“Simon Brewster wants me to find his daughter.”

“What daughter?” Jonas stared incredulously at Abby. “The old man doesn’t have a daughter. He’s using you because of his own agenda. Brewster does things for his own weird reasons and nine times out of ten, someone gets hurt. Go back to Dallas and forget about him.”

“I can’t,” she whispered, and felt chills run up her spine. She thought of all the years her father had worked for Simon Brewster—all the hard work and loyal service Abe Duncan had given Brewster, only to be tossed aside like an old shoe. And the rumors…Brewster had promised to tell her the truth if she found his daughter. “I have to clear my father’s name.”

But Jonas wasn’t ready to accept her answer. “What if you find out that your father did the things people say he did?”

“No!” She shook her head. “You knew my father. How can you even say it?”

Jonas took a step closer. “Because when you start digging into the past, you’d better be able to handle the consequences.”

Dear Reader,

You need to go. That’s what my brother J.O. said to me when he was drilling water wells in the Rio Grande Valley. He talked about the large fields of agricultural crops growing there, the Mexican laborers, the seasonal workers and the poverty across the Rio Grande River. The more he talked, the more questions I asked. I could definitely feel a story coming on.

You have to go, he kept insisting. So my husband and I headed for the border. I’d been to Mexico years ago, but this time it was more vivid and real. I looked at the contrast between Texas and Mexico through the eyes of a writer, and a story emerged that I hope you will enjoy.

Abby and Jonas are two very different people, and it took me a while to sort through the trails of their lives. I hope you will find these characters and the area as absorbing as I have. If you do, you will go there, too—if only in On the Texas Border.

Thanks for reading my books.

Linda Warren

You can always reach me at P.O. Box 5182, Bryan, TX 77805, or e-mail me at LW1508@aol.com

On the Texas Border
Linda Warren

To my brothers—

James Otto Siegert, Bobby Louis Siegert

and Paul William Siegert. Thanks for the love and

encouragement. As we grow older, I hope we continue

to grow together instead of apart and that we always

remember the sense of family our parents instilled in us.

And to the man who went with me to the RWA conference

in New Orleans without one complaint—

my husband, Billy Warren, my Sonny.

ACKNOWLEDGMENT

J.O. Siegert, Tammy and Rodrigo Medina and all the people who answered my endless questions about Texas and Mexico with such patience. Any errors are strictly mine.

CONTENTS

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

EPILOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

“LOOK AT THAT, ABIGAIL,” Simon Brewster said as he stood at the huge windows overlooking the Rio Grande Valley. “It all belongs to me…as far as the eye can see.”

“Are you proud of that?” Abigail Duncan asked, scribbling notes on a pad while a tape recorder picked up his voice. She was writing Mr. Brewster’s memoirs. The eighty-year-old’s life had been turbulent and fascinating, and she didn’t want to miss a word.

“You’re damn right I am,” he told her in his gruff voice. “If you’ve ever known poverty like I have, you’ll make sure you never have to live like that again.” He paused, then added, “I was nine years old when my father died and my mother and me had to work the fields to make a living. It was during the Depression and there were a lot of days when all we had to eat was bread and honey. I vowed that one day my mother would never have to work again. She was the only person I ever really loved until…”

She waited for his next words, but none were forthcoming. She glanced up to see him staring out the window and realized he was lost in another time. She doodled on the pad, knowing he wouldn’t speak until he was ready. She’d been working on his life story for a month and she had come to know his moods.

Her pencil stilled as her mind drifted. She’d returned—after a bitter divorce—to Hope, Texas, her childhood home. She’d lived here until she’d left for college. After getting her degree, she’d moved to Dallas and joined a large newspaper as a reporter.

She had been home two days when Simon Brewster had asked her to write his memoirs. The request had come as a shock because there’d been bad feelings between her family and Mr. Brewster for the past year. Her father had worked for Brewster Farms for thirty-five years, then suddenly Mr. Brewster had fired him. Her father said he hadn’t been given a reason for the firing, but the rumor that had circulated around the small town was that Abe Duncan had been caught embezzling funds. That had angered Abby and she’d wanted to find out the truth. But then her father became ill, and Abby had spent her time at home helping her mother to care for him. Nine months later he died. She’d loved her father, and had been devastated by his death. Her mother blamed Mr. Brewster. So did Abby.

When Mr. Brewster offered her the job, she’d turned him down. She had no intention of writing his life story. But then she began to see it as an opportunity to uncover the truth. She knew Abe Duncan had not embezzled a dime, so why had Mr. Brewster fired him after so many years of loyal service? It was time to get some answers. Her mother was adamantly against the idea, but Abby was a reporter, and she had to clear her father’s name.

So far she hadn’t been able to bring up the subject. The more Mr. Brewster talked about his life, though, the less she hated him. She didn’t understand that, but it didn’t change her mission.

Feeling uncomfortable, she brushed a speck from her denim skirt, straightened her white knit top and studied the elderly man at the window. He was a formidable character. His gray hair was short and stuck out in all directions. She didn’t think he ever combed it. She remembered that from her childhood. When she’d see him in town, his hair was always disheveled, giving him a wild appearance, and all the kids gave him a wide berth. She wasn’t a child anymore, but Mr. Brewster was still intimidating. The thought brought her back to the memoirs. She checked her notes to refresh her memory.

“Until what?” she prompted.

“Until my son was born,” he muttered. Abby knew better than to ask about his wife because she’d already learned that Mr. Brewster had married her for her land. It wasn’t a love match. The son was a different matter, and Abby was reluctant to talk about him. He’d been killed in an auto accident when he was thirty-one years old. Marjorie, Mr. Brewster’s wife, had grieved herself to death, and for the past twenty years, Mr. Brewster had been a hard and embittered man.

“I made people pay for his death and I will make them pay until the day I die. Vengeance is mine and always will be,” he said in a tone that sent goose bumps up her arms.

She swallowed and asked, “But wasn’t it an accident?”

“Drunk teenagers, that’s what it was,” he roared. “They were jealous of my son and his money and they dared him to a race that night. My son was never one to back down from a dare, but liquor and high speed don’t mix. I will continue to seek retribution for their callous behavior.”

Back then Abby had been only a child, but she remembered the accident. Her parents had talked about how sad it was. The whole town had mourned. But she’d thought there were no survivors.

“Didn’t the crash kill everyone?” she asked into the silence.

“Not everyone.” A sinister smile tugged his lips. “The boys left families, and I made sure those families never worked in Hope, Texas, again. They raised killers and they should be shunned as killers.”

Abby swallowed again. This was the side of Simon Brewster everyone had warned her about—the ruthless side.

She glanced at her watch and noticed the time. “Mr. Brewster, it’s almost five-thirty,” she said. “I’ve got to go. I promised Mom I’d be on time for supper.”

Simon Brewster turned from the window. “We’re just getting started,” he grumbled.

Abby glanced at him as she stuffed papers and the recorder into her carryall. They went through this every day. He never wanted her to leave. Abby recognized he was lonely. For a man who had so much, he had so little. Hope, Texas, was known as Brewster’s valley—miles and miles of fertile land in the Rio Grande Valley between Texas and Mexico. The land yielded vegetables and fruits that were sold all over the United States. Simon Brewster was a very rich man, yet he had no family, except distant relatives who were just waiting for him to die. Everyone said he’d got what he deserved…and maybe he had. When she’d agreed to write his story, the same people told her she was crazy, and she probably was.

As a child, she’d ridden her bicycle past his mansion with the wrought iron gates. The house was built of white stone and had a red tile roof. Although she’d lived most of her life in Hope, she’d never been inside the house until four weeks ago. It was exactly the way she had thought it would be—elegant and tasteful with a Mexican flavor.

Today they were in his bedroom because Mr. Brewster had been having chest pains, and the doctor had ordered him to take things easy. The room was awesome and the four-poster bed had a headboard, with intricate Mexican carvings, that almost reached the ceiling. A luxurious bathroom and adjoining sitting room gave a sense of space and elegance, but the floor-to-ceiling windows with their spectacular view took pride of place. From his bedroom, Mr. Brewster could see everything that went on at Brewster Farms.

Few people liked Simon Brewster, but most of the town depended on Brewster Farms for a living, so they put up with his bad attitude and bad moods. Just as her father had done. Abe Duncan had never hurt anyone. He didn’t deserve what had happened to him. No matter how involved Abby became in Mr. Brewster’s life, she never forgot that fact. She would find out the truth…maybe not today, but soon.

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” Abby said, when she realized her mind was wandering.

A shaggy eyebrow shot up in annoyance. “Every time I’m in a mood to talk, you have to run off. Can’t your mother wait?”

Before she could form a suitable reply, there was a knock at the door.

“Come in,” Mr. Brewster called crossly.

Jonas Parker stepped into the room. Jonas was the manager of Brewster Farms. He answered only to Mr. Brewster.

“Howdy, ma’am,” he said to Abby as he removed his hat, and her toes curled into her shoes. His voice was low and deep and seemed to come from the depths of his broad chest. Jonas Parker exuded raw sensuality.

His light brown hair was bleached blond by the sun. It was parted on the side, and a lock fell across his forehead when he wasn’t wearing his hat. His features were masculine and well-defined; his eyes, a clear brown. He was well over six feet, and his body was firm and strong as if he knew what hard work was all about. He wore a chambray shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbows and faded jeans that emphasized his long legs.

