fiercely, needing to convince herself of her invincibility.
When he looked into her eyes, he saw the cactus she claimed to be.
He took out his cell phone. “Give me your number and I’ll give you mine. You can call me anytime if you need to.” They recorded each other’s information then she held open the door for him.
“What time shall I pick you up in the morning? Does the Grill serve breakfast?”
“Yes, Abelia cooks. That’s Hector’s wife. They open at seven.”
“Is that too early?”
“The kids will be up at six and waiting for you.”
“All right. I’ll pick you up just before seven.”
She closed the door behind him as he walked out to his car. He thought about what she’d said. All those children with the big, questioning eyes. And they’d mistaken him for Santa.
Mercy.
CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_b508d45e-c3ce-5891-bc36-0e3a047f8d7e)
BEN LOOKED FRESH and capable as he hauled the twelve-foot ladder Hector had loaned them out of the shed behind the restaurant. Corie, who hadn’t slept well at all, knew she looked a little like a refugee from a zombie walk. She picked up the back end of the ladder and helped him carry it to her truck.
They’d had a quiet breakfast at the Grill and then driven to Teresa’s to discover that her ladder wasn’t tall enough to reach the top of the Christmas tree and that she didn’t have enough ornaments. Corie had made a quick call to Hector, who’d agreed to lend them his ladder, but the matter of more ornaments had necessitated a craft project. Teresa and the children had been left in charge of resolving that problem.
“Where’d you find your keys?” Ben asked as he placed the ladder on the tarp that remained in her truck.
She walked around to open the driver’s-side door, smiling ruefully at him when they were both in the cab. “Bianca had them. She loves to put things in her purse.”
“Ah. The youngest Stripe. I noticed the purse. She doesn’t look big enough to carry it.”
“She’s tougher than she appears.”
Corie loved the way he identified the children. The Flores girls were the Stripe Sisters. The Santiago brothers, the Army.
“I should have thought about that but I was stressed and late for work. Karina, the middle sister, found them and gave them to me.” She pulled away from the front of the restaurant, executed a wide U-turn then headed for Teresa’s.
“Is a U-turn legal in Querida?” he asked, his elbow resting on his open window. She noticed he was holding on to the roof of the truck.
“Not sure,” she replied. “Why? You going to arrest me? You’re not even on duty. Especially not here.”
“A cop’s always on duty,” he corrected. “Depends on the danger of the situation to the public as to whether or not he steps in.”
“Am I scaring you?” she teased. “I thought you were fearless.”
“That’s our brother, Jack. And you did almost take out that trash box in front of Hector’s, then the mailbox across the street while executing the turn.” He grinned at her. “That would have gotten you a pricey traffic ticket in Beggar’s Bay. Don’t know what the law is in Querida.”
“I do it all the time and I’ve never gotten a ticket.”
“Let’s hope your luck continues. Nice of Hector to send pastries back for the kids.”
“They’ll love them with their hot chocolate. So will I.”
“I noticed your sweet tooth. You had three pieces of cake at Jack and Sarah’s wedding, as I recall.”
She was a little embarrassed that he’d noticed that. She’d been nervous. For the woman whose mother had gone to jail, whose father had been a drug dealer and whose stepmother disliked her, the Palmer-Reed family harmony had been alien territory. Their happiness in each other’s company had been so thick she’d been afraid someone would notice she felt out of place. She tended to overeat when she was nervous. “It’s not very polite to point it out.”
He laughed lightly. “It’s not like it’s an evil quality or anything. It’s just nice to know you have a weakness. I’m guessing you’ve spent most of your life pretending you don’t have any.”
She ignored that and kept driving. He was spot-on, actually. She hated that about him.
* * *
FOR THE FIRST fifteen minutes of tree decorating, Ben thought he would go insane. Kids were everywhere. It was just the same ten kids, with Roberto safely tucked away in a playpen to protect him from being trampled, but the noise level and general activity made it seem as though they’d doubled, or even tripled, in number.
He thought it remarkable that the women didn’t seem to notice. They directed the wrapping of lights around the bottom branches and let the older children climb Teresa’s short ladder to help with the upper branches. Teresa hovered around them as Corie occupied the younger ones, who were stretching out the colorful paper chains they’d made.
Ben watched the happy, laughing faces. Only Rosie was looking on with a strange detachment that finally caught Corie’s attention. The lights were now halfway up the tree and the smaller children were placing ornaments on the branches they could reach. As Ben opened the large boxes of decorations, he heard Corie try to encourage Rosie’s participation.
“I think you should put up that pretty purple chain you made,” she said, catching Rosie’s hand and leading her toward the tree.
Rosie resisted. “I want to save it,” she said, “for our tree when my dad comes to get me.”
“He might not come in time for Christmas.” Corie knelt beside her.
Rosie met her gaze with firm, dark eyes. “He’s coming.”
Putting an arm around her, Corie squeezed her close. “Okay. Why don’t we put it on our tree and, when he comes, you can still take it home with you for your tree?”
Appearing reluctant to accept the compromise, Rosie sighed. The child reminded him of Corie. Her own imperfect family made it hard for her to give or to accept love when it was offered from someone else. She finally went with Corie to the big box that had held the chains the children had made, pulled out the remaining bright purple one and looked for the right spot on the tree.
Rosie pointed over her head. With the two ladders occupied, Corie stood on tiptoe to see if she could reach. She was at least a foot short.
Ben went to help. Moving Corie aside with a teasing, “Out of my way, short stuff,” he lifted Rosie onto his shoulders. She squealed in surprise then giggled when she found herself high enough to place the chain a third of the way from the top.
“How does that look?” Rosie asked of the room in general.
“It’s beautiful.” Corie stood back to admire it and Teresa nodded.
“Good job,” Ben agreed, lowering Rosie to her feet.
By the time they broke for pastries and cocoa, Ben concluded that all he could do in such a situation was abandon the need to control and simply embrace the chaos. Teresa had a little directorial control, but, for the most part, let the children experience the thrill of decorating by themselves.
They all sat around the large kitchen table, Corie and Teresa making sure there was an equitable distribution of treats. Ben leaned against the counter with a cup of coffee, listening in on the conversations.
Rosie and the Stripe Sisters talked about what they would do when their parents came for them. There were small, homey plans that involved doing their chores and cleaning their rooms. Lupe, the oldest sister, intended to plant flowers.
“What if we live in an apartment?” Karina asked.
“You can have flowers in an apartment,” Rosie said. “In a pot instead of in the ground.”
“But that’s not a garden,” Lupe protested.
“Sometimes you can’t have a garden,” Rosie said. “Sometimes you can only have a pot.”
The girls nodded seriously. Ben thought about how sage an observation that was.
“I’m gonna learn to play football. Catch, Peterson.” Carlos pretended to throw a pass. Soren, across the table, reached a skinny arm up to catch the imaginary ball. The two boys laughed.
“We don’t have a football,” Rigo, the next oldest Santiago brother, pointed out.
“That’s okay, I do.” Soren picked up his cocoa. “When your family comes, you can have my football.” He shrugged.
Ben suspected the boy didn’t believe that would happen.
“Maybe Santa will bring us one,” the youngest Santiago brother said hopefully.
Miguel, brother number three, chimed in with, “You’d have to be good for that to happen, Tonio.”
The boys laughed. “We’d better take Soren’s football.”
Corie came with the coffeepot to top up Ben’s mug. “You doing all right?” she asked. “These guys can be hard on the nerves when they’re excited. You got your strength training in for the day by lifting them all up to hang their paper chains. It’s fun for them to go beyond their reach.”
He had to agree with that. “It’s fun for all of us. What brought each of them here?”
She put the pot back on the warmer and came to lean beside him. “The Flores girls’—or Stripe Sisters, as you call them—mother is a widow and lost her job. She’s being retrained at a place in Florida that teaches food service skills and hotel management. Teresa got her into the program—it’s run by friends of hers. The Santiago Army’s dad was injured on the job in an oil field and, when he recovered, he went for retraining, too.”
“The kids have been here through all that?”
“Eight months for the Flores girls, six for the Santiago boys.”
“What about Rosie?”
“Teresa’s been in touch with her father, who is a US citizen living in Mexico. Her mom was in poor health and died at home and the neighbors brought Rosie here so her father, who remained in Mexico, could come for her and take her home without having to deal with the system.”
“Her parents were divorced?”
“I think so. Not sure. He doesn’t think he can support her but has been looking for a solution.”
Ben said in annoyance, “Like a job?”
Corie hitched a shoulder. “Teresa tries not to make judgments. Soren was the son of a border guard who died in the line of duty. He’d been a friend of Teresa’s, so she took Soren in. He’s sort of happy here.”
“Sort of? Shouldn’t a kid be definitely happy?”
“Ideally. It’s just not in the cards for some.”
He thought he heard a personal note in her voice. “Like you?”
Her eyes narrowed. “I was happy when I was really little. I remember Jack taking good care of me. I didn’t even realize how bad our mother was until they sent Cassie and me back to our fathers. That part of my life was okay until my father died. Then it was awful. Until Teresa found me when I was twelve.”
Ben sighed, realizing how much strength was around the table—and standing beside him. “Lots of sad stories.”
“Yes. Well. It’s a foster home. This is often sad-story central.” She straightened from the counter. “It’s too bad you’ll be going home soon. The kids really like you.”
“I have some things to do first.” He toasted her with his mug. “You’ll have to deal with me a little—”
The sound of the doorbell rang through the house. Teresa, arbitrating a dispute between Soren and Rosie, looked up.
Corie stayed her with a hand. “I’ll get it.” She set her cup down and crossed the living room to pull the door open.
Gil Bigelow, Querida’s chief of police, stood there in his dark blue uniform, his brimmed hat at a testy angle over light blue eyes. His craggy face was etched in stern lines. He was another good friend of Robert Pimental’s and one of Corie’s least favorite people. When Pimental had had her arrested for assault, Bigelow hadn’t even listened to her side of the story. If it hadn’t been for that passing delivery person, she’d probably be doing time today.
Bigelow’s hands rested lightly on his creaky leather belt overloaded with tools of the job. Teresa came up beside Corie.
“Good morning, Chief,” she said. “What is it?”
He firmed his stance. “I’m here to tell you that you have to be out of here in five days. According to Mr. Tyree, you’ve ignored all his efforts to encourage you to abide by the rules of your renter’s agreement. You argued with the assistant he sent. Therefore—”
“That isn’t true, Gil Bigelow, and you know it.” Angry color filled Teresa’s cheeks. “I am behind in the rent, but I’ve told him over and over again about the leaky ceiling, the bad plumbing in the kitchen and the wide cracks in the veranda. Those are his responsibilities as my landlord and he’s done nothing about them.”
“Now, Teresa, there’s no point in getting hysterical. The law is the law. He has the right—”
“I am not hysterical. I’m loud because you don’t hear me otherwise.”
Corie struggled to remain calm. “He’s done nothing but harass Teresa since he inherited the house from his father. He—”
“Pardon me.” Corie was completely surprised by the sound of a male voice behind her. A hand on her upper arm moved her aside as Ben stepped between her and Teresa. All the children, she noticed, had clustered around them, Rosie holding Roberto.
Ben extended his hand to Bigelow, his manner courteous but somehow charged, as though a current ran beneath the calm. The chief seemed to recognize it. “Good morning, Chief,” Ben said. “I’m Ben Palmer. I’m visiting for a few days. What’s this about eviction?”
Bigelow sized up the intruder then widened his stance, as though taking up more room somehow expanded his position. “This,” he said, his voice lowering a pitch, “is none of your business, Mr. Palmer. It’s between Ms. McGinnis and me.”
Ben continued to smile. “I’m sure you don’t want to violate the law, Chief. As a police officer, myself, I know that only a county sheriff or one of his deputies can enforce an eviction order, and then, only at the end of the court process.”
Anger and offended male ego lit Bigelow’s eyes. He cleared his throat. “Where you from, Palmer?” he asked.
“Oregon.”
“Well, this is Texas.”
“Right. But unless Texas has seceded, this law applies to you. It’s a federal law. It applies everywhere in the United States. You can’t make her leave.”
The chief took what he likely thought was an intimidating step toward Ben.
Ben stood firm and watched him approach, his manner still polite.
“I want her,” the chief said, a furious tremor in his voice, “and the children out of here in five days.”
Ben shook his head. “The landlord has to file an eviction notice. That would be a five-day notice for nonpayment of rent, which isn’t the case here—at least not without good cause. A ten-day notice for a breach of the lease, which isn’t the case, either. So, a thirty-day notice would be required. Still, the tenant could contest it. A formal eviction notice has to be filed first before a court case can proceed. At the very least, Ms. McGinnis can remain here for the next two months.”
Ben’s manner changed, the smile gone as he took a step toward the chief. “You’re the one who has to leave. You have no right to be here, therefore, you’re trespassing.”
“I,” Bigelow said, “am a representative of the law.”
