Fearless
He looked affronted. “The guy picked the lock on my apartment door and let himself in. When I woke up, he was packing my new laptop into a book bag for transport!”
“You have a sidearm,” she pointed out.
He glowered at her. “I forgot and left it locked in the pocket of my car that night. But the sword was mounted right over my bed.”
“They say the thief actually jumped out the window when he brandished that huge weapon,” Glory told Haynes, who grinned.
“My apartment is on the ground floor,” Marquez informed them.
“Yes, but you were chasing the thief down the street in your…” She cleared her throat. “Well, you were out of uniform.”
“I got arrested for streaking,” Marquez muttered. “Can you believe that?”
“Of course I can! You were naked!” Glory replied.
“How I sleep has nothing to do with the fact that the guy was robbing me! At least I got him down and immobilized by the time the squad car spotted me.” He shook his head. “I told the arresting officer who I was, and he asked to see my badge.”
Glory put her hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle.
“Did you tell him where it was?” Haynes asked.
“I told him where he could put it if he didn’t arrest the burglar.” He moved restlessly. “Anyway, another squad car pulled up behind him, and it was an officer who knew me.”
“A female officer,” Glory told Haynes, with glee.
Marquez’s high cheekbones actually seemed to flush. “The burglar’s tote came in handy,” he murmured. “At least I got to ride back to my apartment. But the story got out from the night shift, and by the next afternoon, I was a minor celebrity.”
“What a pity you didn’t get caught by the squad car’s camera,” Haynes giggled. “They could have featured you on that TV show, Cops.”
He glared at her. “I was robbed!”
“Well, he didn’t actually get to keep anything he took, did he?” Haynes asked.
“He fell on my new laptop when I tackled him,” Marquez scoffed. “Trashed the hard drive. I lost all my files.”
“Never heard of backing up with hard copy, I guess?” Glory queried.
“Who expects to have someone break into a cop’s apartment and rob him?”
“He does have a point,” Haynes had to admit.
“I guess so.”
Marquez looked at his watch and grimaced. “I have to be in court this afternoon to testify for a homicide case,” he told them. “I can tell my boss that you’re going to Jacobsville, right?”
She sighed. “Yes. I’ll go tomorrow morning, first thing. Do I need a letter of introduction or anything?”
“No. Jason will let the manager know you’re coming. You can stay in the house on the property.”
She hesitated. “Where is the manager staying?”
“Also in the house.” He held up a hand. “Before you say it, there’s a housekeeper who lives in the house and cooks for the manager.”
That relaxed her, but only a little. She didn’t like strange men, especially at close quarters. She decided that despite the summer heat, she’d pack thick cotton pajamas and a long robe.
JACOBSVILLE SEEMED MUCH smaller than she remembered it. The main street was almost exactly the same as it had been when she lived nearby. There was the pharmacy where her father had gone for medicine. Over there was the café which Barbara, Marquez’s mother, had run for as long as she could remember. There was the hardware store and the feed store and the clothing boutique. It was all the same. Only Glory herself had changed.
As she turned onto the narrow paved road that led to the Pendletons’s truck farm, she began to feel sick at her stomach. She’d forgotten. The house was the same one she’d shared with her mother and father, until her mother’s explosive temper had shattered Glory’s young body and their family. Until now, she hadn’t thought about how difficult it might be, trying to live there again.
The old pecan tree in the front yard was still there. She spotted it before she saw the mailbox beside the narrow paved driveway. Years ago, there had been a tire swing on the tree.
The real surprise was the house. The Pendletons must have spent some money remodeling it, because the old clapboard house of Glory’s youth was now an elegant white Victorian with gingerbread woodwork. There was a long, wide front porch which contained a swing, a settee and several rocking chairs. Far behind the house was a huge steel warehouse where workers were putting boxes of fresh corn and peas and tomatoes and other produce from the large fields on all sides of the house and warehouse. The fields seemed to stretch for miles into the flat distance.
She pulled up in the graveled parking lot under another pecan tree and cut off the engine. Her small sedan contained most of her worldly goods. Except for her furniture, and she hadn’t even considered bringing that along. She was keeping her apartment in San Antonio. The rent was paid up for six months, courtesy of her stepbrother. She wondered when she’d get to go home.
She opened the door and got out, just in time to see a tall, jean-clad man with jet-black hair and a mustache come down the front steps. He had a strong face and an athletic physique. He walked with such elegance that he seemed to glide along. He looked foreign.