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.

“Mr. Jonas, I—”

“Handle it, Juan, I’ll be back later,” Jonas threw over his shoulder as he made his way to his truck, which was parked out back.

In less than five minutes he pulled up in front of Mick’s Tavern in town. He got out of the truck and went inside. The place was a dive—peanut shells littered the worn floor, a jukebox hummed in a corner and a Mexican couple necked at a table that could have used a good cleaning. Jonas came here often to unwind. God, he needed to unwind today. That Duncan woman was beginning to get to him.

“Coke and peanuts,” he said to Mick, who stood behind the bar. Jonas and Mick were old friends. Mick had been there for him when no one else had—not even his own parents. In fact, Jonas thought, Mick was probably the only person who’d cared about him when he was a kid.

Mick had married a Mexican woman, and they’d settled in this small border town so his wife could be close to her family. Mick was a die-hard Texan with rough edges and a spit-in-your-eye attitude. He was equally at home with the locals and the Mexicans. Everyone knew that Mick was a good man to turn to in times of trouble. He had helped many other people as well as Jonas.

Not all of Mick’s endeavors were on the up-and-up, though. Even as a kid Jonas had figured that out. A brothel was illegal in Texas, yet Mick operated one in plain sight of the sheriff and the town. Jonas knew that Mick had some sort of arrangement with the sheriff. For a certain amount of money, the sheriff turned a blind eye. A lot of illegal activity—drugs, prostitution, smuggling—went on in this town, yet nothing was ever done about it. Brewster was the only one who could put a stop to it—and he chose not to.

Illegal immigration was also a big problem. No matter how tight the security, Mexicans always managed to find a way to get across the Rio Grande undetected. It was routine for illegals to show up at Brewster farms wanting work. Brewster had always hired them, and Jonas continued that practice. If they proved to be good workers, he tried to help them get a Green Card so they could continue to work without fear of being caught. It was a lengthy process, but worth waiting for. Many extended families—parents, brothers, sisters, uncles, aunts and cousins—came to work for Brewster. Once here, they usually stayed—only going home for visits.

Some went farther into Texas or other states. It made Jonas sick when he heard of illegals dying from heat, exhaustion and thirst while hiding from the border patrol. Then there were the “coyotes”—as the Mexicans called them—who smuggled illegals across the border for a price and transported them deeper into Texas. They jammed as many people as they could into a concealed truck. If the Mexicans didn’t die from suffocation, and if the driver managed to slip through the checkpoints without suspicion, they had a ticket to freedom. It was a roll of the dice and the Mexicans took it.

Jonas remembered the first time he had helped to burn the sugarcane for harvesting. Three bodies were found huddled together. No identification, nothing on them, and everyone knew they were illegals. Unfortunately, it was something that happened too often. When Jonas took over Brewster Farms, he warned the Mexicans when the cane was going to be burned. He wanted the word spread on both sides of the border. He then had Juan use a foghorn and circle the fields, informing everyone in Spanish that the burning was about to begin. So far he hadn’t had to witness such an awful scene again.

During peak season, temporary Mexican laborers came by the busload with a special pass to work. They couldn’t go farther than twenty-five miles from the border and they had to return to Mexico at night. It was a good arrangement and it helped everyone. In the winter months, seasonal workers came from up north to avoid the bad winters. The trailer park was a hive of activity during that time. Some workers came regularly and a reunion took place every year. All in all, everyone got along. Everywhere there was Mexican music mixed with country.

Mick slid an iced cola can and a bowl of roasted peanuts across the bar. Jonas took them and sat at one of the tables, propping his feet up on a chair. He took a swig of the cola and began to break the peanut shells.

Mick came over to the table. A white apron covered his large form. He chewed on a cigar. He never lit the thing, but he always had one in his mouth. “Why do you come in here, Jonas? You never buy any liquor or make use of my girls.”

“I don’t drink and I don’t need to pay for sex,” Jonas said, popping a peanut in his mouth. He glanced at Mick. “You got a problem with that?”

Mick held up his hands. “No problem. Just bad for business. In the old days I couldn’t keep you outta here.”

Jonas removed his worn hat and plopped it on the table. “The old days, Mick? I’ve forgotten what the hell they were like.”

“No, you haven’t,” Mick said, pulled up a chair and rolled the cigar to the other side of his mouth. “You made a mistake. You were young. Now it’s time to say adios to all that.”

Jonas ran his thumb over the sweat on the cold can. “Yeah, if only it were that easy.”

“Brewster can’t control you forever,” Mick told him. “Not unless you let him.”

Jonas looked at his friend.

“You’ve paid your dues,” Mick added forcefully.

Jonas went back to rubbing his thumb over the can. He didn’t want to talk about Brewster or the past. It was over, but his dues would never be paid, not until…

Mick caught that stubborn look and changed the subject. “I got two illegals over at my place. They’re scared but they need work.”

“How old are they?”

Mick sighed. “Why do you always have to ask that?”

“Because I’m not working kids.”

Mick chewed on the cigar. “They’re both sixteen.”

“You wouldn’t lie to me, would you?” Mick knew that sixteen was the youngest age that Jonas would allow.

“I haven’t lied to you since you were eight years old. I told you the truth even when it hurt.”

He had. Mick had always been straight with him, so there was no reason to doubt him. Jonas had a strict rule about children. He refused to work them. Brewster gave him enough leeway to enforce it.

“Send them over,” he said. “I think there’s a couple of beds in a trailer. Make sure they’re aware of the rules—no liquor or drugs on the premises. As long as they behave, they’ll have a safe place to work. Tell them to ask for Juan and fill out papers, and they can start work tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Jonas,” Mick said. “How about another Coke?”

“Sure, why not.”

On his way to the bar, Mick asked, “What’s Brewster got you in a snit about today?”

“It’s not Brewster.”

Mick set another can in front of him. “Then, it has to be a woman.”

Jonas took a swallow. “Women, Mick? How in the hell do you figure them out?”

“I don’t. I just enjoy them.”

Jonas laughed. “That’s very good advice.”

“Then, why the hell don’t you take it?”

Jonas didn’t answer. Mick wouldn’t understand, anyway. Jonas tipped his head back and drank thirstily.

Mick watched him for a moment. “Why don’t you get on your Harley and head for parts unknown. What the hell can Brewster do?”

Jonas pushed hair away from his forehead. “In my dreams, Mick…only in my dreams.”

Neither spoke for a moment, then Mick said, “Is this about the pretty Duncan woman who’s been hanging around the Brewster mansion? She’s a nice piece of—”

Jonas stopped him. “Don’t talk trash.”

“Then, it is about Abigail Duncan.”

“Brewster’s using her, and I can’t figure out why.”

“It’s not your business, is it?”

Jonas gulped down more cola. “No, but…”

“But what? You’re concerned for her?”

“No, dammit. She needs to get her ass back to Dallas where she belongs.”

Mick chuckled. “Or maybe she belongs in your bed.”

Jonas’s eyes narrowed on Mick. “Is that all you ever think about?”

Mick chuckled again. “It’s good business and it’s why you’re so wound up. You can’t get the Duncan woman out of your head.”

Jonas twisted the can. “Your dime-store psychology stinks.”

“But I’m right, ain’t I?” Mick said gleefully. “Take the woman to bed and get her out of your system. That will solve the problem, and you’ll definitely be in a better mood.”

Jonas stood, laid some bills on the table, picked up his hat and walked out. Mick was wrong, he told himself. He didn’t want to take Abigail Duncan to bed.

Liar! resounded a voice in his head. Okay, she was attractive with her blond hair, green eyes and knockout body, he admitted, but she was a career woman with a divorce behind her. He didn’t need someone like that. His life was messed up enough the way it was.

On the way back to the office, Jonas decided Mick was out of his mind. He also decided he would stay out of Ms. Duncan’s life. He’d warned her. Now she could do whatever the hell she wanted.

CHAPTER TWO

THE RINGING OF THE TELEPHONE woke Abby at two in the morning. She groped for the receiver and brushed hair out of her eyes at the same time. “Hello,” she mumbled.

“Ms. Abigail Duncan?”

“Yes.”

“This is Hope Medical Center. Mr. Simon Brewster has had a heart attack, and he’s asking for you.”

Abby scooted into a sitting position. “Is he all right?”

“He’s still alive, if that’s what you’re asking, and he wants to see you.”

“Me? Why?”

“I’ve just been instructed to call you.”

“Oh.” Mr. Brewster wanted to see her. She wasn’t part of his family. Maybe it had something to do with the memoirs.

“Ms. Duncan?”

“Yes.”

“Are you coming?”

“I…uh…” She hesitated for a moment, then added, “I’ll be right there.”

Abby hung up the phone wondering if she’d made the right decision. Her mother wouldn’t like this, but the man was probably dying. Abby had to see him. She dressed hurriedly in jeans and a knit top. Luckily the phone hadn’t woken Gail. Abby made her way out the back door and to her car. Within minutes she was parking in front of the small hospital.

Mr. Brewster was in ICU, and Abby was shown into a waiting area. Three people were sitting in the small room. Abby recognized them immediately. They were Mr. Brewster’s so-called family. Edna Kline, tall and heavyset, was Mr. Brewster’s sister-in-law. His wife’s sister. She had been at Mr. Brewster’s house several times while Abby was working on the memoirs. Edna always had her son, Jules, in tow. In his fifties, Jules was short and thin, very unlike his mother. He didn’t seem to have a job. Abby knew that Mr. Brewster supported them.