“Without legitimate reason for the eviction you’re trying to serve, without the required paperwork and, apparently, without a working knowledge of the law you claim to represent.”
Corie’s heart pounded as the men stared at each other. Bigelow was clearly on the brink of violence, Ben waiting for it.
Expecting the chief to lay a hand on Ben at any second, Corie was surprised when he inhaled a breath and seemed to think better of it. Wisely so, she thought. Ben was a good fifteen years younger and considerably more fit.
“We’ll see about this, Palmer,” the chief said. Then he turned, strode toward his up-accessorized police car, got in and sped away.
Teresa threw her arms around Ben’s neck. “How do you know all that?” she asked.
“We had a situation at an apartment building at home. My partner and I were called in to keep the peace until everything was done properly. I learned a lot.”
Corie was astonished by what had just happened. Ben had defended them against one of Querida’s bullies. He’d stood up to the police chief’s intimidation tactics on her behalf. Well, not her behalf. He’d stood up for Teresa and the children, but their problem was as important to her as any of her own, so he might as well have defended her.
“We don’t have to go?” Rosie asked. “Ben made it so we don’t have to go, right?”
Soren laughed and patted Ben’s arm. “Ben scared the police chief,” he said. “We can stay for two more months.”
Corie ushered the children back while Teresa pulled herself together. The past year had been a nightmare with Tyree’s repeated threats to evict her. She held on to Ben the way Corie wanted to—as though he were a strong handhold in a hurricane. And it had been so long since either of them had anyone to hold on to in tough times except each other.
Corie sat the children at the table again, gave them each another pastry half, knowing she was taking the coward’s way out to soothe their nerves but accepting that it was expedient. She made more cocoa, turned up the Christmas carols and got a discussion going about what they should make for Teresa’s present.
* * *
BEN LOOKED DOWN into Teresa’s tear-filled eyes and felt an eerie change take place inside him.
She hugged him fiercely again. “Thank you, thank you!” she whispered thickly. “I’m so glad you were here.”
He patted her shoulder, feeling his whole world go south on him. To be honest, he had to admit that it had begun when he and Jack and Sarah had followed Corie on her path to theft and vengeance.
“We’ve held him off for now,” he said, watching her pull tissues out of her pocket and dab at her nose. “But this is just going to continue unless we settle this once and for all.”
She looked up at him doubtfully. “Tyree doesn’t care about our situation. His father was a good man, but all Cyrus cares about is getting me out. I hate it when the children are worried. I wish they could just go to school and come home and play and be happy.”
“Are their parents really coming back? Any of them?”
“Absolutely,” she said, her eyes suddenly dry, her customary confidence returning. “They’re not bad people. They’ve just had bad things happen to them. I started this place so that when parents are ready to take their children back, they don’t have to wait forever for the court to do its thing. They can just reclaim their children and make a home again. They’ll be back. I know Joel Santiago and Amelia Flores thought they’d be finished with school by Christmas.”
“All right,” he heard himself say, “then we’ll do everything we can to see that you stay.”
“How will we do that?”
“Leave it to me.”
“You’d have to stay around for a while.”
Yeah. He was getting that.
He’d never been a selfish person—he’d been raised better than that. But his life so far, apart from his job, had been about doing what he wanted to do. He was enthused and excited about his plans to start an investigative agency. He was willing to work hard and had a fairly good business head. He could make a success of Palmer Private Investigations.
But he wasn’t going to be able to launch his business until he had Teresa and Corie and the children on a safer footing and he’d resigned from the Beggar’s Bay police force. And then there was the jewelry... He had no illusions that he could single-handedly solve either issue. He needed an ally in the cause, but he was going to do his best to brighten up the children’s world and give them the stability they deserved.
Teresa hooked her arm in his and tugged him back into the house. “Thanks, Ben, for caring about us.”
“I’m glad I was here.”
“And for agreeing to stay.”
He was about to deny that he had done that, but it would have been pointless. He hadn’t said the words but in his heart he’d made the promise.
And it was all Corie’s fault.
CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_ebf18667-1de4-5716-8e82-b03d7fed83fe)
BEN WENT TO town in the afternoon while the children made more ornaments for the tree. On an errand to buy more lights, he decided to make a detour to the local newspaper office.
Querida was too small to support a daily newspaper, but the Weekly Standard had its office in an unpretentious storefront in a strip mall on the other side of town.
The editor, a tall, slender man Ben guessed to be in his forties, seemed to be a one-person operation, except for a receptionist. He introduced himself as Will Fennerty.
Ben asked him if he could take a look at all the articles that had run that year on the Querida government, particularly Robert Pimental, the chief of police and Cyrus Tyree.
“I can,” he replied. “Fortunately for you, there’s no such thing as a weekend off in the life of a small town editor/publisher.”
Will provided copies in twenty minutes. He leaned across a battered counter toward Ben and asked if he was from the attorney general’s office.
Ben laughed and asked if the Querida town government required such attention.
The man nodded. “It absolutely does, but with just myself doing the reporting, I don’t have the staff to follow up on all my investigations. And if I don’t spend half my time selling advertising, I won’t survive anyway. I’d suggest if you’re going to look into things, find out how a deputy mayor in this tiny town can support a palatial home on Ocean Drive in Corpus Christi.”
“Doesn’t Pimental have to live in Querida to work in its government?” Ben asked.
“He has a modest little place here, too.”
“Maybe his wife has money?”
“She was a car salesman’s daughter from Dallas.”
“So, his job here is funding the Corpus Christi lifestyle?”
“I think so.”
Ben remembered that elegant Ocean Drive neighborhood because that was where Tyree lived. He, Jack and Sarah had trailed Corie there the night of the robbery.
“And nobody’s noticed? I mean, what’s a town this size doing with a deputy mayor, anyway?”
Will shrugged. “The mayor had ALS. When he was voted in he brought along Pimental, who had a car agency in Manzanita. The two of them were childhood friends. Since the mayor’s illness has become completely debilitating, Pimental’s been pretty much on his own.”
Ben was beginning to see the picture.
“Pimental’s behavior is largely ignored because the rest of the state doesn’t care about Querida. We don’t really produce anything and the landscape isn’t exactly inspiring. The police chief also seems to live far beyond the salary of a small-town cop. There’s so much going on in city hall, I wouldn’t know who’d be safe to report it to if I did have an airtight case.”
“Wow. I have a friend fighting eviction—”
“Teresa McGinnis. Cyrus Tyree seems determined to get her out of there,” Fennerty conceded.
“It doesn’t seem like the house is prime property.”
“I don’t get that, either. His father left it to him, along with a few other properties in Querida and Manzanita. I think he treats those the same way—never fixes anything and is always chasing the rent.”
“I understand Corie Ochoa went to the deputy mayor for help,” Ben added.
Will laughed. “Yeah, that was rich. He tried to get her to pay him to help and she beaned him with her purse. Didn’t take that very well. Just not a nice man.”
“I understand. And...one more thing.”
“Sure.”
“Did you report on the theft of Tyree’s wife’s jewelry?”
“I did. It happened in Corpus Christi, but he’s well-known around here.”
“TV news reported that Tyree had surveillance cameras.”
“Yes. Want to see for yourself what they got?”
Ben suppressed any reaction, hardly believing his luck.
Will let Ben in behind the counter, walked around his desk and invited Ben to take the chair beside it. He stabbed in a few commands to his laptop and turned the screen toward Ben.
“Since it’s from a private security system I had to get permission, but Tyree seemed happy enough to give it to me. It’s clear he was robbed.”
Ben’s stomach sank. “By whom?” he asked innocently.
The copy of the film began to play. “That part’s not so clear. It’s impossible to identify anyone.”
Ben watched shadows moving among the bushes in the dark. The makes and models of the vehicles were impossible to determine, and license plates weren’t visible. That was a major relief.
He turned the screen back. “Do you suspect anyone?”
“No. Every other person in Querida and Corpus Christi dislikes Tyree. And his wife has serious pretensions, so any number of people would be happy to see either or both of them taken down.”
“Thanks.” Ben stood and shook his hand. “I appreciate your help, Will.”
Ben went to Wolf’s Hardware to buy three strings of one hundred-foot lights, per Teresa’s instructions, several boxes of plain ornaments and a box of bubble lights, thinking the children would enjoy seeing those at work. He also bought an inflatable Santa Claus and Mrs. Santa for the front lawn. If Teresa was horrified by it, he’d just take it home with him—whenever he went home.
As Ben headed out of town for Teresa’s, he noticed Corie pulling into a parking spot near the restaurant, ready to begin her shift. He punched his horn and she waved.
* * *
A SPICY AROMA tantalized him when Soren opened the door at his knock—along with two of the Santiago brothers and all of the Stripe Sisters. “We’re having spaghetti for dinner, and you’re invited.”
“What did you buy?” Bianca stood on tiptoe to see the contents of the bag he carried. He lowered it to the coffee table so they could look inside.
“What’s this?” Carlos took out the flat inflatables and unfolded them. “Look! Santa. And Mrs. Santa. And they’re big!”
The other kids abandoned the bag for the big, red-suited Claus couple. Santa had a giant sack and the missus held a teddy bear and a candy cane.
“For the lawn?” Soren asked.
Ben nodded. “If we have a bicycle pump or something for blowing up an air mattress, we can inflate them tonight or tomorrow and put them out. But we should probably ask Teresa first.”
The Stripe Sisters went into the kitchen to do just that.
Teresa came to the kitchen doorway, wooden spoon in hand. Soren and Carlos held up the figures. She smiled broadly. “You’re a child-spoiler, Ben Palmer,” she said. “Can you stay for dinner?”
The atmosphere was different without Corie. Not that she was ever particularly happy to see him, but he was discovering that he wanted to see her. He had thought about going to the Grill for dinner.
But the children jumped up and down at the invitation. Rosie, who was setting the table, told him Teresa made the best spaghetti. “You have to eat some salad with it, but the spaghetti’s really good. We have garlic bread, too.”
Ben felt himself relenting. He’d been loved his entire life, and he’d always dealt well with his friends’ children and those he came across in his work, but he’d never experienced this almost-adoration before. He put it down to these children living in a household run by women. He was a new and different experience for them.
“Please,” Teresa added. “I’d like to repay you at least a little for all you’ve done for us today.”
“I’d love to,” he said. “Thank you.”
An argument followed among the children about where he would sit. Teresa settled it by placing him between Rosie and Soren, who were already bickering. “We have a dinner guest,” she said, focusing a pointed gaze on each child. “Soren, please pass him the garlic toast.”
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Muriel Jensen
She'll make Christmas magic…in spite of him!In all his years as a cop, Ben Palmer had seen some hard cases. But Corie Ochoa took the cake. There was more hostility in her gorgeous five-foot-one frame than he'd seen in hardened criminals. Not to mention her uncanny knack for getting herself in trouble. But she was his adopted brother's sister, and he was going to help her whether she liked it or not. And clearly, she didn't.Too bad. He hadn't come all the way to Texas to let this infuriating woman off the hook. Every instinct told him there was more to this story…and to her.
She’ll make Christmas magic...in spite of him!
In all his years as a cop, Ben Palmer had seen some hard cases. But Corie Ochoa took the cake. There was more hostility in her gorgeous five-foot-one frame than he’d seen in hardened criminals. Not to mention her uncanny knack for getting herself in trouble. But she was his adopted brother’s sister, and he was going to help her whether she liked it or not. And clearly, she didn’t.
Too bad. He hadn’t come all the way to Texas to let this infuriating woman off the hook. Every instinct told him there was more to this story...and to her.
Ben Palmer? It couldn’t be.
In complete disbelief, she saw him coming toward her, picking up speed as the tree she was hoisting began to fall. Six feet and a couple of inches of darkly gorgeous but self-righteous, self-satisfied male who despised and distrusted her... What was he doing here? As though her life wasn’t already fraught with more problems than she could deal with. He—
She lost her balance completely as he tried but failed to help.
“Corie?” he asked.
She wanted to say something clever, sound flippant, as though it didn’t matter that he was the man she hated and he considered her an incorrigible criminal. “No, I’m the Druid that came with the tree. Of course, it’s me.”
She felt his sigh against her forehead. “I know it’s you. I want to know if you’re okay.”
“No, I’m not okay. I have twelve feet of tree on me and six feet of hateful man.”
Dear Reader (#u2299cc02-bcf3-5cd9-a157-0694e6647440),
I love November. It’s a time for giving thanks, a preparation for the holiday season, a time for family. And that’s what Manning Family Reunion is all about. Jack, from In My Dreams, is determined to put his family back together after most of a lifetime of separation.
To Love and Protect is Corie’s story. She was four years old when the Manning kids were separated, and her life took a much different path from Jack’s. She’s small in stature but big in courage and resourcefulness—with an interesting tendency toward flaunting the rules when necessary.
Ben, Jack’s adopted brother, is all heart. But as a police officer, he has great respect for the rules and serious concerns about Jack’s devotion to his newly discovered sister. Particularly when she presents a threat to their family, and Jack is away on his honeymoon. It’s Ben to the rescue—or is it?
