On The Texas Border

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.