The other person was Darby, a cousin who turned up when he needed money. He was in his sixties and traveled a lot…mostly at Mr. Brewster’s expense.

“What are you doing here?” Edna asked cattily, her ample bosom heaving as she got to her feet.

“Mr. Brewster asked to see me,” Abby answered, feeling as if it was none of Edna’s business.

“Whatever for?” Darby asked. “You’re just someone who works for him.”

As he walked closer, she got a whiff of his breath. The man had been drinking.

“You’ll have to ask Mr. Brewster,” she replied evenly.

“Have you got your eye on Uncle Simon’s money?” Jules asked nastily.

Before Abby could respond, Edna moved close to her. “Let me tell you something, missy. Take your little notepad and tape recorder and get the hell away from Simon.”

“Ms. Duncan,” a nurse called from the doorway. “Mr. Brewster will see you now.”

“What?” Edna choked. “We’ve been waiting much longer than she has.”

The nurse stepped into the room. “Mr. Brewster asked that you all go home. He only wants to see Ms. Duncan.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Edna hissed. “We’re his family.” She pointed at Abby. “She’s nothing.”

“I’m sorry,” the nurse said. “Those are Mr. Brewster’s wishes.”

“Well, I never.” Edna expelled a long breath and sank heavily into a chair.

Abby followed the nurse out the door, but not before she heard Jules say, “We have to put a stop to this.”

Oh God, Abby thought. She didn’t want to be here and she was certainly no threat to them.

The nurse showed her into a darkened room. Mr. Brewster lay in the bed, hooked to machines and oxygen. His skin was pale, his breathing shallow.

“Come in, Abigail.”

His voice sounded strong enough. She stepped closer to the bed. “You wanted to see me?”

“Yes, I’m glad you came.”

She didn’t know what to say, so she said nothing.

His fatigued brown eyes stared at her. “Don’t look so scared, Abigail. I’m not dead yet.”

“I…I…” She wasn’t scared, but words wouldn’t come. The room, the machines and the hospital reminded her of her father’s last days. He’d been in excruciating pain and his heart had been filled with sorrow—mostly caused by this man.

“I have a favor to ask of you.” His voice penetrated her troubled thoughts.

She found her voice. “If it’s about the memoirs—”

He stopped her. “No, it isn’t.”

Abby swallowed. “What is it, then?”

He took a ragged breath. “Many years ago I had an affair with a Mexican girl who worked in my house.”

Abby was taken aback by the statement. She had expected to hear a lot of things, but this wasn’t one of them. She forced herself to listen.

“She had a child, a girl, whom I refused to acknowledge as my daughter. She left and returned to Mexico with the baby. I don’t deserve anything from them, but I have to see my daughter’s face before I die.”

Abby shook her head. “I’m not sure how this concerns me.”

“I want you to find my daughter,” was his shocking reply.

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“Mr. Brewster, I’m not a detective. You need a private investigator.”

“No.” He shook his head. “They would drag this out for money and leak tidbits to the papers. I won’t have that. You’re a reporter. You can do this. The mother’s name is Delores Alvarez. Jonas has all the information on her in his files. He’ll go with you.”

A man moved from the shadows, and until that moment, Abby hadn’t even realized Jonas was in the room.

“I’m not going,” Jonas said tersely. “I already told you that.”

“You’ll do what I tell you to do,” Mr. Brewster roared, his face turning red in anger.

“Calm down, Mr. Brewster,” the nurse ordered.

Mr. Brewster took a couple of deep breaths. “I own you, Jonas,” he murmured. “Remember that.”

Abby wondered what the old man meant, but didn’t have time to ponder it. She could see that Jonas wasn’t backing down. A full-fledged argument was about to erupt.

“Mr. Brewster, I’m not searching for your daughter,” she told him before the situation got out of control. “I wouldn’t even know where to start. There are reputable people who can help you. Besides, you should concentrate on getting better and—”

“You have to do it,” he breathed heavily. “You’re a woman close to her age. She’ll listen to you. Tell her I’m sorry. I just want to see her. That’s all.”

Abby inhaled deeply, trying to understand this strange request. “Mr. Brewster, I can’t, but—”

“No,” he cut in, took a breath, then asked, “Why did you agree to write my memoirs?”

Thrown by the question, Abby chewed on the inside of her lip, searching for the right words. Her motive was not altruistic, and she had difficulty telling him that. She didn’t understand why. Mr. Brewster had hurt her father, so she shouldn’t worry about his feelings.

“What’s the matter, Abigail?” he taunted. “You think the truth will hurt me?”

“I…”

“Nothing touches me anymore. My heart is like a rock. I’m not sure what’s keeping me alive.”

“I keep wondering the same thing,” Jonas slipped in.

“You see, Abigail, Jonas knows me, and he keeps waiting for me to draw my last breath. Not because he’s after my money but because he wants his freedom. But he will never be free of me…not even when I die.”

Abby threw up her hands. “Okay, I’ve had enough. This is getting weird, and I’m not getting involved.” She turned toward the door.

“You agreed to write my memoirs to get information about your father.”

She swung around, her eyes huge in her pale face.

“What?” He lifted an eyebrow. “You think I didn’t know?”

Abby swallowed hard. She felt as if she were a puppet and he were pulling her strings, manipulating her. She didn’t like that feeling…not one little bit.

“Here’s the deal, Abigail Duncan,” he went on. “You want something, and I want something. Let’s hammer out the details.”

“You think you can manipulate me?”

His eyes stared into hers. “Yes,” he answered. “And I’ll tell you why. You’re a reporter and you need to clear Abe Duncan’s name. I’m the only one who can do that.” He paused, then added with a touch of cynicism, “Or the town can go on believing the rumors.”

Blood began to pound through her numb body with exhilarating speed. “You’re a cruel old man,” she said angrily. “How can you be so—”

“Enough,” he ordered briskly. “What’s it going to be?”

Thoughts ran riot in her head. This was what she’d been waiting for—to hear the reason her father had been fired. She thought of all the years her father had worked for Simon Brewster, all the hard work and service he had given, only to be tossed aside like an old shoe. And the rumors. Abby would do anything to put an end to the rumors.

She raised her eyes to his. “Let’s hammer out the details,” she said quietly.

“Have you lost your mind?” Jonas shouted.

She ignored him.

“Good,” Mr. Brewster said, as if Jonas hadn’t spoken. “I knew I could count on you.”

Abby wrestled with her conscience. Could she do this? She didn’t know a thing about finding people, and she didn’t understand why he wanted her to find his daughter. There were so many other avenues. But he’d given her no choice. Not if she wanted the truth.

“All you have to do is go into Mexico and find Delores,” Mr. Brewster was talking. “Her family doesn’t live far from the border. They’ll be able to tell you where she is.”

“If it’s that simple, anyone can do it,” she reasoned.

“We’ve been through this. I want someone I can trust. Someone Delores can trust.”

“Are you sure you can trust me?” she fired at him. “After all, I am Abe Duncan’s daughter.”

“Touché, Abigail.” He sighed with admiration. “To answer your question, yes, I trust you implicitly.”

“Aren’t you the man who told me in his memoirs never to trust anyone?”

“Are you gonna pick at every little thing I’ve said or are you going to help me?”

She didn’t want to help him or have any part in this bizarre mess. But she had to push aside her feelings and remember why she was doing this.

“Why hasn’t Delores come back before now?” she asked. “Wouldn’t she want the best for her child?”

“I told her that if she ever came back, she’d regret it, and she knew I meant what I said. I’m not proud of the way I acted years ago, but…now that I’m near death, I have this need to see my daughter. She’ll be close to thirty, probably with a family of her own.”

This was crazy, and when she heard herself say the words, she knew they were the craziest thing she’d ever said. “Okay…I’ll try to find her.”

“I have your word.”

“Yes, you have my word.”

“Good,” he said, and seemed to relax.

“Why did you fire my father?” she asked, holding her breath as she waited for the answer.

That sinister smile she was beginning to associate with him curved his blue lips. “You don’t think I’m stupid, do you, Abigail?”

“No, of course not.”

“You find Delores, then we’ll talk.”

Frustration ran through Abby. She was close—so close—but she should have known better. Simon Brewster wasn’t going to make this easy for her.

“What if I don’t find her?”

“You will.”

“You seem certain of that.”

“I know you, Abigail. You won’t give up until you find her.”

You don’t know me, old man, she had the urge to say, but she didn’t. She had to keep her emotions clear. “How can I be sure you’ll tell me the truth when I find her?”

“You have my word.”

“Do you think I’m stupid?”

Mr. Brewster started to laugh, but it turned into a cough. The nurse immediately adjusted the oxygen. In a moment he was better.

“You got fire, girl. Your father never had that.”

“Don’t criticize my father,” she snapped.

He ignored her words and asked, “Do we have a deal?”

“No, not until I have some proof that you won’t renege on your promise.”

Mr. Brewster watched her closely. “I’ll leave a sealed letter concerning the information you’re after with my attorney. When you return with my daughter, you can read the contents. Will that satisfy you?”

“Maybe,” she answered. “But I insist on seeing the letter and talking to your attorney.”

“No problem. Do we have a deal?”