Happy holiday season!
Muriel
HEARTWARMING
To Love and Protect
Muriel Jensen
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
MURIEL JENSEN lives with her husband, Ron, in a simple old Victorian looking down on the Columbia River in Astoria, Oregon. They share the space with a loudmouthed husky mix and two eccentric tabbies. They have three children, eight grandchildren and five great-grandchildren. Their neighborhood is charmed, populated with the kindest and most fun-to-be-around people.
In loving memory of Wayne McVey, who was a wonderful friend to Ron and me, who loved Starbucks, and onion rings, casinos and dinner at Dooger’s. And to Diane McVey, who soldiers on without him. Love you both!
Contents
Cover (#ufb7dcd03-8d9f-54eb-8848-a8dd8687329a)
Back Cover Text (#u1502bc77-8880-50fd-8294-c39163b0e056)
Introduction (#u05c659ad-08e8-5645-abca-0f9051cbad15)
Dear Reader
Title Page (#ua658b4c8-98d7-57dd-a606-09c6ee9bed1d)
About the Author (#u9f82dedf-2339-5490-b29a-99a04cee36a0)
Dedication (#udb9c7df2-fcd2-523d-a3a2-4aa231e156a8)
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
EPILOGUE
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#u2299cc02-bcf3-5cd9-a157-0694e6647440)
“I’M GOING TO wring her pretty ballerina neck,” Ben Palmer told himself as he drove from the airport in McAllen, Texas, to Querida, where his quarry lived. He studied the side of the road for the break in the dry brush he remembered from a couple of weeks ago when he and his brother, Jack, had been here together in search of Jack’s sister. He was glad Elizabeth Corazon Manning Ochoa wasn’t his sister—the little thief! As if her full name wasn’t enough to deal with, her given name was the Spanish word for heart. It should have been whatever the Spanish word was for trouble. “There it is.”
He turned right onto the narrow, bumpy lane, watching for the Rio Road sign. High weeds lined the path that led to the impoverished little two-block-long downtown. The side with city hall, the post office and the library, all built in traditional Spanish style with arches and red-tiled roofs, looked tidy and well-kept in contrast to the stores and services opposite them and the run-down bed-and-breakfast at the very end. Fall flowers lined the street on the city hall side but the commercial businesses looked as though they struggled to stay alive.
He slowed as he passed the Grill, the café where Corie waitressed. It was the only structure on the block that looked even mildly prosperous. He noticed that her black Ford truck was not in the parking lot. She must have the day off.
Remembering the directions to her home from the last visit, he turned onto Hidalgo Road just beyond downtown.
Two minutes later he pulled the SUV to a stop across from the little house she rented and saw immediately that her truck wasn’t there, either. Maybe she was at Teresa McGinnis’s foster home.
He drove to the property and pulled up to the chain-link fence. A crowd of children played in the front yard. Behind them stood the large hacienda-style home, its faded pink stone a picture of Old West glory.
He knew Corie spent much of her free time helping Teresa, who’d brought her here when she was twelve. He could see the backyard where Corie usually parked but the only vehicle there today was Teresa’s old dark blue Safari van. He hoped she knew where Corie was.
He parked then took a moment to stretch after climbing out of his rental car. The temperature was in the low seventies in this eastern reach of the Rio Grande Valley and he soaked up the sunshine while his usually active muscles protested the long confinement on the plane. When he’d left Oregon this morning it had been thirty-seven degrees. He told himself to relax but he was wound tighter than a spool of cable.
He pushed open the gate and walked up to the house, ignored by all the children but two boys he guessed to be about nine and ten. The younger one was short, sturdily built and appeared to be Hispanic, while the older, taller boy had shaggy, carrot-red hair and blue eyes. He was scrawny but smiling. The boys flanked Ben as he strode up the walk to the house.
“Who are you?” the older boy asked as he ran alongside Ben to keep up. He offered his hand. “I’m Soren.”
Ben stopped to shake hands. “Hi, Soren. I’m Ben.”
Soren indicated his friend. “This is Carlos.”
The boy shook Ben’s hand but didn’t smile. He pointed to three little boys playing with a tether ball. “Those are my brothers.”
“Hi, Carlos. Good to meet you.” Ben started toward the house. “Excuse me, guys. I came to see Teresa.”
Both boys stopped. Soren’s smile faded. “Are you from Corpus Christi?”
Ben stopped, too. “No. I’m from Oregon. Why? Are you expecting someone from Corpus Christi?” Cyrus Tyree of Corpus Christi, Teresa’s landlord, was part of the reason Ben was here.
“No, but somebody came from there and he made Teresa cry,” Soren said. He and Carlos exchanged an angry look. “We’re going to have to go.”
“Go?”
“Live somewhere else. We don’t want to. We want to stay right here.”
Suddenly they were surrounded by the other kids, girls and boys who looked younger than Soren and Carlos. One little girl held a large purse over her arm. Ben guessed they’d overheard the conversation about leaving. They ran along with Ben and his two new friends as they climbed the step to the broken-down veranda. He wished the kids would go back to their play. He liked kids as a rule. Many of his friends had them and he found them amazing. But this trip was about saving Jack’s sister, himself, Jack and his new bride from jail. He didn’t have time for the distraction of soulful eyes and needy little faces.
“Do we have to go now?” a little boy asked. He stood with the group of three Carlos had identified as his brothers. They looked remarkably alike.
Before Ben could reply, a pudgy little girl about eight in glossy black braids said authoritatively, “I think it’s against the law to make us go. Families get to stay together.”
“Oh, yeah?” Soren turned on her. “Where’s your dad?”
The little girl folded her arms, the question apparently compromising her confidence. She answered more quietly, “He’s coming to get me.”
“When, Rosie? You’ve been here six months. Families don’t always get to stay together.”
One of the little boys said, “Maybe he died. Our mom died.”
“He’s not dead!” Rosie’s voice cracked, her eyes a heartbreaking mixture of anger and sorrow. “He’s coming for me.”
Ben stood in the middle of the turbulent little group. He stretched both arms out, prepared to explain that he needed time to talk to Teresa. But the children crowded around him as though his open arms offered shelter. He was speechless for an instant.
“Ah, well...when families don’t get to stay together,” he heard himself say, “you can sometimes make your own family with friends. That happened to my brother, Jack. His mom had to go away for a long time, so he came to live with my parents and me. He’s part of our family now.”
“That’s being adopted,” Rosie said knowledgeably. “But my dad’s coming to get me, so I don’t want to get another family. I want to stay with Teresa until he comes.”
“The man said Teresa can’t stay here.” Carlos’s voice was gentle. If Soren was the leader of this group, Carlos was its chaplain. “We...”
The front door opened and Teresa stood there, a plump toddler in her arms. Roberto, Ben remembered, seemed permanently attached to her. As he had the last time Ben was here, the baby reached for him.
“Hey. You remember me.” He laughed and took the little guy from Teresa, flattered and distracted by his wide smile and eager reach.
“We’re staying right here for now,” Teresa told the children firmly. “And I don’t want anyone talking about going away until we know what’s going to happen.” She focused on one child, then the next, until she’d looked into each of their faces with the determination in hers. It was a matter of presence. As a cop, Ben knew all about that. You had to believe you were invincible so that whoever you were trying to convince believed it, too. She was good.
The kids looked at each other with clear suspicion, but they didn’t seem quite as worried anymore. Soren and Carlos, older and possibly more experienced in such situations, simply walked away, more in the spirit of doing as she asked rather than believing what she said.
Teresa refocused on Ben. She was average in height, in her forties, had short, rough-cut dark hair, wore little makeup and was blessed with good bone structure. The strong, caring woman inside showed through in her dark eyes and her warm smile, making her attractive.
“Ben,” she said, offering her free hand. “How are you? Corie tells me Jack got married and you and she stood up for him and his bride when you took her back with you for Thanksgiving.”
“He did.” Ben smiled at the memory of that morning while Roberto chewed on the collar of his shirt. “He was so happy that Corie was there. I don’t know if anyone else will ever understand how he’s longed to put his family back together.”
Teresa nodded. “I think I do. I deal with broken families on a daily basis. Would you like to come inside? You look angry under that smile and that worries me. Your being here has to have something to do with Corie.”
“Thank you. It does. Do you know where she is?” He didn’t want to bring up what he thought Corie had done. He was pretty sure Teresa didn’t know Corie had stolen Delia Tyree’s jewelry in the first place, much less sabotaged the return of the jewelry he and Jack had orchestrated. “Her truck isn’t at the restaurant or her home.”
“She went to get a tree,” Teresa said.
“A tree?”
“A Christmas tree.”
He frowned. “It’s still November.”
“It’s November 28 and this is a house filled with children. They’ve talked of nothing but Christmas since Halloween.” She laughed at his confusion then turned her head toward the back of the house and the sound of an engine. “There she is now, Ben. What did you want to see her about?”
“I just want to talk to her.” He followed Teresa through the house to the kitchen and the back door.
She stopped there and smiled inquisitively as she reclaimed the toddler. “Something that couldn’t be done by phone? Or email?”
The real answer to that was complicated, so he took the simple approach. “Yes,” he said.
“Okay. Well, if we can clear a path through the children, and you help us unload the tree, we’ll find a quiet place for you to talk.”
Every child who’d been playing in the front yard was now part of a shouting, excited crowd gathered at the back of Corie’s truck. From where Ben stood, it looked as though Jack’s sister had brought back a sequoia. Part of the tree stuck out past the lowered tailgate, a red flag attached, and the main body, branches swept upward, spilled over the sides. The children squealed in excitement.
Wondering how Corie intended to get the giant thing out, he started around Teresa to lend a hand. The tree had been loaded top-first onto a tarp, he noticed, so that its weight would be coming right at her. Corie made a broad gesture with both arms and shouted orders he couldn’t hear over the din of the children’s voices. They all backed out of the way.
She pushed up the long sleeves of her plain blue T-shirt and stood still for a moment, studying the tree. It occurred to him later that he should have acted then, but he was momentarily paralyzed by the sight of her small, shapely body and what seemed like a foot and a half of glossy black hair shifting sinuously, seductively, over her shoulder, thin bangs above a dark, thoughtful stare. Then she firmed her expressive mouth and reached for the tree.
She pulled hard and the tree slid toward her. As he hurried forward, hoping he wasn’t going to have to explain to Jack why he’d allowed his long-lost little sister to be crushed by a Christmas tree, he saw that Corie was using the tarp to move the tree. He gave her points for smarts, but strode toward her as she leaned it against the tailgate, suspecting she was still in danger. Was she really going to try to lift it?
Of course, she was. She leaned into the tree, wrapped her arms around it about a third of the way up from the bottom and pulled.
He shouted her name and picked up his pace.
As she tried to hold the tree upright, presumably so the children could see it better, she turned toward the sound of his voice. Both her arms were lost in the tree, which was much more than twice her height. Her eyes and mouth widened in complete surprise when she saw him.
She lost control of the tree.
* * *
AT THE SOUND of that male voice, Corie Ochoa’s hard-to-muster Christmas spirit seized and cramped. Ben Palmer? It couldn’t be.
In complete disbelief, she saw him coming toward her, picking up speed, six feet and a couple of inches of darkly gorgeous but self-righteous, self-satisfied male who disliked and distrusted her. What was he doing here? He...
And then she remembered she was holding a tree. A big one. She felt the weight of it push against her as that momentary distraction caused her to lose her grip. The weight of the tipping tree drove her backward and she struggled futilely to disentangle her arms.
She heard the children screaming as she and the tree went down. Just before she hit the grass, a steely grip on her arm yanked her sideways, pulling her body away from the trunk and probably her arm out of its socket. A branch thwacked her in the face.
Dislocated arm beats crushed sternum, she thought as she landed on her back on the lawn, buried beneath twelve feet of Leyland Spruce. And something else. Curiously the branches weren’t crushing her as much as she’d expected. Then she realized she was not alone in her bowery tomb. Ben Palmer was lying on top of her.
“Great,” she said, pushing on him. “You’re just what I need right now. Who sent you? The Grinch? The Ghost of Christmas Past?”
He didn’t reply.
She pushed again but the tree was heavy and so was he. “Ben! Would you please move?” she demanded. She wasn’t sure how he’d accomplish that, but she was sure he was as uncomfortable being body to body with her as she was with him.
He groaned.
“Ben?” she asked worriedly, then said his name louder when his reply was another groan. “Are you hurt?”
“Corie?” Teresa lay on her stomach, looking at Corie through the lacy pattern of needles and branches. “Are you all right? You got smacked by a branch and I think the trunk might have hit Ben hard.”
“I’m okay. I just can’t move,” Corie replied. “Call 9-1-1.”
“No.” The single word came firmly if a little quietly from Ben, followed by a small gasp of pain. “No. Just...give me a minute.”