He spotted Glory and his taut expression grew even more reserved. He moved toward her with a quick, elegant step. As he came closer, she could see that his eyes were black, like jet, under a jutting brow and dark eyebrows. She had the odd feeling that he was the sort of man you hope you never meet in a dark alley.
He stopped just in front of her, adding up her inexpensive car, her eyeglasses, her windswept blond hair in its tight bun and her modest clothing. If he was measuring, she thought, she’d fallen short.
“May I help you?” he asked coldly.
She leaned heavily on the car door. “I’m the canner.”
He blinked. “Excuse me?”
She swallowed, hard. He was very tall and he looked half out of humor already. “I can can.”
“We don’t hire exotic dancers,” he shot back.
Her green eyes widened. “Excuse me?”
“The can-can is a dance, I believe?”
“Is it, really?” she asked with a mischievous glance. “Would you like to demonstrate it, and I’ll give you my opinion of whether it’s a dance or not?”
Incredible, she thought. Until now, she hadn’t really believed that a man’s eyes could explode with bad temper…
2
THE MAN’S JAW CLENCHED. “I am not in the mood for games,” he said in coldly accented English.
“First you talk about dancing, now you’re on about games,” she said. “Really, I don’t care about your private life. I was sent here to help with the canning. Jason Pendleton offered me the position.”
His eyes were really smoldering now. “He what?”
“Gave me a job,” she replied. She frowned. “Are you hard of hearing?”
He took a step toward her and she moved further toward the hinges. He looked ferocious. “Jason Pendleton offered you a job, here?”
“Yes, he did,” she replied. Perhaps humor wasn’t a very good idea at the time. “He said you needed someone to help put up his organic fruit. I can make preserves and jellies and I know how to can vegetables.”
He seemed to be struggling with her presence. It was obvious that he wasn’t happy about her coming here. “Jason said nothing about it to me.”
“He told me he’d phone you tonight. He’s in Montana at a cattle show.”
“I know where he is.”
Her hip was throbbing. She didn’t want to mention it. He was irritated enough already. “Would you like me to sleep in the car?” she asked politely.
He seemed to realize where they were, as if he’d lost his train of thought. “I’ll have Consuelo get a room ready for you,” he said without enthusiasm. “She’s been putting up the jellies and preserves herself. It’s a new line. We have a processing plant for the vegetables. If the fruit line catches on, we’ll add it into the plant. Consuelo said the kitchen here is plenty large enough to do for a sampling of products.”
“I won’t get in her way,” she promised.
“Come on, then. I’ll introduce you before I leave.”
Was he going to quit already, then, to keep from having to work with her? she wanted to ask. Pity he had no sense of humor.
She reached back into the car for her red dragon cane. She had an umbrella stand full of the helpful devices, in all sorts of colors and styles. If one had to be handicapped, she reasoned, one should be flamboyant about it.
She closed the door, leaning on the cane.
His expression was inexplicable. He scowled.
She waited for him to comment about her disability.
He didn’t. He turned and walked, slowly, back to the house, waiting for her to catch up. She recognized that expression. It was pity. She clenched her teeth. If he offered to help her up the steps, she was going to hit him right in the knee with her cane.
He didn’t do that, either. He did open the door for her, grudgingly.
Great, she told herself as she walked into the foyer. We’ll communicate in sign language from now on, I guess.
He led the way through a comfortable living room with polished bare wood floors, through what seemed like pantries on both sides of the narrow passage, and into an enormous kitchen with new appliances, a large table and chairs, a worktable, and yellow lace curtains at all the windows. The floor was linoleum with a stone pattern. The cabinets were oak-stained, roomy and easy to reach. There was a counter that went from the dishwasher and sink around to the stove. The refrigerator was standing alone in a corner. It must have offended the cook and been exiled, Glory thought wickedly.
A small dark woman with her hair in a complicated ponytail down her back, tied in four places with pink ribbon, turned at the sound of footsteps. She had a round face and laughing dark eyes.
“Consuelo,” the tall man said, indicating Glory, “this is the new canner.”
Consuelo’s eyebrows arched.
“I told him I can can and he called me an exotic dancer,” Glory told the woman.
The other woman seemed to be fighting laughter.
“This is Consuelo Aguila,” he introduced. “And this is…” He stopped dead, because he didn’t know who the new arrival was.