He wouldn’t tell her a thing until he got what he wanted. It crossed her mind that he’d been planning this all along—but why her? Why had he chosen her to do this? It really didn’t matter. She was going to do it…for her father.

“Yes, we have a deal.”

“Good,” he said, and started to cough again.

Jonas took her elbow and pushed her out the door. He’d obviously decided that was enough for her, for him, for everybody.

“You…promised.” Brewster’s voice followed them.

“Are you serious?” Jonas asked roughly, once they were in the hall. “A daughter? My God, no one but you would believe that cock-and-bull story.”

“I have to find out about my father,” she said stubbornly.

“Your father was a good man. Why can’t you just leave it at that?”

Her eyes caught his in the dimness of the hallway. “I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors concerning my father.”

“What?” He shrugged. “That he embezzled money from Brewster?”

The words spoken so cavalierly filled her with anger. “My father never took from anybody. He always gave.”

“You brought it up, I didn’t,” he was quick to tell her. “Besides no one believes that trash, anyway.”

“But they’ve heard it, and it’s in their minds. I can’t stand the thought of my father having that kind of epitaph.” With that she headed for the elevator.

Jonas soon caught up with her. “Ms. Duncan, just let it be.”

“I can’t,” she said, and poked the Down button.

“Ms. Duncan, Simon Brewster lives by his own rules. It would be wise for you to go back to Dallas…far away from Brewster.”

“I can’t,” she said again, softly.

That ache in her voice threw Jonas. He was trying to remain detached from the situation, but the hurt in her eyes and the pain in her voice were making mincemeat out of that resolve.

They stepped onto the elevator in silence. Inside, Jonas tried again, “Ms. Duncan—”

“Please stop calling me Ms. Duncan,” she snapped. “My name is Abigail. Everyone calls me Abby. I would prefer it if you did the same.”

Jonas had a hard time hearing anything she was saying. All he could see were her full lips moving, her eyes sparkling and her breasts pressing firmly against her blouse. Mick was right. Jonas wanted her…right here, right now, in this elevator.

He was in big trouble.

The doors swished opened, and still Jonas didn’t move or speak. She watched him with a perplexed expression, probably wondering what was wrong with him.

Jonas reached out to catch the doors as they started to close. The action brought him to his senses. He was acting like a schoolboy, and he was anything but that. He’d had his share of women. He accepted them as they came into his life, enjoying the time he spent with them and then moving on to someone else. From the start of every relationship, he made it clear that there was no future with him. He had screwed up his life when he was fifteen years old, and he wouldn’t destroy anyone else’s.

He sensed in his gut that Abigail Duncan wasn’t a one-night stand or a casual affair. He avoided women like her—women who wanted commitment, family and babies. He had to admit he was attracted to her, but he could handle that without—

He suddenly realized she was waiting for an answer. Clearing his throat, he said, “We won’t be acquainted long enough for me to call you by your given name.”

Her eyes narrowed to green slits. “I don’t care. You’re not calling me Ms. Duncan in that tone of voice. You make it sound like I’m old enough to be your grandmother.”

Jonas walked out of the elevator, and Abby followed him. God, she was relentless. She was a woman who never gave up or gave in. He was beginning to see that.

As they walked out into the coolness of the September night, he turned swiftly—and she almost collided with him.

“All right, Abby,” he said harshly. “Are you satisfied?”

No, not quite, Abby thought. “Ms. Duncan” was better than that angry tone. What was wrong with her? Why should she care what he called her? She had more important things to worry about.

As if reading her mind, he added, “You’d better concentrate on Brewster, instead of worrying about what I call you.”

She tucked hair behind her ear. “I’m sorry. I think I’m getting a little crazy.”

“I’ll second that,” he quipped.

“Do you always have to be so insulting,” she snapped, tired of his rude remarks and insinuations.

There was a pause. Then he said, “Listen, Abby…”

Oh God, her name sounded just the way she had known it would—low, sensual and spine-tingling good. All she wanted to do was taste that sound on his lips. She pulled herself together, trying desperately to steady her roller-coaster emotions. One minute she was low and the next high. What was happening to her? Why did Jonas Parker have this effect on her? She shook the question away.

“I’ve worked for Brewster for twenty years, and this is the first I’ve heard of a daughter. My guess is, there isn’t one.”

“Why would he lie? Why would he concoct this elaborate hoax?”

“Like I tried to tell you earlier, Brewster does things for his own weird reasons, and nine times out of ten someone gets hurt. Go back to Dallas, make up with your husband and forget Brewster’s deal.”

“Stop saying that,” she said heatedly. “I’m not going back to Dallas, and I’m certainly not going back to my ex-husband.”

Jonas took a long, patient breath.

“I have to find out the truth,” she added more calmly. “Can’t you understand that?”

“What if you find out that your father did embezzle money from Brewster?”

“What!” she cried, feeling as if he’d slapped her.

“You heard me.”

“No.” She shook her head. “You knew my father. He wouldn’t do that. How can you even say it?”

He took a step closer. “Because when you start digging into the past, you’d better be able to handle the consequences.”

She frowned, hearing a hint of a warning in his voice. A warning that indicated he might know more than he was saying. “If you know something, tell me.”

“I don’t.” He sighed. “Brewster didn’t like your father, and your father wasn’t all that crazy about Brewster. It was something personal between them, so just let it be.”

“I can’t,” she whispered, and felt chills run up her spine in apprehension of what lay ahead.

“Don’t go into Mexico to find this fictional daughter.”

The breeze picked up and blew her hair across her face. She quickly tucked it behind her ear again, wishing she had the option of refusing and wishing even more that he’d at least try to see this from her point of view. A siren wailed close by and a couple hurried past them, but neither Abby nor Jonas were in the mood to watch the activity around the hospital. They were too engrossed in each other.

“I have to,” she finally said.

A low grumble left his throat.

“What does that mean? You don’t think I can do it?”

“Ms. Duncan, I’ve no doubt you can do anything you set your mind to.” The words came out in that insulting way again, and it angered her.

“I will, Mr. Parker, and I don’t want your help,” she told him. “I’ve been to Mexico many times. I don’t need some rude, arrogant, insulting man to watch over me.”

As the words left her mouth she wanted to take them back, but she couldn’t. She was so infuriated at his attitude.

She couldn’t see his face clearly in the moonlight, but she could feel his anger. She instinctively braced herself. She wasn’t afraid of him because somehow she knew he wouldn’t hit her. She wasn’t certain how she knew that, but she did. Maybe it was her experience with Kyle. She was afraid of Kyle because he couldn’t control his temper. Jonas had extreme control over everything in his life. She’d only met him a month ago, but intuitively she sensed certain traits about him—like that when he touched a woman it would be with affection and the utmost care. Right now he was angry with her and she’d received the full brunt of that anger with several lashes from his tongue. But that was fine. She could give it right back to him.

“I might be all those things, Ms. Duncan,” he said in that infuriating tone. “But I have enough sense to know a scam when I hear it. If you want to play games with Brewster, that’s your business. I’ve made my feelings clear on the whole situation and that’s all I have to say.” He turned into the September breeze and muttered, “’Night, ma’am,” as he walked away.

Abby wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. Even though Jonas was angry with her, he still remembered his manners. She’d never met anyone like him before and she didn’t think she ever would again. She inhaled the cool night air. She was very curious about Jonas Parker. Why did he put up with Brewster’s ridicule and abuse? Why did he work for a man he seemed to hate? Mr. Brewster had said something about owning Jonas. What did that mean? Her reporter’s instinct was on full alert.

“Oh, Jonas, you haven’t seen the last of me,” she whispered under her breath as she made her way to her car.

WHEN ABBY GOT BACK to the house, she couldn’t sleep. She tossed and turned and kept staring at the clock. At six, she grabbed the phone and called Dallas. She had to talk to her friend Holly.

“Hello,” a sleepy voice answered.

“Holly, it’s Abby.”

“Do you know what time it is?”

“Yes, but you’re always up early.”

“I was out late last night.”

“Date or assignment?”

“Assignment.”

“I should have guessed.” Abby laughed.

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying we’re both dedicated to our work.”

“Yeah,” Holly said. “But there’s this new guy in accounting, and I’ve got my eye on him.” She yawned. “Why are you calling so early?”

“I wanted to run something by you.”

“Okay, but I’m not thinking too clearly just yet.”

Abby and Holly had been friends since their freshman year in college, and later they had worked at the same newspaper, Abby as a reporter and Holly as a photographer. They lived in the same apartment complex and saw each other daily. Even after Abby had married, they remained close. Abby had told her about writing Mr. Brewster’s memoirs and Holly had understood because she knew how much Abby had loved her father. Now Abby explained to her friend Mr. Brewster’s odd request.

“Wow,” Holly said. “This is totally out of the blue.”

“Yes, but I’m going to do it,” Abby answered, then asked, “Do you think it’s crazy?”

“Not for you. I know how desperately you want to clear your father’s name. Just be careful.”

“I will, but Mr. Brewster thinks Jonas should go with me.”

“The guy with the muscles and unfriendly attitude.”

“That’s him—the man with ‘don’t touch’ written all over him.”

“That’s the way you want it, isn’t it?”

“Of course” was Abby’s quick response.

“You’re not saying that with too much enthusiasm. Are you attracted to this man?”

“Oh, please.” She started to deny it, then stopped. “Okay, I’ll admit there’s something there, but it’s purely sexual.”