Relieved to hear his voice, though the words he spoke usually annoyed her, she said, “I don’t have a minute, Ben. You weigh a ton. I think my stomach is coming out my ears.”
“I believe that’s physically impossible. But there seems to be a lot coming out of your mouth.”
There. Annoying. “Hey!” she complained.
“Relax. Maybe we can roll out of here.” He sighed and wrapped his arms around her. “You’re sure you’re okay?”
“Apart from the fact that I have twelve feet of tree on me and six feet of hateful man?”
He muttered something unintelligible then it felt as though he tried to boost himself off her and couldn’t. He tried again. No luck. It alarmed her that she was very aware of every muscle in his body pressed into every soft surface of hers.
“Don’t panic,” he said. “I can’t lift up, so we’re going sideways. Okay?”
“Please hurry. Before we start growing moss.”
“Keep your hands tucked in,” he said sharply. He cupped the back of her head in one of his hands, tucked her face into the hollow of his shoulder and, with a leg wrapped around hers, rolled them sideways.
Teresa and the older children pulled on them. Sweaty little hands grabbed her arm. Ben pushed her away from him. Suddenly she was on her knees, the sun on her face.
She reached toward Ben, who lay on his back, his chest moving comfortingly up and down, a broken branch of the tree still covering him. Corie dragged it away and she and Teresa pulled him clear.
Teresa put her hands to Ben’s face and looked him over feature by feature. “Oh, Ben. Can you see? Does your head hurt?”
His thick, blunt eyelashes rose up then down. “I’m fine.” He rolled over and stood carefully. When he straightened, he wobbled.
Corie put his arm around her shoulders and wrapped hers around his waist. “Easy. Don’t fall,” she pleaded, “or we’ll never get you up.”
“We could put him in the wheelbarrow,” Soren suggested helpfully, hovering around them. “Want me to get it?”
Ben smiled and Corie heard a low laugh escape him. “No, thanks. I can make it.”
With Teresa on his other side, they started for the house. “Just go slowly,” she instructed as though he were one of the children. “Let us share your weight. Boys, run and open the door and make sure the couch is clear.”
Let them share his weight. He felt like Gulliver being led away by the Lilliputians.
Ben let them lead him to the sofa but refused to lie down. As soon as he was seated Teresa headed for the kitchen. Ben ran a hand over his face to clear blurry eyes and looked up at Corie. “You’re sure you’re okay? There’s a bruise near your cheekbone.”
“I just carried you across the yard, didn’t I?”
He saw a hint of humor in her expression. He couldn’t stop an answering smile—until he remembered why he was here. But before he could raise the subject, Teresa returned with two wet washcloths. She placed one unceremoniously on his upturned face and the other she put against Corie’s cheek.
“That bruise might be from Ben’s shoulder,” she said, “when he went down on top of you. I’m sure the trunk missed you, but you got a branch in the face. I think you’re okay but... Ben? Are you? The trunk smacked right into you.”
“Yeah.” He held the cold cloth to his face one more minute then took it down. His back prickled and he shifted uncomfortably. “Apart from having needles down my shirt.”
“I’ll get you another shirt and wash that one for you. How’re you doing, Corie? Want a glass of water? A cup of tea?”
“I’m fine, thanks.”
Nine little bodies crowded around them as Teresa left the room again. Rosie held Roberto.
“Everything’s okay,” Corie told them. “I’m fine. Ben’s fine. You can go play.”
Carlos frowned and pointed outside. “But the tree.”
“We might have to leave hauling it in until tomorrow. I have to go to work pretty soon. We’ll get it up, don’t worry.”
Ben thought they looked more disappointed than worried.
“Why don’t you go keep an eye on it,” he told the children. “I’m coming out in a minute and I’d like you to help me bring it into the house. Does anybody know where the Christmas tree stand is?”
“I do.” Soren took off, Carlos and the other children right behind him.
The moment they were out of earshot, Corie sat beside him. “We’ll take care of the tree. Why are you here, anyway?” she asked sharply.
With a quick glance around to make sure no one had lingered, he replied quietly, “I want to talk to you about the jewelry you stole from Tyree. But I’d rather do it in private.”
She made a sound of disgust and stood. To think she’d saved his life. Well, actually, he’d gotten into trouble trying to save hers. Still—same old Ben. Suspicious. Judgmental. “Yeah, well, I don’t want to talk about it at all.”
“You don’t have a choice.”
“Everyone has a choice. You know what happened. You were there.” It was such an injustice that Jack had come in search of her after all those years on the very day she’d chosen to break into Cyrus Tyree’s house and steal the jewelry that could secure the future of Teresa’s foster home.
He stood beside her, a good head taller than she was. She looked right into his face so he wouldn’t think he could intimidate her with his size.
“I was, but something seems to have changed along the way,” he said. “I put the jewelry into a priority-mail box and sent it to Tyree. But, according to the news report on national television, what was delivered was not what I sent. Mrs. Tyree held up a handful of Mardi Gras beads for the camera. Not the diamonds, emeralds and gold that you stole and that I packed up and mailed back.” He folded his arms, biceps rounded under the thin cotton of his shirt. “How’d you do that?”
She felt such dislike for him at that moment she didn’t trust herself to remain in his presence. She started to walk away but he made the mistake of stopping her again.
* * *
BEN DODGED FISTS, fingernails, even feet as he caught her to him when she rounded on him like a cornered coyote.
“What about the security footage Tyree claims to have from that night?” He grabbed a flailing fist. “I’m guessing it’s just a matter of time before someone recognizes you then—by extension—Jack and Sarah and me.” He freed her hand and turned her so that her back was against him. He asked angrily in her ear, “You want to talk about that? Your war-hero brother’s reputation ruined because he tried to help his thieving little sister? Not to mention Sarah’s reputation and mine.”
And that was how Teresa found them; Corie flailing in his arms, her legs bicycling the air a foot off the floor.
Her expression changed as she approached them, a red sweatshirt in her hand. The warm, sweet-natured woman was now the wild coyote pup’s mother.
“Put her down,” she said.
He did.
To his complete surprise Corie explained. “I started it.” She combed her fingers through her tangled hair and spared him a quick, dark glance. “We’ll put the tree in the stand, then I have to get to work and he’s going back to Oregon.”
“I’m not going back to Oregon,” he corrected.
“Don’t you have a job? Aren’t you Beggar’s Bay’s most vigilant and disagreeable cop?”
He smiled blandly at her. “I am, but I’m on leave. Built-up vacation time.”
Teresa looked from one to the other, her expression grave. “What is this about?”
Unwilling to rat out Corie, Ben said nothing.
Corie waved both hands in a gesture that suggested it was difficult to explain. “It’s nothing for you to worry about.”
Teresa clearly didn’t believe her but finally handed Ben the shirt and said wryly, “That’s good, because I’m overextended on worry at the moment. Give me your shirt, Ben, and I’ll throw it in the wash. This one was Soren’s dad’s.”
Ben yanked his shirt off. The sleeve’s hem caught on his watch and Teresa reached up to help him then winced at something on his back.
Corie, looking away from a formidable six-pack of abs, walked around him to see what had caused such a reaction. A large bruise, already livid, ran from the middle of his back at an angle across his left shoulder.
Teresa touched it gingerly. “You pulled Corie away from the trunk, but it must have glanced off you. Does it hurt?”
He flexed the shoulder and hesitated just an instant. “Not much.”
She came around him to offer help with the sweatshirt then gasped again at the still livid scar Corie hadn’t noticed since she’d been trying hard not to look at his bare chest. It was on his left shoulder, an inch long and bright red.
He pulled on the sweatshirt. “I got shot,” he said when his head reappeared. “I’m fine. The bullet hit muscle. I had surgery. No big deal.”
Still angry, Corie had to admit that it was a desecration of such a perfect torso. She remembered what it had been like to have her body covered by his under the tree. She ignored the heat flushing her cheeks and reminded herself that she hated him despite his perfect chest and shoulders.
Soren and Carlos joined them breathlessly with a rusty stand that was far too small for the tree.
“That’ll never do,” Teresa said. “Corie, do you have time to go to Wolf’s Hardware for a bigger one before you go to work?”
Happy for an excuse to leave, Corie ran out to her truck.
* * *
BEN HAD THE most willing team he’d ever worked with. The biggest problem was that most of them were under four and half feet tall and had no sense of self-preservation. Teresa and the kids each grabbed a handful of tarp and helped him pull the tree as far as the back door.
“Okay, drop it,” he ordered, turning to see that everyone had complied.
Teresa smiled. “Usually, I have to do this by myself. Of course, I buy a six-foot tree, but this is Corie. She wants this Christmas to be special.” She didn’t explain, though the strain of the eviction threat showed in her face.
He put himself into the spirit Corie and Teresa were trying to create for the children. He’d flown out from Oregon to talk to Corie, but that was going to take a little longer than he’d imagined. So, if he had to wait for her, he may as well make himself useful.
He looked for Soren and Carlos. “Can you guys help Teresa clear a path for us inside?”
As the boys were shepherded indoors, he was left with the other seven children. They came closer and stared at him. The small girl in blue-striped shirt and shorts, tiny feet in too big flip-flops, that purse still over her arm, asked, “Are you Santa?”
Two of Carlos’s brothers scorned the question. “Santa’s fat!”
“He brings presents, not trees.”
The youngest boy stuck up for her and pointed at Ben. “He wears a red shirt.”
Ah. The loaner shirt had prompted the question.
“I’m Ben,” he said. “I’m a...friend of Corie’s.” Inaccurate but a good way to explain his presence to the children.
“So are we.” The little girl smiled that they had something in common. “She said Santa’s gonna come to see us. For sure, this time.”
Another girl maybe a year older in a similar striped shirt and shorts took a step forward. “He doesn’t always come,” she said as though it were a tough truth she’d accepted. “Sometimes he doesn’t have toys left.”
A third girl in the same uniform made a face. “Our mom doesn’t have a lot of money. She’s working so she can come and get us. Sometimes you have to help Santa pay for stuff.”
“You don’t have to buy presents,” Carlos’s younger brother Rigo said. “The elves make them.”
“They have to buy the stuff to make them with.”
“No, they don’t. It’s magic.”
“There’s no magic,” Rosie said in her know-it-all voice. “Santa comes if you’re good but not if you’re bad.”
Ben prayed for Teresa’s return, but she was busy. He was it.
“I think Santa loves all kids,” he said. “And if you do something wrong, he understands that we all mess up sometimes, and he gives you another chance.”
The middle girl in stripes asked hopefully, “You think so?”
“I do,” he replied with confidence.
Immersed in his deep discussion with the children, he missed Corie’s return and was surprised to find her standing behind Rosie when he glanced up. She held a Christmas tree stand in a very large box. Her midnight eyes looked into his.
“He’s right,” she said to the children without looking away from him. “Everybody gets another chance.”
He heard Teresa say, “Okay. We’ve cleared a path.” Ben was aware of the children climbing over the tree and going inside but he didn’t move, still ensnared by Corie’s gaze.
“Interesting that you know about the second-chance thing.” She spoke under her breath as she passed the stand to Teresa. “And yet you don’t apply it.”
“That,” he said, tearing his gaze away, “is because I’m not Santa.” He took a large step over the top branches, grabbed the tarp and yanked the tree inside.
CHAPTER TWO (#u2299cc02-bcf3-5cd9-a157-0694e6647440)
CORIE WATCHED BEN assemble the outsize Christmas tree stand with all the boys helping. She was impressed that he somehow maintained a sense of humor she hadn’t known he had. He fitted the trunk into the stand with the tree still on the ground, then righted it and asked her to help hold it while Teresa gave centering directions.
When it was in place, they all stood back to admire it.
“Wow,” Rosie said on a reverent gasp. Even without decoration, it was magnificent.
“Holy s—!” Soren exclaimed.
Teresa frowned at him. “Soren Peterson.”
“Sorry.” He turned to Ben. “I’ll bet you swear.”
“Sometimes,” Ben admitted. “But never at Christmastime. And never around little kids.”
“Yeah,” Rosie said. “Even if Santa gives second chances, you’ve used yours all up. You won’t get anything.”
Soren glowered at her. “Neither will you, ’cause you’re always mean.” He stalked away. Corie went to follow him, but Teresa caught her arm. “You go to work. I’ll talk to him.” She turned to Ben. “You’ll be back tomorrow to help decorate? We need someone tall for our ladder.”
Ben opened his mouth to tell her he was here only to talk to Corie, but the children told him they were going to have hot chocolate and cookies and he had to come. The youngest Stripe Sister, as he’d designated them, held his hand.
“Sure,” he said. “Thank you.”
As Teresa followed Soren, Corie touched Rosie’s dark head. “It would be nice if you wouldn’t always mention people’s bad points, Rosie. Usually they know when they’re wrong. Your job as a friend is to tell them they’ll do better next time.”
Rosie, who seemed to consider herself the world’s moral monitor, looked at her as though she were crazy. “But he said a bad word. He does it all the time.”
