Linda Warren - On The Texas Border

Her stomach tingled with excitement…just as it had when she was sixteen and Brad Hazelton, two years older than her and popular in school, had asked her out. She was appalled at her reaction. She had sworn off men, love and marriage. Evidently her body hadn’t gotten the message.

Jonas walked to Mr. Brewster and handed him a clipboard. “Here are the orders for tomorrow,” he said. “Twenty eighteen-wheelers will arrive in the morning. We’ll have them packed and out of here by five.”

Jonas was precise. That’s probably the second thing she had noticed about him. He said by five and he meant it. Jonas Parker was a man of his word. For the life of her she couldn’t figure out why she found so many of his qualities attractive. Her hormones were out of whack, she told herself. Time to get out of here.

Mr. Brewster signed the papers. “What vegetables are we shipping?”

“Yellow squash, carrots, onions and the last crop of cantaloupes.”

“You see the job’s done on time.”

“Don’t I always?”

“Yeah, I guess. You don’t give me much to gripe about.”

Jonas took the clipboard from him. “I’m sure you’ll find something.”

“You’re damn right I will,” Mr. Brewster snarled. “You work for me, boy, and I expect loyalty and—”

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Abby interrupted, not wanting to sit through one of their many arguments. The two men seemed to hate each other, and Abby didn’t understand why Jonas continued to work for a man who always tried to belittle him. Of course, Jonas gave as good as he got. And she doubted if anyone could truly belittle Jonas Parker. He was too much of a man.

“Run off.” Mr. Brewster waved a hand. “You always do that when I’m on a roll.”

Abby slipped out the door without another word. She hoisted her carryall over one shoulder and her purse over the other. She hurried down the winding staircase, eager to get home. A door slammed loudly, and she jerked around them. Her purse slid from her shoulder to the floor, its contents spilling onto the Mexican tile. She hurriedly picked up her wallet, keys and lipstick, and as she reached for a tampon that had rolled away, a masculine hand, lightly covered with brown hairs, retrieved it.

She straightened to stare at Jonas, and her knees wobbled. A musky, masculine scent filled her nostrils, and her cheeks turned red as he handed the tampon to her. She managed a weak “Thank you.” She crammed it in her purse, expecting him to walk on. He never had a conversation with her. He greeted her politely, but that was it.

“Haven’t you got anything better to do than listen to an old man’s ramblings?”

The attacking words startled her. She slung her purse over her shoulder in a quick movement. “Ramblings? It’s his life story. I’d hardly call that ramblings.” Her voice was cool, belying the heat building in her.

“But how much of it is true?”

Again, she was startled by the question, but didn’t allow her puzzlement to show on her face. “All of it,” she responded. “It’s his life so I assume—”

He cut her off. “Never assume anything about Brewster. He’s asked you to write his memoirs for a reason, and you can bet it has nothing to do with his desire to let the world read about his remarkable life.” With that, Jonas walked past her and out the front doors.

It took a moment for Abby to catch her breath, then she quickly followed. If he thought he could throw that at her and leave her standing like an idiot, he had another think coming.

She caught him on the front steps. “What did you mean by that?” she demanded.

He swung around to face her, the clipboard in his hand. “Are you naive, or what?”

“I am not naive,” she replied sharply. She’d been away to college, lived and worked in a big city, gotten married and been through a divorce. At thirty, she was anything but naive.

“You’re from Hope. Surely you’ve heard the stories about Simon Brewster.”

“Yes, I’ve heard the rumors,” she said stiffly.

She was standing on the top step and looking down at him, which gave her the advantage she needed, since she was five foot three and he towered over her. He took a step up and they were at eye level. His eyes delved into hers.

“Everything you’ve heard about Brewster is true. Nothing is exaggerated or blown out of proportion. It’s all true.”

She shrugged lightly. “I’m writing his memoirs, that’s all.”

His eyes narrowed. “After what he did to your father, why would you want to do that?”

“You knew my father?” she asked hoarsely.

He looked surprised. “You’re supposed to be a reporter and you couldn’t figure that out?” he quipped sarcastically, and she bit down on her tongue to keep from saying something she’d regret.

She knew her father had worked with Jonas. His question had thrown her off balance.

“We worked together for years,” he went on. “Abe was an honorable, decent man, and Brewster shattered him like a piece of glass. Brewster didn’t flinch while he was doing it, either, and he never gave your father a second thought.”

Abby’s stomach tightened in pain, but it didn’t keep her from noticing the insinuations in Jonas’s voice. Did he know something?

“Why did he fire my father?” she asked quietly.

Jonas shook his head. “Don’t know. Brewster uses people for his own means, and he’s doing the same with you.”

Jonas was wrong about that. Abby was using Mr. Brewster for her own purposes. “What would his reasons be?” she managed to say, trying not to show how his words affected her.

Jonas shook his head again. “Don’t know.”

Abby shifted her weight to her other foot. “Sounds to me like you’re making accusations without any proof. What are you afraid of?”