“So indulge. You’ve earned it.”

“For heaven’s sake, Holly, are you still asleep or what?”

“I must be or I’d never suggest such a thing, hmm?”

They both laughed.

“If you have to do this, do it, but as I said before, be very careful. And if Brewster wants Jonas to go along, let him. What could it hurt? And don’t give me that bull about not needing a man. Common sense overrules that notion.”

“Oh, Holly, it’s so good to talk to you.”

“So when are you coming back? Tanya’s getting ticked off at her workload and Phil asked if you might return early.”

Phil was her editor. He’d granted her a six-week leave of absence, and Abby was going to need every day of that to resolve things in Hope.

“I don’t think I can now, but I’ll call Phil and explain.”

“Okay, and keep me posted on what’s happening.”

“I will. Now go back to sleep.”

“Yeah, right.”

After Abby hung up, she sat staring into space. At least Holly understood why she had to do this. But a tiny doubt lurked in the back of her mind. Was she doing the right thing? Yes, for her father she had to do it. She knew Mr. Brewster was manipulating her. She didn’t need Jonas to tell her that. Still, she couldn’t let it go. She had to find out the truth.

And now she had to find a way to tell her mother.

CHAPTER THREE

ABBY GOT UP and made her way to the kitchen. As she made coffee, her thoughts ran helter-skelter. Her mother would be upset. How should Abby handle this? Before she could form a plan, her mother walked into the kitchen in her pink flowered robe.

“You’re up early,” Gail said, and poured a cup of coffee.

“I couldn’t sleep,” Abby replied.

Gail sat at the table. “You’re still not worried that Kyle might come here, are you?”

Abby shook her head and took a seat. Kyle was the furthest thing from her mind. When she first returned home, she’d been afraid that he might follow her, but so far, nothing. Maybe Kyle had gotten on with his life. She hoped so because she had no intention of seeing him again.

“I had this strange dream last night,” her mother was saying. “I thought I heard your car leaving and I tried to wake up, but I couldn’t. It seemed so real.”

Abby squirmed in her chair. God, did her mother have mental telepathy or what? When she was sixteen, she and a friend had skipped school and driven to Brownsville to stand in line for tickets to a rock concert. Somehow her mother had known. The principal hadn’t called and notified her of Abby’s absence. Her mother just knew by looking at her face. Surely Abby had matured and learned how to hide those guilty feelings. Maybe not, she conceded. Maturity was no match for her mother’s intuition.

She took a sip of coffee. “I did leave last night.”

Her mother’s hand stopped in mid-motion as she stirred sugar into her coffee. “You did?”

“Yes.”

“Where did you go?”

“To the hospital.”

A worried look entered Gail’s eyes, and Abby hastened to reassure her. “No, there’s nothing wrong with me. Mr. Brewster had a heart attack, and a nurse at the hospital called and said he asked to see me.”

“Oh.” Her mother leaned back. “I guess he wanted to give you some important details on his memoirs.”

“No, it wasn’t about the memoirs.”

“Then, why in the world would he want to see you in the middle of the night?”

Abby fingered her cup. “Mom, do you ever remember hearing about Mr. Brewster having an affair?”

“An affair?” Gail almost choked. “Good Lord, no. Who’d sleep with that old fool?”

“Mr. Brewster’s not the most handsome man in the world, but he does have money, and I’m told that’s a great aphrodisiac.”

Her mother rose and hurried to the sink. “Abigail, where do you get this nonsense? And what does it have to do with why you went to the hospital last night?”

Abby drew a deep breath. “Mr. Brewster says he has a daughter.”

Gail whirled around with a shocked look on her face. “A daughter?”

“Yes, he says he had an affair with a Mexican girl that worked in his house over thirty years ago. The girl took the baby and went back to Mexico. Mostly, because he forced her to.”

“What has this got to do with you?” her mother asked stiffly.

Abby swallowed hard. “He wants to see her before he dies, and he wants me to go to Mexico to find her.”

“You have to be joking.”

Abby could hear the anger building in her mother’s voice. “Now, Mom, don’t get upset until you hear everything I have to say.”

Gail folded her arms across her chest. “I’m not sure I want to hear it.”

“Mom,” Abby implored, hoping for some understanding.

“No, Abby.” Gail waved a hand through the air. “You’ve been on this crusade since your father died, and I know it has something to do with him. I just…just can’t take anymore.”

“Mom.” Abby jumped up and put an arm around her. “Come, sit down and I’ll explain.”

Gail sat, and Abby faced her. “Yes, it’s about Daddy.”

Gail threw up both her hands. “I knew it.”

“Listen to me,” Abby begged. “If I find his daughter, Mr. Brewster will tell me why he fired Dad.”

“Abby, Abby.” Gail groaned in frustration.

“Don’t you want to know?”

Gail looked directly at her. “What good will it do? It won’t bring him back.”

“We’ll know the truth, and no one can ever again say that Abe Duncan embezzled funds from Simon Brewster.”

“No one cares about that, but you.”

“Don’t you care?”

“I want Abe to rest in peace.”

“But he’s not. Can’t you see that? There’s a cloud over his grave, and I won’t stop until I clear his name.”

Gail heaved a big sigh. “I refuse to let you do this.”

“What?” Abby drew back in disbelief.

“I will not allow you to go into Mexico to find this…this girl. It’s crazy and dangerous.”

“I’m thirty years old and I don’t need your permission,” Abby told her, though it took all her strength to say those words. She didn’t want to hurt her mother, but this was Abby’s choice.

Gail rose in a jerky movement. “This is how Simon Brewster has you talking to your mother.”

“Mom, please try to understand.”

“That’s what I’m asking of you, Abigail.”

Abby took a long breath. “I know you’re worried and—”

“That’s an understatement. Going to Mexico alone to find…to find—

Abby broke in. “Mr. Brewster wants Jonas Parker to go with me.” Abby had no idea why she said that. It just seemed to slip out.

“Jonas Parker!” Gail screeched so high, Abby feared the windowpanes were in danger of cracking.

“What’s wrong with Jonas?”

“If you have to ask that question, then you haven’t learned anything by living away from home.”

“What’s wrong with Jonas?” she persisted, wanting to get everything out in the open.

“He lived on the streets when he was a kid. His parents were drunks and they didn’t care where he was. Jonas has been in trouble with the law since he was eight years old. He wouldn’t go to school. He wouldn’t do anything he was supposed to. He was wild and rebellious, and I won’t have my daughter associating with people like him.”

Abby bit her tongue to keep words from tumbling out. She recognized that her mother was concerned, so she let the last remark pass. “Jonas has a past. So what? He seems to have matured. He has a good job and he’s responsible and dedicated. All the workers at Brewster Farms are crazy about him.”

“Especially the women,” Gail said testily.

Abby inhaled deeply, knowing exactly what her mother was getting at. “Yes, I’ve noticed that Jonas has an animal magnetism that attracts women. But I’m not looking for a man or that kind of relationship. After what Kyle did to me, I’d just as soon coast for a while. The only thing I’m interested in is finding Mr. Brewster’s daughter so I can hear what he has to say about Daddy.”

“Brewster has agreed to tell you the truth?” Gail asked in a disbelieving tone.

“Yes.”

“And you trust him?”

“No, but I’ll make sure he keeps his end of the bargain.”

“Abby.” Gail sighed. “Nobody gets around Brewster. He’s in control at all times. If you think otherwise, you’re fooling yourself.”

Abby stood and kissed her mom’s cheek. “I know what I’m doing. Trust me. Now, I’ve got to get dressed.” She started to walk away.

“Abby,” Gail said.

Abby stopped.

“Please don’t get involved in this crazy scheme.”

Abby let out a long regretful groan. “Mom, don’t do this to me.”

“What? Try to make you see sense? I’m your mother. That’s what I do. But it’s never worked in the past, has it. You’ve always been so headstrong, making quick decisions without considering the consequences.”

Abby knew exactly what her mother was talking about—her quick decision to marry Kyle. Still, she couldn’t give in to her mother’s wishes. Something inside Abby wouldn’t let the past go. She couldn’t explain it to Gail. She couldn’t even explain it to herself. All she knew was that she had made a deal with Simon Brewster and she had to keep it.

When Abby didn’t speak, Gail entreated, “Let it go, Abby. Just let it go.”

Abby bit her lip, then said, “I’m sorry, Mom. I can’t.”

AN HOUR LATER Abby was on her way to her cousin’s office. Earl Turner was a lawyer, and she needed his help. Of course, she’d have to talk him into it, which she hoped wouldn’t take long.

Earl was the son of her mother’s sister and five years older than Abby. They weren’t close, but they were family. Earl was the proverbial mama’s boy. He had never married and still lived with his mother. People teased him that he got his law degree through correspondence school because his mother wouldn’t allow him to leave home. In actual fact, he’d commuted to college and now he was the only lawyer in this small town. She couldn’t imagine why he’d never broken free and gone to a bigger city, but then, understanding Earl wasn’t one of her top priorities.

Before Abby could enter Earl’s office, her friend Brenda came out of her beauty shop next door. They embraced.

“It was so good seeing everyone the other night, wasn’t it?” Brenda asked, referring to the school reunion. Abby had reluctantly attended. Brenda’s brown hair had blond highlights and hung in a soft style around her face, which enhanced her brown eyes.

“Yes, it was,” Abby admitted, glad she hadn’t lost touch with her friends from high school.