“He needs a friend,” Corie added. “Try to point out the nice things about him instead of the bad.” She gave Rosie a quick hug. “I have to go to work. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She cast a general wave in the direction of the children and they chorused a goodbye.
Shouldering a large, colorful straw satchel, Corie ran out the door. Ben followed, stopping her when she would have climbed into her truck. She rummaged in her bag and looked up at him impatiently. “What? I’m going to be late.”
“I’m here to talk to you,” he said firmly, “and I’m not leaving until I do.”
She yanked open the driver’s-side door and put her bag on the seat for easier access. “So, talk,” she said, but he got the distinct impression she wasn’t listening. That was confirmed when she dumped out the contents of her bag and growled when whatever she’d been looking for wasn’t there. She said the word that had gotten Soren in trouble.
Still ignoring him, she walked around the truck, patting her pockets. Too short to see into the truck bed, she put a foot on a tire and climbed up. Hands braced on the side, she leaned in, scanned front to back then leaped down again.
As she dusted off her hands, she noticed him and seemed surprised he was still there. She looked cross, but then, she usually did with him.
“Lost your keys?” he asked.
“I’m sure I’ve just misplaced them.” She glanced at her watch.
He pulled open the passenger’s-side door of his rented Navigator. “Need a ride to work?”
Her chin dropped onto her chest when she accepted that she did. With impressive precision, she swept the contents of her purse off the driver’s seat and into her bag, slammed her door closed and walked, arms folded, to where he stood.
“I do,” she said, “but I’d rather walk if you’re going to badger me the whole way.”
“There’d be no badgering required if you just answer my questions.”
She considered him a moment then climbed in. “Okay, but I’m almost late for work. I’ll answer your questions after.” She buckled her seat belt.
“What time is your shift over?”
“We close at nine. Cleanup takes a little while.”
“All right.”
When he pulled up in front of the café five minutes later she jumped out with a very reluctant, “Thank you.” She was about to close the door then stopped and sighed heavily. “If you come just before nine, I’ll get your dinner.”
He had to pretend not to be surprised. “Thank you. That would be nice.”
“Then you’re going back to Oregon?”
“Depends on how our conversation goes.”
She seemed to want to say more but simply closed the door and hurried inside.
That was a baby step forward, he thought, but it was forward.
* * *
CORIE PUT HER purse in the small back room that served as the supply storage and employees’ lounge, and tied on a white, ruffle-trimmed half apron while her personal history raced across her mind.
She’d been four years old when she and Jack and their younger sister, Cassidy, had been separated. She had only vague memories of her life until that day, impressions of a woman’s slurred voice, of eating peanut butter on bread in their bedrooms because there was shouting in the living room. She remembered Jack—dark hair, dark eyes, always there.
Then Roscoe Brauer, her mother’s boyfriend, had been shot, and she and Jack and Cassie had spent a couple of nights with Ben’s family, the Palmers. When their mother went to jail Cassie had been sent to her father, who lived in Maine, and Corie went to Texas where her father lived.
She remembered the big change her new life had been, her stepmother and two stepsisters, who’d made it clear from the beginning that she wasn’t welcome. Missing Jack and two-year-old Cassidy had hurt with a physical pain.
Her father, Miguel Ochoa, had explained that her mother, Charlene Manning, had been a singer in small clubs. She’d gotten caught up with friends who partied with drugs. Jack’s father, a drug dealer, died in the crash of a light plane when Jack was three. Miguel had also pushed drugs, but left her mother when even he thought she wasn’t sober long enough to be in a relationship. Cassidy’s father, a counselor, had tried to help her get her life on track, but that hadn’t lasted long either. She had died in jail.
Talk about baggage.
“Who’s that?” Polly Benedict asked, peering through the blinds that covered the café’s window. She was twenty-two, had a boyfriend who was always off with the rodeo and lamented Corie’s lack of a romantic relationship. “He’s gorgeous!”
Corie walked past her on her way to the kitchen. She glanced up at the clock and saw that she was two minutes early.
Polly, several inches taller than Corie, fresh-faced and curvaceous, and unfailingly cheerful, stopped her progress and pinched her cheek.
“Look at you! You’re smiling. My goodness, how long has it been since I’ve seen your teeth? Is he responsible for that smile?”
She didn’t feel like smiling, but customers hated a moody waitress.
“He’s my brother’s brother. That’s all. He’s...visiting for a few days.”
Polly frowned over the “brother’s brother” explanation. “You’ve explained that to me before, but it’s so weird. How many people have a brother whose brother isn’t their brother?”
Corie hooked her arm in Polly’s and led her toward the kitchen. “I know, but putting it that way only makes it worse. So, what’s going on tonight? What’s the special?”
The bell rang. “Order up, Pol,” Hector called as they walked into the kitchen. With a parting grin for Corie, Polly detoured to the window to pick up her order.
“Corazon!” Wiping his hands on a kitchen rag, Hector glanced up at the clock. “I thought you were going to be late. You’re always ten minutes early. Did I hear you talking about your brother’s brother who isn’t your brother? I thought they lived in Washington.”
“Oregon,” she corrected. “I promised him dinner if he comes before closing.”
Hector was not very tall but his apron covered a generous middle. He was laid-back and kind, unless someone criticized his food or mistreated an employee. He’d given Corie a job based on nothing more than Teresa’s recommendation, and Corie would be forever grateful. His restaurant was a favorite hangout for families and young people on a date. People came from around the county.
Hector whisked an egg and cream mixture. “Good. What’s he doing here? I mean, since he’s not your brother. And you said he didn’t like you.”
Corie was tired of things she couldn’t explain. “He came to talk.” She looked in all the pots to see what was on the menu tonight.
“His phone doesn’t work?” Hector was smart and her reply had been lame.
“He’s a cop, Hector. I used to be a thief. He thinks that Jack and I reconnecting means trouble for Jack.”
Hector frowned. “You want me to set him straight?”
She shook her head, smiling. “I’m going to do that.”
“By buying him dinner? Or was the plan that I give him dinner?”
She grinned as she passed him. “I’m buying him dinner.”
“Didn’t I see you go by earlier with a big tree in the back of your truck? That must have set you back. Christmas trees are a fortune this year.”
“It’s for Teresa and the kids.”
“I know. You’re so good to her, but someday you have to fly the nest a second time and concentrate on you.”
The bell rang over the front door, announcing customers. She began to fill water glasses.
“I’m doing just fine.”
* * *
IT WAS AN average Saturday night. They did enough business to run out of the special, but not enough that Corie and Polly couldn’t keep up. Families came and left while one couple had spent the past two hours gazing into each other’s eyes while their enchiladas de queso grew cold.
Sukie Cunningham sat with her Kindle at a table at the back of the room. She was blonde and blue-eyed, a plump thirtysomething who had a taste for clothing from the junior department. She was administrative assistant to the deputy mayor, Robert Pimental. It was clear she’d been hired by Pimental for her curvaceous proportions and her too tight, too short clothing rather than her competence. Still, her pleasant personality and her look of wide-eyed innocence made her impossible to dislike.
Polly picked up a coffeepot, ready to do the refill rounds. “Do you think she has any idea Pimental is never going to leave his wife and marry her?” she asked Corie under her voice.
“I’m sure she doesn’t.” It was rumored that Sukie did more for her employer than mis-schedule his appointments and lose his messages.
“What is it about that man that appeals to her?”
“Power, I suppose. She thinks he can change her life. Her parents were poor and she waited tables here for a while before you came. But she forgot to put up orders, got them confused and dropped a tray of pies. She was always apologetic, but Hector was losing money. He finally had to fire her. Then Pimental hired her and eventually set her up in a little rental house on the other side of town.”
“She’s very loyal to him.”
Corie nodded but thought about the change she’d seen in Sukie recently—a loss of innocence in her eyes, a smile that didn’t come as easily as it used to. “She has been. I’m not sure what’s going on with them now. Maybe she’s catching a glimpse of the real him.”
Polly nodded. “Yeah. Crooked, mean, scary.”
“Yeah.”
Polly headed toward Sukie with the coffee.
* * *
BEN ARRIVED JUST before nine. He wore dark slacks and a dark cotton shirt. Corie had to stare for a minute. He’d combed his hair and actually dressed for dinner. In Querida. Good breeding was an impressive thing.
She led him to a table at the back. “Hector makes mean fajitas, wonderful camarónes—that’s shrimp if you’re not familiar with the word. All kinds of quesadillas, beef—”
He stopped her. “Camarones sounds wonderful.”
“Sautéed with lemon butter, done in salsa chipotle or á la diablo?”
“Diablo? Devil?”
“Yes. Pretty hot. Or we can go easy on the red chili.”
“I can take it,” he said. “Diablo. As it comes.”
“Something to drink? We have beer and wine.”
“Coffee’s good.”
She placed his order and brought his coffee. “Did you get a room at the B and B?”
“Yes. The owner seems suspicious of me, though. Mrs...?”
“McMinn.”
“That’s it. I don’t know what she thinks I’m doing here, but she seems convinced I’m up to no good.”
“Ah. That’s because I’m sure word is out now that you’re here to see me. She’s from Manzanita, a little town up the road where my family lived. We didn’t have a very good reputation. My father was a nice man, but hung around with people who weren’t, and Juanita was a dragon. My stepmother,” she explained. “She was unpleasant to everyone except her two daughters from a previous marriage.”
“But that’s them. How did you come by this reputation?”
She rested the coffeepot on the table. “One Easter when I was eleven, Juanita made dresses for her girls but not for me. Her girls were sweet and obedient. I wasn’t. Actually, they were scared and I wasn’t. I saw a dress in the window at a thrift shop, but I didn’t have any money. So, I stole it.” She arched an eyebrow. “Mrs. McMinn ran the shop at the time. She caught me and called the police. Juvenile Court made me pay it back. I think you’re considered suspect if you have anything to do with me.”
She couldn’t tell what he thought of that, but he finally nodded and said, “All right. Good to know.”
When Ben was finished, Corie took away his plate and put a dessert bowl containing custard with a sweet-smelling brown sauce in its place.
“Flan,” she said, “with caramel espresso sauce.” And walked away again, saying over her shoulder, “Best custard you’ll ever have.”
* * *
CORIE WAS CLEARING tables when Robert Pimental arrived just before closing. He stopped inside the door for a moment, supposedly to scan the room for Sukie but Corie suspected it was to pose there. He had visions of himself as an important figure who was generally irresistible to women. Sukie waved madly to get his attention.
He strode toward her table, about five-seven of portly arrogance. He’d come into office with his friend the mayor several years ago. The mayor had ALS and had been allowed to have a deputy for the times when the job was hard for him. The illness had sidelined the mayor a year ago and left Pimental to do pretty much as he liked in this town of two thousand.
Publicly, he’d made a few changes to earn favor with his constituents—removed parking meters, spruced up the park and playground, and created a committee to attract business to Querida.
Privately he was a philanderer with a Jaguar and an extravagant lifestyle, unusual for a small-town politician without a large inheritance.
Before Corie knew about his behavior in private, she’d gone to him for help in fighting Cyrus Tyree’s efforts to evict Teresa. She’d found him in an empty hallway, on his way to a meeting. Pimental had appeared willing to help until it became clear that he expected payment in return—and not in cash. When she’d turned to leave, he’d caught her arm to show her how generous she would have to be in return for his cooperation.
She’d swung her purse at him, forgetting that it contained a small coffee can in which she kept her tips. The loaded purse had left a visible scar above his right eye.
He’d been infuriated by her rejection—and her coffee can of tips—and had her arrested for assault. Fortunately for her, a delivery person had seen everything and volunteered to testify for her. Pimental had dropped the charges but there was venom in his eyes every time he looked at her.
As now. He stopped her as he made his way toward Sukie. “Coffee,” he said to Corie. “Decaf. And coconut cream pie.”
They were out of coconut cream. She couldn’t help but be happy about that.
* * *
BEN SAVORED THE last bite of flan and pulled his coffee cup toward him. A large man in kitchen whites approached his table.
“You’re Ben,” he said, offering his hand. There was an undercurrent of accusation in the statement.
Ben shook his hand and tried to stand in the narrow booth. “I am.” The man gestured him back down.
“I’m Hector, Corie’s boss.”
“Ah. Wonderful dinner. Those were the best shrimp I’ve ever had.”
“Thank you.” Hector squeezed into the opposite side of the booth. “Why are you here?” he asked bluntly.
Surprised by that question, Ben replied politely, “Family business.”
“But you’re not her family. Your brother is her brother, but you’re not...her brother.”
Ben laughed as Hector struggled with the family connections. “You must have her confidence if you know the Palmer-Manning family structure.”
“Manning?”
“Manning was their mother’s name and since their fathers came and went rapidly, their mother thought it was easier for all of them if they went by her name. Jack was adopted by my family, so he’s now a Palmer.”
