To Love And Protect

CHAPTER THREE

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

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.