“I can’t believe we’re all still around here. You’re the only one who ventured to the big city chasing that dream of yours.”

Abby brushed her hair back. “Well, the dream blew up in my face.”

“You’re not the first one of us to get a divorce. Candy, Deb and Miles have one behind them, and Barry’s on wife number three. Luckily, Stuart and I are still together.” Brenda and Stuart had been sweethearts since eighth grade and they’d married right out of high school. Brenda had gone to beauty school, and Stuart had taken a job at Brewster Farms.

“Sometimes, just sometimes,” Brenda continued, “after a day in the shop and running kids here and there, then going home to cleaning and cooking, I wonder what it would be like to have a life like yours.”

Abby smiled. “Not nearly as fulfilling as yours. Being a wife and mother has to be very rewarding.”

“I tell myself that, but when Stuart’s out with the guys or working late for Jonas, I get a little put out.” Brenda glanced at her watch. “I’ve got to go. My youngest has an earache, and I have to get her to the doctor. You have to come and have dinner with us one night. You won’t believe how the kids have grown.”

“I will—just call me.”

“Okay,” Brenda shouted as she hurried to her van.

Abby stood for a moment lost in thought. There was something about coming home and seeing old friends that made one look back. No matter what choices she’d made in life, those friends and times would always be a part of her. Like Brenda, she wondered what her life would have been like if she’d made different decisions. She, too, had wanted to be a wife and mother, but only after she had established her career and was able to enjoy a family. Now, she wondered if it was too late.

ABBY WALKED SLOWLY into Earl’s office, which was two rooms in an old building on the main strip in downtown Hope. Not that Hope had much of a downtown—a bank, grocery store, a couple of gas stations, a school, several churches and the clinic and hospital that Mr. Brewster had built with his own money so there would be some medical services in the area. Hope was just a stop in the road before the international bridge, but it was home.

There wasn’t a secretary, so Abby went through to Earl’s office. He was in his chair reading a newspaper, his feet propped on the edge of his desk. The paper covered his face, but his bald head glistened under the fluorescent lights.

“Good morning, Earl,” she said brightly, and pulled a chair forward.

Earl swung his feet to the floor and laid the paper aside. Pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, he replied, “Abby, I was thinking of dropping by to see you.”

“You were?” She was thrown for a second. Earl wasn’t much of a conversationalist.

“Yeah, I need a woman’s opinion.”

“On what?”

He fidgeted with a pencil on his desk. “Well…I met this woman and I’m…I’m crazy about her.” All the while he talked he looked at the pencil, not at Abby.

“That’s great, Earl.”

Shyly, he raised his green eyes. “You think so?”

“Earl.” She sighed. “Have you looked at your driver’s license lately?”

He frowned. “What?”

“Look at the date of birth. It will tell you that you’re way overdue for a serious relationship.”

“Aw, shucks, Abby, it’s not that simple.”

“Why not?”

“Because Mother doesn’t know I’ve been seeing Carol. She lives in McAllen and works for an attorney. I’ve been helping him with legal matters in the valley, and Carol and I…well, you know.” His face actually glowed a vivid pink.

“I don’t see a problem,” Abby said.

“Mother doesn’t know I’ve been seeing her,” he repeated.

“Still don’t see a problem.”

“Carol has a five-year-old daughter.”

Big problem. Aunt Sybil was going to have a fit.

“If you care for this woman and the child, tell Aunt Sybil and don’t give her a chance to talk you out of it. Just do it, like the saying goes.”

“You see things so realistically, but I’m all that Mother has and I—”

“Earl, you talk as if Aunt Sybil is in her eighties. She’s fifty-nine and teaches school. She drives and plays bridge on Wednesdays and Saturdays. It’s not like she’s housebound and depends on you for everything.”

“But—”

“And she’s not alone. She has a brother, a sister and other relatives that live in Hope.”

“Yes, yes, she does.” Earl was gaining confidence. “She might even like Carol and her daughter.”

“That’s it, Earl, go for the brass ring or the gold ring or whatever the hell it’s called. Go for it.”

He smiled weakly. “You’re good for my ego.”

She scooted forward. “Good, because I came in here for a favor.”

“Need a lawyer, huh?”

“Something like that,” she admitted, and told him what she wanted him to do. His eyes grew bigger and bigger, and any minute she thought they would pop out onto his desk. He finally pulled out a handkerchief and wiped sweat from his forehead.

“I don’t know, Abby, I don’t like going against Brewster.”

“You won’t be going against him,” she assured him. “You’ll just be helping me.”

“I don’t know.”

“I promise that Simon Brewster won’t annihilate you.”

“You can’t promise that.”

“Earl, just help me, okay?” She couldn’t keep the aggravation out of her voice.

Earl frowned, and she wanted to reach across the desk and smack him. “Tell you what.” She tried another tactic. “If you help me with Mr. Brewster, I’ll help you with Aunt Sybil.”

Earl smiled his partial smile. “That won’t work,” he told her. “Since your divorce, Mother thinks you’re a loose woman.”

She almost screeched “What!” in that high-pitched voice she’d heard her mother use earlier. But she immediately calmed herself. She didn’t care what Aunt Sybil thought. She was a narrow-minded, spiteful person. But you do care, that little voice inside her whispered. A woman who had never failed—who had achieved everything she’d ever wanted—was now a failure. It took a moment to recover, then her spirit came soaring back.

She wasn’t a loose woman. Where had that come from? She opened her mouth to give Earl her scathing opinion, when he spoke.

“Don’t get all worked up.”

“Okay, Earl, you help me, and I won’t rip out your mother’s tongue by the roots.”

“Did anyone ever tell you that you’re volatile?”

“Yes.”

“Heavens, I wish I had some of your grit.”

“If you did, you’d have a divorce behind you and an aunt who thinks you’re loose.”

He tried his smile again. “All right, I’ll help you, but if things get rough, I’m gone.”

“Coward.”

“Yeah, and I have a yellow stripe down my back to prove it.”

“Just keep your clothes on so no one will see it.” She fished in her purse for her cell phone and called the hospital.

“You make me smile, Abby.”

“Remember that and we’ll get through this.”

She talked to a nurse and told her to inform Mr. Brewster that she was on her way. She dropped the phone into her purse and glanced at Earl. “Follow me to the hospital. It’s show time.”

JONAS STOOD AT THE FOOT of Brewster’s bed, trying to figure out this man he’d known for years, but he knew he was wasting his time. There was no figuring out Brewster.

“What are you doing here?” Brewster barked when he noticed him. “Don’t you have trucks to load?”

“Stuart and Juan are supervising the loading, and Perry’s in the office until noon. He has that computer class this afternoon and tomorrow. They can handle things until I get back.”

Brewster pushed a button and raised his bed slightly. A nurse immediately adjusted his pillow. “I’m not sure about Perry. He doesn’t seem to be working out. Fire him and start looking for another accountant.”

Jonas took a patient breath. He had been expecting this. It had been the pattern since Abe left. Jonas had decided he wasn’t going through this again.

“I’m not firing Perry. He’s a good accountant, and he’s returned to Hope with his family to be near his aging parents. He needs the job, and I trust him. Besides, you just paid for these computer courses.”

Brewster’s eyes narrowed. “You take orders from me—or have you forgotten?”

“Not for a minute,” Jonas answered swiftly. “If you want to fire Perry, you’ll have to do it yourself and also find someone to replace him. I’m not doing it again.”

“You’re getting too big for your boots, boy.”

“You can always fire me.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you,” Brewster asked smugly. “But it’s not gonna happen.” He paused, then asked, “So you trust this Perry?”

“Yes,” Jonas replied.

“I’ll think about it” was the response. “Now, I want to talk about something else.”

“Unless it’s important, I want to get back to the loading docks.”

“Yes, dammit, it’s important. I want you to go with Abigail to Mexico.”

Jonas gritted his teeth. “I thought I made my position very clear on that subject.”

“Yes, you did,” Brewster acknowledged sardonically. “Now I’m going to make mine clear. Bottom line—you’re going. You can buck it, fight it all you want, but you’re going.”

Jonas gritted his teeth harder. But they both knew he’d give in. It was part of their agreement, and Jonas always tried to live up to his word. This time, though, it wasn’t easy.

Brewster broke into his thoughts. “I’ve seen the way you look at her, Jonas. She’s a very nice-looking woman, and I don’t want her crossing the border alone.”

Jonas met Brewster’s eyes. “Abigail Duncan can take care of herself,” he said in a hard tone.

“Yes, yes, she can,” Brewster acknowledged. “But you’re still going.”

Jonas’s eyes never wavered. “Then, why get her involved? I can find the girl on my own.”

“Dammit, Jonas, do you have to question everything I tell you?” Brewster snapped. “Abigail has to be there. It’s the ending to my book, and I want her to witness it firsthand.”

“I see.” Jonas sighed. “Well, I guess that makes sense. Still—”

“Go with Abigail and find Delores, and get back as fast as you can.”

If he had to do this, Jonas reasoned—and there didn’t seem to be a way out—then he would at least get something out of Brewster. “I’m still not sure there is a daughter,” Jonas said, “but since you insist, I’ll go on two conditions.”

“Don’t try to bargain with me, Jonas.”

Jonas continued. “I want a raise for Stuart and Juan. They haven’t had one in two years. And Perry stays.”

Brewster rubbed the metal bars on the bed. “Is that it?”