Hector nodded, then tried to lean toward him but his girth was too firmly wedged into the booth to allow that. “She’s my friend,” he said, “and one of the best waitresses I’ve ever had.” He bobbed his head from side to side. “There are some not-so-good stories from when she was a kid. She had a tough life.”
Ben agreed with that but had to add, “She was arrested for assault just last year.”
Hector hooked a thumb in the direction of the man who’d arrived a short time ago. “Against him. She was defending herself from...you know.”
The man in question was now nuzzling a blonde, who seemed pleased by his attention. “That’s Pimental?”
“Yes.”
He didn’t seem particularly impressive or scary, though Ben had been a cop long enough to never trust appearances.
“Why is he allowed to remain in office if he behaves like that with women?”
Hector made a scornful sound. “The charges were dropped. The case never went to trial, but the point is, what happened wasn’t her fault. Don’t give her trouble about things she can’t do anything about.”
“I’m not here to give her trouble. I’m here to find out the truth...” He doubted Corie had confided in her boss about stealing the jewels. “About some personal things.”
Hector measured him with a look. “All right. See that you don’t or I’ll have to give you trouble. And don’t think I can’t.”
“Understood.”
“Good.”
As Hector shifted out of the booth, angry words came from Pimental, who was now standing at the cash register with Sukie.
Ben leaned sideways to see what was going on.
“I got this,” Hector said and started toward Pimental and Corie, who stood behind the counter.
Ben wandered over anyway. Corie was handing back Pimental’s credit card. “I’m sorry,” she said. “It was declined. Do you want to use another one?”
Pimental pushed it back at her. “I said, run it again.”
“And I said,” she replied, “I ran it twice. It was declined. Twice.”
“That’s impossible.”
She turned the credit card processing terminal toward him. The word DECLINED was clearly visible on the small screen. “I’m sorry.”
“I’ll just bet you are,” Pimental said darkly.
Corie smiled blandly. “Is it possible your wife overdrew it and neglected to tell you?”
Ben had to admire her complete disregard for discretion considering the man was here with another woman. Pimental’s face flushed dark red.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Sukie stepped between Pimental and the counter and handed Corie several bills, hitting her with a mildly disapproving glance for the reference to Mrs. Pimental. “I’m sure it’s a mistake, but I’ll just pay until it’s sorted out.”
Corie made change and handed it to Sukie. Sukie gave her back a five-dollar tip. She smiled at Hector. “It was a lovely dinner, Hector. Good night. Come on, Bobby.” She looped her arm in Pimental’s and led him away.
He held Sukie back long enough to snatch the money out of Corie’s hand. “Personal comments are poor service,” he accused. “You don’t deserve a tip.”
As his customers walked out the door, Hector looked reluctantly amused. “Not nice to mention Mrs. Pimental.”
Corie conceded that with a nod. “I know. But it’s not like he tries to hide his infidelity or that Sukie doesn’t know she exists.”
“True. But you’re out five bucks.”
She grinned. “It was worth it.”
He reached into the till to pull out a ten-dollar bill and handed it to her. “Yes, it was. I enjoyed it, too. Let’s lock up.”
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_d399de73-ff23-500c-bfee-717b8c9ba666)
CORIE AND POLLY filled the dishwasher while Ben helped Hector turn chairs upside down on the tables to mop the floor. Hector told him how he’d gotten into the business, shown him pictures of his three boys and three girls and his wife, and said his daughters loved Corie because she helped them update their clothes to look new and fashionable. “When you’re a girl in school, that’s important,” he said. “And Corie has this gift with design.”
Ben had taken it all in. This flair for fashion was something he hadn’t known about her. He wondered if Jack did.
In the car on the way home he asked her about it.
“I’ve always perked up my clothes by adding trim or parts of other pieces.”
“Hector said his girls love what you do.”
She smiled at that. “They’re appreciative because they don’t have a lot of money and there’s a certain satisfaction in dressing up something to make it look new again. Or even better.”
“Jack never mentioned you designed clothing.”
She shrugged. “It never came up. A couple of years ago I went to New York and got a job with a designer just starting out. I got good, practical experience, but he had a bad season and ran out of capital. My style wasn’t thrilling to more traditional designers, so when I couldn’t find another job in the field, I thought rather than waitress in New York, where living was so expensive, I may as well come home and work here so I can save to go back, and I could help Teresa while I was at it.”
Ben pulled up in front of her house. “I hope you get to work in design again,” he said sincerely. He’d like knowing she was happily settled somewhere because it would make Jack happy. “Meanwhile,” he went on in the sudden quiet, “will you make me a cup of coffee and tell me the truth about the jewelry?”
She let out an exaggerated breath. “Come on in.”
In the dim light over the doorway he saw that the run-down little white house with red trim had probably once been a cozy home but was now badly in need of paint and a few homey touches. There was a little bit of lawn in front that someone was trying to maintain, but it was crowding out the short walkway and weeds were growing through the simple picket fence that surrounded it.
A look of weariness had suddenly replaced the anger he’d grown used to seeing in Corie’s eyes, and she looked as though she belonged in this sad little place.
Ben steeled himself against softness. Corie was pretty and fascinatingly fearless, but if she did have the jewels, she could be a danger to Jack and his brother had been through enough. Though she’d originally stolen the jewelry to sell it and buy the house and property Teresa rented to free her from the constant threat of eviction, the act was illegal.
Jack was on his honeymoon in the California wine country right now, and his parents were partying with his bride’s family in Branson, Missouri. It was up to Ben to make sure the film of Corie’s appearance on the Tyree property—and what would look like his, Jack’s and Sarah’s complicity in the jewel theft—somehow disappeared. He only hoped he wasn’t too late.
He followed her inside the small living room. He and Jack and Sarah had spent the night on this floor the last time he was here. They’d felt it necessary to stay close until they had Corie safely on the plane with them, back to Oregon. Jack had insisted she go home with them to meet their family. After the theft and Jack’s sudden appearance in her life, she’d been emotional and trying hard to keep her distance. Afraid she’d run off, Jack, Ben and Sarah had stayed the night with Corie.
He remembered the set of natural wicker furniture more appropriate to a patio than a living room; it looked feminine and had probably been more affordable than upholstered pieces. The cushions were a blue-and-white pattern, and mismatched coffee table and end tables and an old rocker made up the rest of the furnishings. A few floral prints on the walls brightened the space.
She dropped her purse on the sofa. “I’ll get that coffee. Make yourself comfortable.”
He sat on the rocker and looked out the window behind the wicker sofa at the dark, quiet street. Most of the homes in the neighborhood were a lot like hers, some a little nicer, some a lot less cared for. He knew this part of Texas was populated with low-income workers and probably a few illegals looking for a better life, with family on both sides of the border.
That was probably why some members of the town government of Querida managed to operate the way they did, perpetrating crimes they continued to get away with. Everyone had secrets. No one wanted to talk.
He thought if he could deal with being here, he might be able to do something about it. But this part of Texas was dusty and hot, and he missed the rivers and forests of home. His plan was to quit the force and open an investigative services business in Beggar’s Bay. He’d even half convinced Grady Nelson, his partner on the force, to join him part-time until he got the business under way.
Corie returned with a steaming mug and placed it on a small table beside him.
“Thank you,” he said as she went to sit on the sofa. She pulled out the pins and rubber band that held her hair up for work and made a sound of relief when it fell free in a rippled sheet. She massaged her scalp with her fingertips.
“How come you don’t wilt in the heat?” he asked. “You wrestled a tree, worked a busy shift and did verbal battle with Pimental.” He sipped the coffee then rested the mug on one knee. “And you still have the energy to make my life difficult.”
She met his grin with her own. “I’m part cactus. I almost froze to death in Beggar’s Bay. Fortunately, Sarah lent me a sweater she’d borrowed from your mom when she moved in with you and Jack after the fire in her apartment.”
He nodded. “The red one.”
She seemed surprised that he remembered the color. He’d noticed it because the red had been dramatic with her dark features.
“About the jewelry...” he said, impatient with himself for letting her see that he’d been aware of her. He didn’t trust her but he’d have to be unconscious not to notice that she was beautiful. And a different woman when she was around those children. He took another sip of coffee. “Where is the jewelry?”
* * *
CORIE WISHED BEN PALMER would just go home. Life was difficult enough around here, trying to keep Teresa and the kids in their home and herself out of Pimental’s way. She didn’t need the annoyance of her brother’s brother. He reminded her of her childhood and everyone who dismissed her out of hand because she was that Ochoa brat from that awful family. He was clearly convinced that she was as bad as her legend.
“I believe you sent the jewelry back to the Tyrees,” she said, her tone deliberately airy because he looked so grave and she enjoyed refusing to take him seriously. “In a priority-mail box. Your partner, Grady, mailed it from Seattle when he went to visit his girlfriend, so no one would know that you and Jack were involved.”
“I never told you Grady mailed it.”
“Jack did. After making a point of explaining to me that I couldn’t possibly move forward in my life with such a crime behind me.”
He took exception to the subtle criticism of their brother in her reply and the suggestion that Jack was somehow unsympathetic. “Jack remembers the sweet little sister he lost all those years ago. He seems to be convinced that you’re the same person, and now his name could be compromised because Tyree has your burglary on tape. You might have a little more respect for all Jack’s been through to find you, and the fact that he risked himself that night to get you out of there.”
She’d regretted her cavalier response the moment the words were out of her mouth. But Ben made her prickly—like the cactus she claimed to be.
“I could never explain to you,” she said, “how important Jack is to me. I would never deliberately hurt him.”
“Right.” It was clear he didn’t believe her. She couldn’t imagine what she’d have to do to prove it. “So where is the jewelry?”
“You mailed it to Tyree,” she repeated.
“I’m sure you saw the interview with him on the evening news where Mrs. Tyree held up all the junk beads that arrived in the box.” He leaned back again, accusing gaze steady. “How’d you make the switch? And where’s the jewelry now?”
“I did see the news.” She folded her legs up on the love seat. Used to having her honesty called into question, she wasn’t sure why it was so particularly annoying when he did it. But it was. She held back the angry words on the tip of her tongue. “It’s interesting to me,” she said calmly, “that you’re convinced I somehow switched the jewelry for Mardi Gras junk. When would I have done that? I never saw the jewelry again after we got to your parents’ house. You took it from me, remember?”
She couldn’t tell whether or not she’d shaken his conviction of her guilt. His steady gaze gave very little away. He said nothing and waited for her to go on.
“And, you know, it makes me wonder what kind of cop you are,” she continued, unable to hold back her annoyance, “that it hasn’t occurred to you that Tyree did get the jewelry back, but because he’d probably already filed a claim with his insurance company and gotten paid, he decided to pretend that it was junk in that box. By going on television and flashing the dime-store beads, Mrs. Tyree can have her jewelry and he can keep the insurance money.
“He’s got somebody on security footage as having robbed him,” she continued, “so he’s golden with the insurance company. And you were careful to make sure you and Jack and Sarah weren’t implicated by mailing the package without a return address and from some distance from where you live. You can’t come out now and tell the authorities that you sent the jewelry back because then they’d know you helped me in the first place.”
He rolled his eyes. “Come on, Corie. Really? You want me to believe this is simple insurance fraud?”
“Why not?” She sat a little straighter. “Tyree is a smart-mouthed lawyer who defends the shady, and is one of Pimental’s cronies. I can’t suggest to anyone that he’s scamming the insurance company because that would suggest I knew the jewelry had been returned. The obvious conclusion would be that I sent it back. How could I have done that unless I’d stolen it in the first place? And I can’t separate you and Jack and Sarah from that night because you were there and are probably on film. See? Pays to mind your own business.”
“There’s no such thing as that when family’s involved. I know.” He forestalled her protest with a raised hand. “I’m not your family, Jack is. But he’s my family, so...what we now have is a big mess.”
“I’m used to messes,” she said. “Just go home and let me deal with this one.”
“And how are you going to do that with the surveillance tape out there? I’m surprised the Corpus Christi police haven’t arrested you already.”
“I was scared to death of that at first, but I got to thinking about it. It was so dark, there were so many bushes and trees, I don’t think there’s any way they could identify us. My truck is black and was in the bushes. We all stayed in the bushes when we ran to the house. That tape helped Tyree with the insurance company, but I can’t imagine it did the police any good.”
“I’d like to know that for sure.”
“So would I, but I don’t see how you can.”
“Then you underestimate me.” He pushed to his feet.
Corie wasn’t sure whether to be relieved that he was going or nervous about that “underestimate me” remark.
She stood, too. “What are you going to do?”
“Not sure. I have to see the tape. I guess I have to make friends with someone who can help with that, so I’m going to be around for a few days. And I promised Teresa that I’d help decorate the tree tomorrow. Shall I pick you up?”
She felt depressed and then resigned. “Sure.”
She followed him to the door and caught his arm when he would have stepped out. It was warm and muscled. He stopped instantly, looking down at her hand then up into her eyes. His were watchful, waiting.
