On The Texas Border

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.