“That’s it.”

“Don’t you want a raise for yourself?”

“You pay me a good salary. I have no complaints.”

There was a long pause. Jonas waited.

Finally Brewster said, “Okay, consider it done, but I want you to stay until Frank, my lawyer, and Abigail get here.”

This was too easy, Jonas thought. Brewster never gave in without an argument. What was he up to? Jonas didn’t have a clue, so he concentrated on the positive side. If he could keep his accountant, it would be worth putting up with Ms. Duncan.

But he wasn’t looking forward to it.

AS ABBY AND EARL walked down the corridor to Mr. Brewster’s room, Abby could hear Earl breathing. She stopped to talk to him, then sighed. “Earl, there’s sweat on your brow.”

He whipped out a handkerchief and mopped his face. “I’m sorry. I’m nervous.”

“There’s no need to be,” she assured him. “All you have to do is read a piece of paper. I’ll do all the talking.”

“Suits me fine.”

“Ready?”

“I guess so.”

Abby tapped on the door, and a nurse let them in. Mr. Brewster was in a special unit with round-the-clock private nurses. Today, in addition to the nurse and the patient, there were two other people in the room. A man she didn’t recognize and Jonas.

As she stared into Jonas’s turbulent eyes, something kicked awake in her lower stomach. She knew exactly what it was—desire. She had told her mother that she could coast along without those feelings, but when she looked at Jonas she felt as if she were falling into a void of pure need. Hell, maybe she was a loose woman.

“Abigail, I’m glad you’re here.” Mr. Brewster’s voice brought her sanity back. “This is Frank Foster, my attorney. He’s from McAllen.”

“Mr. Foster.” Abby acknowledged the introduction at the same time that Mr. Brewster noticed Earl.

“Turner, what are you doing here?”

“Earl is my attorney,” Abby put in quickly, “I felt I needed one.”

“Fine,” Mr. Brewster said, to her surprise. “I dictated the letter to Frank earlier this morning and it’s now in his possession. When you return, he’ll hand it over to you.”

“How can I be sure the letter isn’t bogus?”

“You have to trust me.”

Abby shook her head. “No, I can’t do that. This is too important. I want Earl to read the letter to make sure that you have kept your word.”

Mr. Brewster grunted, and the nurse quickly checked the machines attached to him. Then he spoke, “Turner’s your cousin. How can I trust that he won’t tell you what’s in the letter?”

“Earl is my guarantee that the letter is real. That’s all.”

Brewster thought for a minute. “Okay, he can read part of it, but I don’t want him reading the crucial information.”

“Fine,” Abby agreed.

Brewster turned to Foster. “There’s a room down the hall. Take Turner and let him see a portion of the letter.”

“Yes, sir,” Frank said, picking up his briefcase and heading for the door.

“Turner,” Mr. Brewster called, before Earl left the room.

Earl stopped.

“If you tell Abigail anything, I’ll make sure you never work in this town or anywhere else again. Do you get my drift?”

“Y-yes, sir,” Earl stuttered, and mopped his forehead. Abby feared he was on the verge of melting into his shoes and she’d have to carry him out of here in a wad.

“You’d better,” Mr. Brewster warned, as Earl made his escape.

“If that’s all, I’ve got to get back to the office,” Jonas said tightly.

“No, dammit,” Mr. Brewster bellowed. “I want you to talk to Abigail.”

“About what?” Abby spoke up.

“Jonas is going with you,” Mr. Brewster informed her.

Abby glanced at Jonas, saw that stubborn light in his eyes and knew he hadn’t relented on his own. Mr. Brewster had forced him. “When did this happen?”

“Just now,” Mr. Brewster answered.

“Why? He doesn’t want to go, and I don’t need him to—”

“Doesn’t matter what either one of you wants,” Brewster broke in. “He’s going.”

“Then, he can go alone,” Abby shot back. “There’s no need for me to be there.”

“Goddammit, girl, you’re trying my patience,” Brewster shouted. “You have to be there. You’re writing my memoirs. It’s the ending—or haven’t you guessed that, yet?”

Was that what this was all about? An ending to his book? Or did he really want to see his daughter? Abby wasn’t sure anymore.

“And it’s the only way you’ll find out about your father—or have you forgotten that?” he asked grumpily.

For a moment Abby had lost sight of her main goal. She suddenly remembered Holly’s words about it being bull that she didn’t need a man. Maybe she was carrying it a little too far. So what if Jonas went with her. She’d get a chance to learn more about his situation with Mr. Brewster, and she was becoming more curious by the second. She would have sworn that Jonas would never change his mind. What kind of hold did Mr. Brewster have over him?

She suddenly realized they were waiting for her answer. She swallowed. “No, no, I haven’t forgotten.”

“Good, because I’m tired of all this bickering,” Mr. Brewster said in a frustrated tone. “You two can work out the details.”

Jonas put his hat on his head. “I’ve got work to do.” With that he walked out the door.

“Insufferable bastard,” Mr. Brewster muttered. “But his bark is worse than his bite.”

Abby stared at the door. “Really, I hadn’t noticed.”

“Jonas is a hard person to get to know, but he’s very loyal.”

Abby glanced back at the elderly man. “I see. So how did you get him to change his mind?”

“You’ll have to ask him.”

She intended to. Yes, she definitely intended to find out what kind of hold Mr. Brewster had on Jonas.

As she pondered that thought, Earl returned and said the letter was authentic. There was information concerning her father and his job at Brewster Farms. It was what Abby wanted to hear. Now she faced the biggest challenge of her life—finding Mr. Brewster’s daughter.

Mr. Brewster seemed pleased, and Abby left with Earl, feeling a sense of elation. She didn’t know why, unless insanity had completely taken over her mind.

Before Earl got into his car, Abby stopped him. “Could you give me a hint as to what’s in the letter?” She didn’t want to cause Earl any problems. She was hoping for a clue to justify what she was doing.

“I’m not gonna slit my throat” was his answer. “Not even for you. Just be careful. Very careful.”

“I will,” she said. “And thanks. I realize this was hard for you.”

“Abby, I—” He seemed to reconsider, and instead said, “Don’t do this alone. Hire an investigator or something.”

Abby rolled her eyes. “Men. You’re all alike. Mr. Brewster is insisting that Jonas go with me.”

“That’s good,” he said.

“No, it isn’t,” she retorted. “I’m not putting up with Jonas’s arrogant attitude, and I intend to tell him so.”

“Abby…”

But Abby wasn’t listening. She got into her car and headed straight for Jonas’s office. They had to get a few things straight.

CHAPTER FOUR

STANDING AT HIS WINDOW, Jonas saw her drive up in a white Accord. She slid out of the vehicle in the graceful movement he was beginning to associate with her. She wore tan slacks and a tan sleeveless top. The slacks covered long gorgeous legs, which he had glimpsed several times during the past month. The top emphasized her slender arms, and rounded breasts that drew his attention like a magnet. The blond hair and green eyes completed a package that his hands ached to unwrap. As long as he knew that and no one else did, especially Abby, everything would be fine.

Soon she’d tire of this absurd quest and go back to Dallas where she belonged. As the thought crossed his mind, he recognized it was wishful thinking. He’d already seen that stubborn streak in her and he knew she’d see this through to the bitter end. And now he was caught right in the middle of the whole blasted mess. A place he didn’t want to be…a place he’d sworn he wouldn’t be. But Brewster was in control—totally. Jonas had given him that control when he was fifteen, and he couldn’t change things now. He fought it at times, but he’d learned early on that fighting was futile. He wished he knew what Brewster was up to, though. There was little doubt in Jonas’s mind that the old man was up to something and Abigail Duncan was just a pawn. Trying to get her to see that was a waste of Jonas’s time, so he might as well accept the inevitable.

ABBY WALKED INSIDE. The big room held three desks and rows of filing cabinets. There was an inner office that she knew belonged to Jonas. Every high-tech innovation was available—computers, fax machines, copiers and a few pieces of equipment she didn’t even recognize. In the way of decor, the place was sadly lacking—right down to the exposed concrete under her feet.

Her eyes settled on the desk in the corner…the one her father had occupied for so many years. She felt a tightness in her chest. Someone else’s things were on the surface, but she could still feel Abe’s presence, his calmness, and she knew she was doing the right thing. No one could stop her now. Not even Jonas’s attitude.

Glancing around, she spotted him at the window. “Could I speak with you?”

“No” was the quick answer, as he turned and went into his office.

Undaunted by the brisk manner, Abby followed. “We have to talk.”

“I can’t right now. I’m real busy.” His voice was abrupt and final.

She chewed on her lower lip. Immovable object. She now knew exactly what that meant. Well, she didn’t need Jonas Parker.

“I don’t want or need you to go. I can do this by myself.” She eyed him thoughtfully, as he shuffled papers on his desk. “I’m just wondering how he got you to change your mind. Last night you were vehemently against it. And today, just like that—” she snapped her fingers “—you agreed to go.”

He kept shuffling the papers as if she hadn’t spoken.

“Mr. Brewster has something on you, doesn’t he?”

He raised his head, his brown eyes so dark that she could feel their heat. “That’s why you take crap from him. That’s why you continue to stay under such unpleasant conditions.” She paused, then asked, “What does he have on you?”

Jonas picked up a clipboard and came around his desk. “As I said, I got work to do.” The words came out curt, and she knew she wasn’t going to get anything out of him…today. She would eventually, she vowed.