“Yes?” he asked.
“You should think about this twice. Please.”
“Corie,” he said with a patience that surprised her. “We’ve just been through all this. After I find out what’s on the tape, maybe I’ll have time to prove your theory about Tyree defrauding the insurance company. In case you are spotted on it.”
She arched an eyebrow in surprise. “You believe me?”
“No.” He answered without hesitation. “But it’s a place to start.”
She wondered if he worked at being hateful or if it just came naturally. “Ben, you don’t know what you’re dealing with. You’re naive where Querida and Pimental and his cronies are concerned.”
“What?” He seemed as amused as he was offended. “Naive? I’m a cop. A cop who remains naive after nine years on the force isn’t doing his job.”
“You know what I mean. This little Texas town is filled with secrets. If anything happens to you, I’m sure I’d have to answer to Jack, just as you claim you’d have to if anything happened to me.”
She realized she was holding his arm and dropped her hand, suddenly self-conscious. Her fingertips still felt the soft light hair, warm sinew and the thrum of a steady pulse. Her own pulse, a little erratic, seemed to accelerate and steal her breath.
She stared at the shoulder muscle moving under his shirt as he put a hand on her arm.
“Then doesn’t that suggest,” he asked, “that we should work on this together to prevent Jack from getting angry at either of us? That is, if you are innocent and not afraid of exposure.”
“If we tried to do anything together,” she noted, “one of us wouldn’t survive. I’m thinking, you.”
“Well...see, now, rather than discourage me that simply challenges me. You think I’m not capable of being tougher than you are?”
“Oh, I know you’re tough,” she said, adding with complete conviction, “You’re just not as cussed as I am.”
He laughed softly. “Well, that may be true.”
* * *
THAT WAS HEAVY STUFF, he thought. She seemed completely convinced she had an iron interior. Of course, she couldn’t see into her own eyes. But he imagined that when she met her gaze in a mirror while putting on makeup or brushing her teeth, she did it fiercely, needing to convince herself of her invincibility.
When he looked into her eyes, he saw the cactus she claimed to be.
He took out his cell phone. “Give me your number and I’ll give you mine. You can call me anytime if you need to.” They recorded each other’s information then she held open the door for him.
“What time shall I pick you up in the morning? Does the Grill serve breakfast?”
“Yes, Abelia cooks. That’s Hector’s wife. They open at seven.”
“Is that too early?”
“The kids will be up at six and waiting for you.”
“All right. I’ll pick you up just before seven.”
She closed the door behind him as he walked out to his car. He thought about what she’d said. All those children with the big, questioning eyes. And they’d mistaken him for Santa.
Mercy.
CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_b508d45e-c3ce-5891-bc36-0e3a047f8d7e)
BEN LOOKED FRESH and capable as he hauled the twelve-foot ladder Hector had loaned them out of the shed behind the restaurant. Corie, who hadn’t slept well at all, knew she looked a little like a refugee from a zombie walk. She picked up the back end of the ladder and helped him carry it to her truck.
They’d had a quiet breakfast at the Grill and then driven to Teresa’s to discover that her ladder wasn’t tall enough to reach the top of the Christmas tree and that she didn’t have enough ornaments. Corie had made a quick call to Hector, who’d agreed to lend them his ladder, but the matter of more ornaments had necessitated a craft project. Teresa and the children had been left in charge of resolving that problem.
“Where’d you find your keys?” Ben asked as he placed the ladder on the tarp that remained in her truck.
She walked around to open the driver’s-side door, smiling ruefully at him when they were both in the cab. “Bianca had them. She loves to put things in her purse.”
“Ah. The youngest Stripe. I noticed the purse. She doesn’t look big enough to carry it.”
“She’s tougher than she appears.”
Corie loved the way he identified the children. The Flores girls were the Stripe Sisters. The Santiago brothers, the Army.
“I should have thought about that but I was stressed and late for work. Karina, the middle sister, found them and gave them to me.” She pulled away from the front of the restaurant, executed a wide U-turn then headed for Teresa’s.
“Is a U-turn legal in Querida?” he asked, his elbow resting on his open window. She noticed he was holding on to the roof of the truck.
“Not sure,” she replied. “Why? You going to arrest me? You’re not even on duty. Especially not here.”
“A cop’s always on duty,” he corrected. “Depends on the danger of the situation to the public as to whether or not he steps in.”
“Am I scaring you?” she teased. “I thought you were fearless.”
“That’s our brother, Jack. And you did almost take out that trash box in front of Hector’s, then the mailbox across the street while executing the turn.” He grinned at her. “That would have gotten you a pricey traffic ticket in Beggar’s Bay. Don’t know what the law is in Querida.”
“I do it all the time and I’ve never gotten a ticket.”
“Let’s hope your luck continues. Nice of Hector to send pastries back for the kids.”
“They’ll love them with their hot chocolate. So will I.”
“I noticed your sweet tooth. You had three pieces of cake at Jack and Sarah’s wedding, as I recall.”
She was a little embarrassed that he’d noticed that. She’d been nervous. For the woman whose mother had gone to jail, whose father had been a drug dealer and whose stepmother disliked her, the Palmer-Reed family harmony had been alien territory. Their happiness in each other’s company had been so thick she’d been afraid someone would notice she felt out of place. She tended to overeat when she was nervous. “It’s not very polite to point it out.”
He laughed lightly. “It’s not like it’s an evil quality or anything. It’s just nice to know you have a weakness. I’m guessing you’ve spent most of your life pretending you don’t have any.”
She ignored that and kept driving. He was spot-on, actually. She hated that about him.
* * *
FOR THE FIRST fifteen minutes of tree decorating, Ben thought he would go insane. Kids were everywhere. It was just the same ten kids, with Roberto safely tucked away in a playpen to protect him from being trampled, but the noise level and general activity made it seem as though they’d doubled, or even tripled, in number.
He thought it remarkable that the women didn’t seem to notice. They directed the wrapping of lights around the bottom branches and let the older children climb Teresa’s short ladder to help with the upper branches. Teresa hovered around them as Corie occupied the younger ones, who were stretching out the colorful paper chains they’d made.
Ben watched the happy, laughing faces. Only Rosie was looking on with a strange detachment that finally caught Corie’s attention. The lights were now halfway up the tree and the smaller children were placing ornaments on the branches they could reach. As Ben opened the large boxes of decorations, he heard Corie try to encourage Rosie’s participation.
“I think you should put up that pretty purple chain you made,” she said, catching Rosie’s hand and leading her toward the tree.
Rosie resisted. “I want to save it,” she said, “for our tree when my dad comes to get me.”
“He might not come in time for Christmas.” Corie knelt beside her.
Rosie met her gaze with firm, dark eyes. “He’s coming.”
Putting an arm around her, Corie squeezed her close. “Okay. Why don’t we put it on our tree and, when he comes, you can still take it home with you for your tree?”
Appearing reluctant to accept the compromise, Rosie sighed. The child reminded him of Corie. Her own imperfect family made it hard for her to give or to accept love when it was offered from someone else. She finally went with Corie to the big box that had held the chains the children had made, pulled out the remaining bright purple one and looked for the right spot on the tree.
Rosie pointed over her head. With the two ladders occupied, Corie stood on tiptoe to see if she could reach. She was at least a foot short.
Ben went to help. Moving Corie aside with a teasing, “Out of my way, short stuff,” he lifted Rosie onto his shoulders. She squealed in surprise then giggled when she found herself high enough to place the chain a third of the way from the top.
“How does that look?” Rosie asked of the room in general.
“It’s beautiful.” Corie stood back to admire it and Teresa nodded.
“Good job,” Ben agreed, lowering Rosie to her feet.
By the time they broke for pastries and cocoa, Ben concluded that all he could do in such a situation was abandon the need to control and simply embrace the chaos. Teresa had a little directorial control, but, for the most part, let the children experience the thrill of decorating by themselves.
They all sat around the large kitchen table, Corie and Teresa making sure there was an equitable distribution of treats. Ben leaned against the counter with a cup of coffee, listening in on the conversations.
Rosie and the Stripe Sisters talked about what they would do when their parents came for them. There were small, homey plans that involved doing their chores and cleaning their rooms. Lupe, the oldest sister, intended to plant flowers.
“What if we live in an apartment?” Karina asked.
“You can have flowers in an apartment,” Rosie said. “In a pot instead of in the ground.”
“But that’s not a garden,” Lupe protested.
“Sometimes you can’t have a garden,” Rosie said. “Sometimes you can only have a pot.”
The girls nodded seriously. Ben thought about how sage an observation that was.
“I’m gonna learn to play football. Catch, Peterson.” Carlos pretended to throw a pass. Soren, across the table, reached a skinny arm up to catch the imaginary ball. The two boys laughed.
“We don’t have a football,” Rigo, the next oldest Santiago brother, pointed out.
“That’s okay, I do.” Soren picked up his cocoa. “When your family comes, you can have my football.” He shrugged.
Ben suspected the boy didn’t believe that would happen.
“Maybe Santa will bring us one,” the youngest Santiago brother said hopefully.
Miguel, brother number three, chimed in with, “You’d have to be good for that to happen, Tonio.”
The boys laughed. “We’d better take Soren’s football.”
Corie came with the coffeepot to top up Ben’s mug. “You doing all right?” she asked. “These guys can be hard on the nerves when they’re excited. You got your strength training in for the day by lifting them all up to hang their paper chains. It’s fun for them to go beyond their reach.”
He had to agree with that. “It’s fun for all of us. What brought each of them here?”
She put the pot back on the warmer and came to lean beside him. “The Flores girls’—or Stripe Sisters, as you call them—mother is a widow and lost her job. She’s being retrained at a place in Florida that teaches food service skills and hotel management. Teresa got her into the program—it’s run by friends of hers. The Santiago Army’s dad was injured on the job in an oil field and, when he recovered, he went for retraining, too.”
“The kids have been here through all that?”
“Eight months for the Flores girls, six for the Santiago boys.”
“What about Rosie?”
“Teresa’s been in touch with her father, who is a US citizen living in Mexico. Her mom was in poor health and died at home and the neighbors brought Rosie here so her father, who remained in Mexico, could come for her and take her home without having to deal with the system.”
“Her parents were divorced?”
“I think so. Not sure. He doesn’t think he can support her but has been looking for a solution.”
Ben said in annoyance, “Like a job?”
Corie hitched a shoulder. “Teresa tries not to make judgments. Soren was the son of a border guard who died in the line of duty. He’d been a friend of Teresa’s, so she took Soren in. He’s sort of happy here.”
“Sort of? Shouldn’t a kid be definitely happy?”
“Ideally. It’s just not in the cards for some.”
He thought he heard a personal note in her voice. “Like you?”
Her eyes narrowed. “I was happy when I was really little. I remember Jack taking good care of me. I didn’t even realize how bad our mother was until they sent Cassie and me back to our fathers. That part of my life was okay until my father died. Then it was awful. Until Teresa found me when I was twelve.”
Ben sighed, realizing how much strength was around the table—and standing beside him. “Lots of sad stories.”
“Yes. Well. It’s a foster home. This is often sad-story central.” She straightened from the counter. “It’s too bad you’ll be going home soon. The kids really like you.”
“I have some things to do first.” He toasted her with his mug. “You’ll have to deal with me a little—”
The sound of the doorbell rang through the house. Teresa, arbitrating a dispute between Soren and Rosie, looked up.
Corie stayed her with a hand. “I’ll get it.” She set her cup down and crossed the living room to pull the door open.
Gil Bigelow, Querida’s chief of police, stood there in his dark blue uniform, his brimmed hat at a testy angle over light blue eyes. His craggy face was etched in stern lines. He was another good friend of Robert Pimental’s and one of Corie’s least favorite people. When Pimental had had her arrested for assault, Bigelow hadn’t even listened to her side of the story. If it hadn’t been for that passing delivery person, she’d probably be doing time today.
Bigelow’s hands rested lightly on his creaky leather belt overloaded with tools of the job. Teresa came up beside Corie.
“Good morning, Chief,” she said. “What is it?”
He firmed his stance. “I’m here to tell you that you have to be out of here in five days. According to Mr. Tyree, you’ve ignored all his efforts to encourage you to abide by the rules of your renter’s agreement. You argued with the assistant he sent. Therefore—”
“That isn’t true, Gil Bigelow, and you know it.” Angry color filled Teresa’s cheeks. “I am behind in the rent, but I’ve told him over and over again about the leaky ceiling, the bad plumbing in the kitchen and the wide cracks in the veranda. Those are his responsibilities as my landlord and he’s done nothing about them.”
“Now, Teresa, there’s no point in getting hysterical. The law is the law. He has the right—”
“I am not hysterical. I’m loud because you don’t hear me otherwise.”
Corie struggled to remain calm. “He’s done nothing but harass Teresa since he inherited the house from his father. He—”
“Pardon me.” Corie was completely surprised by the sound of a male voice behind her. A hand on her upper arm moved her aside as Ben stepped between her and Teresa. All the children, she noticed, had clustered around them, Rosie holding Roberto.