He didn’t respond, just stared at her with guarded eyes.

Her journalist’s instincts kicked in. “Are you afraid I might find out something about you?”

He took another step up and loomed over her with barely controlled anger. “I hope you find something on me…something that will get me out of this god-forsaken place and away from Simon Brewster—forever.”

With that, he turned and took the steps two at a time. He got into his white truck with the Brewster Farms logo on the door. The door slammed with a deafening sound, and he sped down the driveway to the gates.

Abby held on to the iron railing that curved to the bottom of the steps. Her insides were a hard knot of nerves. She’d been wishing that Jonas would talk to her, but not this way. He was rude and accusing. He made her feel as if she’d betrayed her father. That was the last thing she’d intended. She was going to get justice for her father—one way or the other. And she didn’t need Jonas Parker’s interference.

AS ABBY DROVE to her mother’s house, her mind was a jumble. She’d believed that writing Mr. Brewster’s memoirs would be easy. He’d talk and she’d write, then they’d discuss her father. But so many other emotions—and people—were interfering. People like Jonas. In her job as a reporter, she’d come up against men like him. The strong, silent types, who never wanted to talk or share emotionally. She was always uncomfortable around them. She had to admit, though, she wasn’t a really great judge of men. Just look who she’d chosen to marry.

She’d met Kyle at the paper. He was fun, loving and caring…and he’d swept her off her feet. Within three months they were married. They were happy for a while, but then she noticed he was drinking to excess. She didn’t worry too much because they were both dealing with a lot of stress at work. She began to get bigger assignments and awards for her writing. Kyle became jealous and bitter, and Abby began to turn down stories because her achievements angered him so much.

He wanted a child, and she told him that they had to work on their marriage first. She wouldn’t bring a baby into a home that was fraught with tension. That only increased his anger. His drinking got worse, and he started staying out late. Then he was fired from the paper. That brought matters to a head. Kyle blamed her for everything that was wrong in his life. He became so enraged one night that he hit her. She packed her things and left. The next day she filed for divorce.

Kyle began calling and showing up on her doorstep, wanting to reconcile, but he had destroyed any feelings she’d ever had for him. She had no intention of ever going back. He harassed her for weeks until she had to get a restraining order. Finally, the divorce was granted, and she headed home to heal.

She forced the depressing thoughts from her mind as she parked behind her mother’s car and hurried into the house.

Gail Duncan sat at the kitchen table, flipping through a magazine. “You’re late,” she said, not looking at her daughter.

Abby got the message. Her mother was upset. She dropped her purse and carryall by the refrigerator and kissed her mother’s cheek. “I’m sorry. Things ran long today.”

Her mother was in her late fifties and still an attractive woman, with her short, neat graying hair and trim figure. She didn’t answer or look up as Abby spoke, just turned a page with a jerky movement.

Abby sat next to her and took her hand in hers. “Mom, you know why I took this job, so be patient with me.”

Her mother glanced at her, her green eyes—so like Abby’s—swimming with tears. “I don’t like you anywhere near that man.”

“I know, Mom, but I have to find out what happened with Daddy, and I’m getting close. I think Mr. Brewster will tell me.”

Her mother squeezed her hand. “Don’t you trust Simon Brewster for a minute.”

Jonas had said almost the same thing. But she wouldn’t think about him and his insulting words.

“I won’t,” Abby assured her. “But there has to be a reason he fired Daddy.”

“Your father never would say. He said to forget about it, that he was tired of working for Brewster, anyway. Then he found out about the cancer and—” Her voice cracked.

“It’s all right,” Abby said softly. “It’s time to get on with our lives. But before I can do that, I need to have some answers.”

Her mother got up. “You were always like that—needing to know the who, when, where, what and how about everything.” She took lasagna out of the oven and brought it to the table. Setting it on a hot pad, she added, “I guess that’s what makes you a good reporter. But,” she continued wistfully, “sometimes you have to let go.”

Abby stood and kissed her. “I’ll try, but right now I’m so hungry, especially for your lasagna. I’ll wash up and be right back.”

She ran to the bathroom, hoping she was doing the right thing about Simon Brewster. She knew her mother was worried that Mr. Brewster was going to hurt her the way he’d hurt her father. Funny, but Jonas seemed to feel the same way. Stop thinking about him, she admonished herself.

Maybe she should forget about the memoirs and let go of the past, like her mother had said. No, she couldn’t. She had to know. She washed her hands, then stared at herself in the mirror. Her natural blond hair was in disarray around her shoulders and her green eyes lacked their usual sparkle. She looked awful. Had Jonas noticed? Probably, she thought, answering her own question. He wasn’t blind. But then, why should she care? A man was the last thing she needed in her life. Besides Jonas wasn’t interested in her in any way, shape or form. And that was a good thing.

Wasn’t it?

JONAS LEFT HIS OFFICE and walked through the big metal building that housed the offices of Brewster Farms. Juan, one of the warehouse employees, tried to stop him.