“I need the keys to the file room,” she said, before he could leave the room. “Mr. Brewster said you had them. I’m looking for Delores Alvarez’s family’s address.”

He walked back, opened a drawer, threw keys on the desk and pointed down a hall. “Second door on the right and it’s not air-conditioned.”

She picked up the keys. “Is that supposed to deter me?”

“A hurricane wouldn’t deter you, Ms. Duncan.”

So they were back to “Ms. Duncan.” It made her want to smack his face.

What was wrong with her? She’d wanted to smack Earl earlier and now she wanted to hit Jonas. That wasn’t her. She didn’t like hitting. Even when Kyle had hit her, she hadn’t hit him back. Because she’d never hit anyone in her life. So why the sudden urges? Urges! That’s all they were. Urges brought on by the trauma of her father’s death and her divorce. Did that make sense? No, nothing made sense to her these days—especially her interest in Jonas.

She favored men in tailored suits with manners and a sense of humor. Jonas was as far removed from that as one could get. He probably didn’t even own a suit, and his sense of humor was nonexistent. He did have good manners, though. Oh hell, she needed to get a grip.

Without a word, she turned and hurried to the file room. She looked at the key ring. There had to be twenty keys on it. Which one?

“It’s the third key,” said a familiar voice. She glanced over her shoulder and saw Jonas standing behind her with a chair in his hands. “You have to prop the door open with a chair. The lock is old, and if the door closes, you’ll lock yourself in.”

“Thank you kindly for the information and the chair,” she quipped sarcastically.

“No problem,” he snapped, and went into the warehouse.

For the next three hours she searched cabinet after cabinet, looking for the name Alvarez. She had never realized how many people had worked at Brewster Farms over the years—thousands, all dependent on Mr. Brewster for a living. Some workers were permanent legal workers, some seasonal, some migrant. Most were Mexican, and she suspected a lot were illegals. Every name imaginable was in the files. She found several Alvarezes, but no Delores. She grew tired and hungry and decided to go home for a while.

Jonas wasn’t in the office, so she locked the door and took the keys with her. She had a sandwich and iced tea, then wrote her mom a note saying not to wait up for her. Her mother was a schoolteacher and wouldn’t be home until later in the day.

When Abby arrived back at Brewster Farms, she saw Edna’s car at the mansion. That was one woman Abby planned to avoid. When Edna, Jules and Darby found out what she was doing, they were going to be furious. A long-lost daughter could ruin their plans for the future.

When she entered the office, Jonas wasn’t there. He must be working on the farm somewhere. Avoiding her, she decided, which she didn’t mind. She was sure he didn’t do the actual labor. He was the overseer who made sure all the vegetables and fruits were picked, packed and shipped on time. Again she wondered how he’d come to work for Mr. Brewster. He certainly didn’t want to talk about it. He’d made that painfully clear.

She unlocked the door, propped it open and went back to her task, quickly losing track of time. Workers in the warehouse were hooting and hollering. They must have finished loading the trucks, she thought idly. Then her eyes were suddenly glued to the name she’d been searching for. She had finally found Delores Alvarez’s file. Thank God. Excitement darted through her as she sat on the concrete floor and read through its contents. Now she had the address. Delores’s parents lived across the border in Nuevo Hope, Mexico. If they still lived there, it should be easy to locate them or someone who knew Delores. She could do this without too much of a problem.

She glanced at her watch and saw that it was almost seven o’clock. Time to go home. As she rose, she heard a click. She whirled in horror and stared at the closed door. She ran over and tried to open it. It was locked tight. No worry, she told herself, the keys were in her pocket. She withdrew them and noticed there was no keyhole on the inside. Damn! She beat on the door with her fist.

“Hey, I’m still in here. Hey. Is anybody out there? Help.”

Only silence met her frantic cry, and she sank to the floor. Don’t panic, she kept repeating to herself silently. Someone must have assumed she’d left. No one could see her sitting behind the cabinets. A simple mistake. That’s all. Someone would find her. She just had to wait. But she was so thirsty. She licked her dry lips as anger built inside her.

Maybe it hadn’t been a mistake. Had Jonas done this to scare her? No, he wouldn’t use that kind of tactic. He told her to her face how he felt and didn’t mince words. So who had locked her in? Where was everybody? She began to beat on the door again.

“Help. Help. Let me out of here.”

JONAS SAT in Mick’s Tavern downing Coke. He’d spent most of the afternoon in the sheriff’s office getting two of his workers out of jail. Lupe and Miguel were two young hotheads after the same girl. They had gotten into a fight and someone had called the sheriff. Jonas would have left their sorry asses in jail, but he had a crop to pick and he needed them. Besides, they were good boys, who’d simply let their raging hormones get the better of them.

They were eighteen and illegal. That’s why the sheriff had called Jonas instead of having them deported. The sheriff never interfered with anything that went on at Brewster Farms. A person working for Brewster only had to worry about Border Patrol and Immigration. Brewster didn’t have any control over those departments.

At least the afternoon’s activities had kept Jonas busy and away from Abigail Duncan. That was one obstinate, intuitive woman, and he wasn’t sure how he was going to handle the next couple of days. He’d given Brewster his word, so there was no way out. But Jonas had a bad feeling about the whole thing, and her prying didn’t help. The woman never knew when to stop. And that wasn’t the worst of it. He didn’t like the way she made him feel. She threatened the control he had worked hard to master. As long as he could stay away from her, everything was fine. But now…

“Drowning your sorrows in Coke, Jonas?” Mick asked as he took a seat.

“Just drowning my thirst.”

“You got a different kind of thirst.”

Jonas stared at him over the rim of his can. “You think you know me?”

“Sure do, my friend. I’ve known you since you were a kid, and I can tell you exactly what you’re thinking and feeling.”

Mick was right. He’d been Jonas’s only friend for a long time. “So what am I thinking and feeling?” Jonas asked slowly.

“Abigail Duncan has you all riled up. Ain’t seen you this troubled since—”

“Leave it alone, Mick.”

At the tone in Jonas’s voice, Mick shifted gears. “Brewster has a daughter? Ha.”

Jonas’s eyes narrowed. “Where did you hear that?” he asked sharply, then answered his own question. “Oh, yeah, you have a daughter and a sister-in-law who work in the hospital. If Brewster finds out they’re spreading rumors, they could lose their jobs.”

“But he won’t find out, will he, my friend?”

Jonas leaned across the table. “Tell them to keep their mouths shut.” He settled back in his chair. “Besides, I’m not sure the story is true.”

“You got doubts about Brewster?”

“Yep, and there ain’t a thing I can do about it.”

“What do you want to do?”

“Nothing” was his quick answer. “I don’t want anything to do with the damn situation, but Brewster is insisting that I go with her.”

“Ah.” Mick nodded, chewing thoughtfully on his cigar. “If Brewster is sending you, what does he need the Duncan woman for?”

Jonas twisted the Coke can. “It has to do with the memoirs she’s writing. Finding the long-lost daughter is going to be the big ending, and he wants her there to witness all the little details.”

“I see.” Mick nodded again. “And you’re going along as a bodyguard.”

“Something like that, but Ms. Duncan doesn’t want my help.”

“But you’ll go, anyway.”

“Yeah.” He swallowed some Coke. “I told Brewster I would.”

“It’s probably not a bad idea.” Mick rubbed his chin. “A woman alone in Mexico, poking her nose into family matters—it could get dangerous.”

Jonas knew that. Mexicans had a strong sense of family, and they didn’t like outsiders interfering.

Mick stood. “I gotta get back to work.” He patted Jonas on the shoulder. “Good luck, my friend.”

As Mick walked away, Jonas watched the activity in the bar. It was after nine and the place was filling up. Jim Colson, the bank president, was dancing with Teresa Gomez. Their bodies were welded together, and soon they’d be in one of Mick’s rooms upstairs. Jim had a wife and three kids, and Sunday morning he’d be on the front pew in church singing his praises to the Lord. Jonas, who’d never been part of a real family, didn’t understand a man who was willing to jeopardize everything he had.

Of course, no one ever breathed a word of Jim’s infidelities. His bank owned the mortgages on most of the homes and titles to most of the vehicles in this town. And Brewster owned the bank. For the first time, Jonas wondered if Brewster really had had an affair with a Mexican girl. It wasn’t outside the realm of possibility, he supposed.

Workers were piling into the bar to drink, dance and have a good time. It didn’t matter that they had to work tomorrow. They lived for the moment. Jonas thought that was a damn good idea. Maybe Jim had the right idea, too. Tomorrow was a crapshoot, anyway.

He stood and laid some bills on the table. “G’night Mick. It’s been a long day.”

“Jonas.”

Jonas fitted his hat on his head and glanced at Mick.

“Don’t be so down about this. You’ll spend time with a pretty woman and that ain’t bad. It’s the best way I know to get rid of those tight muscles.”

Jonas didn’t respond. He just walked outside to his truck. But he knew what Mick was suggesting. Dammit, he wasn’t listening to Mick.

When he reached the office, he saw her car parked in front. That crazy woman. She was still searching through the files. Well, she could search until the cows came home. He was going to bed. He headed for the outside staircase that led to his apartment over the warehouse. He had built it twelve years ago with Brewster’s approval. He’d gotten tired of sleeping on a cot in a storeroom.

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