Ben extended his hand to Bigelow, his manner courteous but somehow charged, as though a current ran beneath the calm. The chief seemed to recognize it. “Good morning, Chief,” Ben said. “I’m Ben Palmer. I’m visiting for a few days. What’s this about eviction?”
Bigelow sized up the intruder then widened his stance, as though taking up more room somehow expanded his position. “This,” he said, his voice lowering a pitch, “is none of your business, Mr. Palmer. It’s between Ms. McGinnis and me.”
Ben continued to smile. “I’m sure you don’t want to violate the law, Chief. As a police officer, myself, I know that only a county sheriff or one of his deputies can enforce an eviction order, and then, only at the end of the court process.”
Anger and offended male ego lit Bigelow’s eyes. He cleared his throat. “Where you from, Palmer?” he asked.
“Oregon.”
“Well, this is Texas.”
“Right. But unless Texas has seceded, this law applies to you. It’s a federal law. It applies everywhere in the United States. You can’t make her leave.”
The chief took what he likely thought was an intimidating step toward Ben.
Ben stood firm and watched him approach, his manner still polite.
“I want her,” the chief said, a furious tremor in his voice, “and the children out of here in five days.”
Ben shook his head. “The landlord has to file an eviction notice. That would be a five-day notice for nonpayment of rent, which isn’t the case here—at least not without good cause. A ten-day notice for a breach of the lease, which isn’t the case, either. So, a thirty-day notice would be required. Still, the tenant could contest it. A formal eviction notice has to be filed first before a court case can proceed. At the very least, Ms. McGinnis can remain here for the next two months.”
Ben’s manner changed, the smile gone as he took a step toward the chief. “You’re the one who has to leave. You have no right to be here, therefore, you’re trespassing.”
“I,” Bigelow said, “am a representative of the law.”
“Without legitimate reason for the eviction you’re trying to serve, without the required paperwork and, apparently, without a working knowledge of the law you claim to represent.”
Corie’s heart pounded as the men stared at each other. Bigelow was clearly on the brink of violence, Ben waiting for it.
Expecting the chief to lay a hand on Ben at any second, Corie was surprised when he inhaled a breath and seemed to think better of it. Wisely so, she thought. Ben was a good fifteen years younger and considerably more fit.
“We’ll see about this, Palmer,” the chief said. Then he turned, strode toward his up-accessorized police car, got in and sped away.
Teresa threw her arms around Ben’s neck. “How do you know all that?” she asked.
“We had a situation at an apartment building at home. My partner and I were called in to keep the peace until everything was done properly. I learned a lot.”
Corie was astonished by what had just happened. Ben had defended them against one of Querida’s bullies. He’d stood up to the police chief’s intimidation tactics on her behalf. Well, not her behalf. He’d stood up for Teresa and the children, but their problem was as important to her as any of her own, so he might as well have defended her.
“We don’t have to go?” Rosie asked. “Ben made it so we don’t have to go, right?”
Soren laughed and patted Ben’s arm. “Ben scared the police chief,” he said. “We can stay for two more months.”
Corie ushered the children back while Teresa pulled herself together. The past year had been a nightmare with Tyree’s repeated threats to evict her. She held on to Ben the way Corie wanted to—as though he were a strong handhold in a hurricane. And it had been so long since either of them had anyone to hold on to in tough times except each other.
Corie sat the children at the table again, gave them each another pastry half, knowing she was taking the coward’s way out to soothe their nerves but accepting that it was expedient. She made more cocoa, turned up the Christmas carols and got a discussion going about what they should make for Teresa’s present.
* * *
BEN LOOKED DOWN into Teresa’s tear-filled eyes and felt an eerie change take place inside him.
She hugged him fiercely again. “Thank you, thank you!” she whispered thickly. “I’m so glad you were here.”
He patted her shoulder, feeling his whole world go south on him. To be honest, he had to admit that it had begun when he and Jack and Sarah had followed Corie on her path to theft and vengeance.
“We’ve held him off for now,” he said, watching her pull tissues out of her pocket and dab at her nose. “But this is just going to continue unless we settle this once and for all.”
She looked up at him doubtfully. “Tyree doesn’t care about our situation. His father was a good man, but all Cyrus cares about is getting me out. I hate it when the children are worried. I wish they could just go to school and come home and play and be happy.”
“Are their parents really coming back? Any of them?”
“Absolutely,” she said, her eyes suddenly dry, her customary confidence returning. “They’re not bad people. They’ve just had bad things happen to them. I started this place so that when parents are ready to take their children back, they don’t have to wait forever for the court to do its thing. They can just reclaim their children and make a home again. They’ll be back. I know Joel Santiago and Amelia Flores thought they’d be finished with school by Christmas.”
“All right,” he heard himself say, “then we’ll do everything we can to see that you stay.”
“How will we do that?”
“Leave it to me.”
“You’d have to stay around for a while.”
Yeah. He was getting that.
He’d never been a selfish person—he’d been raised better than that. But his life so far, apart from his job, had been about doing what he wanted to do. He was enthused and excited about his plans to start an investigative agency. He was willing to work hard and had a fairly good business head. He could make a success of Palmer Private Investigations.
But he wasn’t going to be able to launch his business until he had Teresa and Corie and the children on a safer footing and he’d resigned from the Beggar’s Bay police force. And then there was the jewelry... He had no illusions that he could single-handedly solve either issue. He needed an ally in the cause, but he was going to do his best to brighten up the children’s world and give them the stability they deserved.
Teresa hooked her arm in his and tugged him back into the house. “Thanks, Ben, for caring about us.”
“I’m glad I was here.”
“And for agreeing to stay.”
He was about to deny that he had done that, but it would have been pointless. He hadn’t said the words but in his heart he’d made the promise.
And it was all Corie’s fault.
CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_ebf18667-1de4-5716-8e82-b03d7fed83fe)
BEN WENT TO town in the afternoon while the children made more ornaments for the tree. On an errand to buy more lights, he decided to make a detour to the local newspaper office.
Querida was too small to support a daily newspaper, but the Weekly Standard had its office in an unpretentious storefront in a strip mall on the other side of town.
The editor, a tall, slender man Ben guessed to be in his forties, seemed to be a one-person operation, except for a receptionist. He introduced himself as Will Fennerty.
Ben asked him if he could take a look at all the articles that had run that year on the Querida government, particularly Robert Pimental, the chief of police and Cyrus Tyree.
“I can,” he replied. “Fortunately for you, there’s no such thing as a weekend off in the life of a small town editor/publisher.”
Will provided copies in twenty minutes. He leaned across a battered counter toward Ben and asked if he was from the attorney general’s office.
Ben laughed and asked if the Querida town government required such attention.
The man nodded. “It absolutely does, but with just myself doing the reporting, I don’t have the staff to follow up on all my investigations. And if I don’t spend half my time selling advertising, I won’t survive anyway. I’d suggest if you’re going to look into things, find out how a deputy mayor in this tiny town can support a palatial home on Ocean Drive in Corpus Christi.”
“Doesn’t Pimental have to live in Querida to work in its government?” Ben asked.
“He has a modest little place here, too.”
“Maybe his wife has money?”
“She was a car salesman’s daughter from Dallas.”
“So, his job here is funding the Corpus Christi lifestyle?”
“I think so.”
Ben remembered that elegant Ocean Drive neighborhood because that was where Tyree lived. He, Jack and Sarah had trailed Corie there the night of the robbery.
“And nobody’s noticed? I mean, what’s a town this size doing with a deputy mayor, anyway?”
Will shrugged. “The mayor had ALS. When he was voted in he brought along Pimental, who had a car agency in Manzanita. The two of them were childhood friends. Since the mayor’s illness has become completely debilitating, Pimental’s been pretty much on his own.”
Ben was beginning to see the picture.
“Pimental’s behavior is largely ignored because the rest of the state doesn’t care about Querida. We don’t really produce anything and the landscape isn’t exactly inspiring. The police chief also seems to live far beyond the salary of a small-town cop. There’s so much going on in city hall, I wouldn’t know who’d be safe to report it to if I did have an airtight case.”
“Wow. I have a friend fighting eviction—”
“Teresa McGinnis. Cyrus Tyree seems determined to get her out of there,” Fennerty conceded.
“It doesn’t seem like the house is prime property.”
“I don’t get that, either. His father left it to him, along with a few other properties in Querida and Manzanita. I think he treats those the same way—never fixes anything and is always chasing the rent.”
“I understand Corie Ochoa went to the deputy mayor for help,” Ben added.
Will laughed. “Yeah, that was rich. He tried to get her to pay him to help and she beaned him with her purse. Didn’t take that very well. Just not a nice man.”
“I understand. And...one more thing.”
“Sure.”
“Did you report on the theft of Tyree’s wife’s jewelry?”
“I did. It happened in Corpus Christi, but he’s well-known around here.”
“TV news reported that Tyree had surveillance cameras.”
“Yes. Want to see for yourself what they got?”
Ben suppressed any reaction, hardly believing his luck.
Will let Ben in behind the counter, walked around his desk and invited Ben to take the chair beside it. He stabbed in a few commands to his laptop and turned the screen toward Ben.
“Since it’s from a private security system I had to get permission, but Tyree seemed happy enough to give it to me. It’s clear he was robbed.”
Ben’s stomach sank. “By whom?” he asked innocently.
The copy of the film began to play. “That part’s not so clear. It’s impossible to identify anyone.”
Ben watched shadows moving among the bushes in the dark. The makes and models of the vehicles were impossible to determine, and license plates weren’t visible. That was a major relief.
He turned the screen back. “Do you suspect anyone?”
“No. Every other person in Querida and Corpus Christi dislikes Tyree. And his wife has serious pretensions, so any number of people would be happy to see either or both of them taken down.”
“Thanks.” Ben stood and shook his hand. “I appreciate your help, Will.”
Ben went to Wolf’s Hardware to buy three strings of one hundred-foot lights, per Teresa’s instructions, several boxes of plain ornaments and a box of bubble lights, thinking the children would enjoy seeing those at work. He also bought an inflatable Santa Claus and Mrs. Santa for the front lawn. If Teresa was horrified by it, he’d just take it home with him—whenever he went home.
As Ben headed out of town for Teresa’s, he noticed Corie pulling into a parking spot near the restaurant, ready to begin her shift. He punched his horn and she waved.
* * *
A SPICY AROMA tantalized him when Soren opened the door at his knock—along with two of the Santiago brothers and all of the Stripe Sisters. “We’re having spaghetti for dinner, and you’re invited.”
“What did you buy?” Bianca stood on tiptoe to see the contents of the bag he carried. He lowered it to the coffee table so they could look inside.
“What’s this?” Carlos took out the flat inflatables and unfolded them. “Look! Santa. And Mrs. Santa. And they’re big!”
The other kids abandoned the bag for the big, red-suited Claus couple. Santa had a giant sack and the missus held a teddy bear and a candy cane.
“For the lawn?” Soren asked.
Ben nodded. “If we have a bicycle pump or something for blowing up an air mattress, we can inflate them tonight or tomorrow and put them out. But we should probably ask Teresa first.”
The Stripe Sisters went into the kitchen to do just that.
Teresa came to the kitchen doorway, wooden spoon in hand. Soren and Carlos held up the figures. She smiled broadly. “You’re a child-spoiler, Ben Palmer,” she said. “Can you stay for dinner?”
The atmosphere was different without Corie. Not that she was ever particularly happy to see him, but he was discovering that he wanted to see her. He had thought about going to the Grill for dinner.
But the children jumped up and down at the invitation. Rosie, who was setting the table, told him Teresa made the best spaghetti. “You have to eat some salad with it, but the spaghetti’s really good. We have garlic bread, too.”
Ben felt himself relenting. He’d been loved his entire life, and he’d always dealt well with his friends’ children and those he came across in his work, but he’d never experienced this almost-adoration before. He put it down to these children living in a household run by women. He was a new and different experience for them.
“Please,” Teresa added. “I’d like to repay you at least a little for all you’ve done for us today.”
“I’d love to,” he said. “Thank you.”
An argument followed among the children about where he would sit. Teresa settled it by placing him between Rosie and Soren, who were already bickering. “We have a dinner guest,” she said, focusing a pointed gaze on each child. “Soren, please pass him the garlic toast.”
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Muriel Jensen
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современные любовные романы
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
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О книге: She′ll make Christmas magic…in spite of him!In all his years as a cop, Ben Palmer had seen some hard cases. But Corie Ochoa took the cake. There was more hostility in her gorgeous five-foot-one frame than he′d seen in hardened criminals. Not to mention her uncanny knack for getting herself in trouble. But she was his adopted brother′s sister, and he was going to help her whether she liked it or not. And clearly, she didn′t.Too bad. He hadn′t come all the way to Texas to let this infuriating woman off the hook. Every instinct told him there was more to this story…and to her.