Glory waited for him to get on with it. She wasn’t inclined to help out.
“You didn’t ask her name?” Consuelo chided. She went to Glory, with a big smile. “You are welcome here. I can use the help. What is your name?”
“Gloryanne,” came the soft reply. “Gloryanne Barnes.”
The tall man raised both eyebrows. “Who named you?”
Her eyes grew solemn. “My father. He thought having a child was a glorious occasion.”
He was curious about her expression. She seemed reluctant to add anything more.
“Do you know who he is?” Consuelo asked her, indicating the tall man.
Glory pursed her lips. She shook her head.
“You didn’t even introduce yourself?” Consuelo asked the man, aghast.
He glowered at her. “She won’t be working with me,” he said flatly.
“Yes, but she’s going to live in the house…?”
“I don’t mind sleeping in my car,” Glory said at once, very pleasantly.
“Don’t be absurd,” he growled. “I have to go to the hardware store to pick up some more stakes for the tomato plants,” he told the small, dark woman. “Give her a room and tell her how we work here.”
Glory opened her mouth to protest his attitude, but he whirled and strode out of the room without another word. The front screen door banged loudly as he went out it.
“Well, he’s a charmer, isn’t he?” Glory asked the older woman with a grin. “I can hardly wait to settle in and make his life utterly miserable.”
Consuelo laughed. “He’s not so bad,” she said. “We don’t know why he took over when Mr. Wilkes resigned. The boss—that’s Mr. Pendleton, he lives in San Antonio—told us that Rodrigo had lost his family recently and was in mourning. He came here to pick up his life again.”
“Oh, dear,” Glory said quietly. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have been so sarcastic toward him.”
“It rolls off his back,” the woman scoffed. “He works like a tiger. He is never cruel or harsh with the men who work in the fields. He is a cultured man, I think, because he loves to listen to DVDs of opera and classical music. But once, we had a worker get into a fight with another man, and Rodrigo intervened. Nobody saw him move, but in the flash of a light, the aggressor was lying on his back in the dirt with many bruises. The men don’t give Rodrigo any reason to go after them, since that happened. He is very strong.”
“Rodrigo?” Glory sounded out the name. It had a quiet dignity.
“Rodrigo Ramirez,” she replied. “He worked on a cattle ranch down in Sonora, he said.”
“He came from Mexico?”
“I think he was born there, but he does not speak of his past.”
“His accent is very slight,” Glory mused. “He speaks Spanish, I guess.”
“Spanish, French, Danish, Portuguese, German, Italian and, of all things, Apache.”
Glory was confused. “With a talent like that, he’s managing a truck farm in Texas?”
Consuelo chuckled. “I, also, made this observation. He led me to believe he once worked as a translator. Where, he did not say.”
Glory smiled. “Well, at least this is going to be an interesting job.”
“You know the big boss, Jason Pendleton?”
Glory nodded. “Well, sort of,” she amended quickly. “I was more friendly with his sister,” she confided.
“Ah. Gracie.” Consuelo chuckled again. “She came with him once. There was a cat with a broken leg lying beside the road, a stray that hung around here. Gracie picked it up, blood and dirt and all, and made Jason take her to the nearest vet. She was wearing a silk dress that would cost me two months wages, and it didn’t matter. The cat was what mattered.” She smiled. “She should marry. It would be a very lucky man, to have a wife like that.”
“She doesn’t want to get married,” Glory said. “Her real father was a hell-raiser.”
“Hers and Jason’s, you mean…”
Glory shook her head. “You see, Jason and Gracie aren’t related. Her father died when she was in her early teens. Her stepmother married Jason’s father. Then her stepmother died and Jason’s father married again.” She didn’t add that Jason’s stepfather was also her own stepfather. It was complicated.
Consuelo took off her apron. “I must show you to the guest room.” She turned, and only then noticed the cane, half hidden behind Glory’s jean-clad leg. Her eyebrows met. “You should have told me,” she fussed. “I would never have let you stand like that while I gossiped! It must be painful.”
“I didn’t notice. Really.”
“The room is downstairs, at least,” Consuelo said, leading the way past the pantry shelves, into the living room, and through a far door that led to another hall, which ended in a bathroom opening into a small, blue-wallpapered room with white trim.
“It’s lovely,” Glory told her.
“It’s small,” Consuelo said. “Rodrigo chose it for himself, but I told him he needed more room than this. He has two computers and several pieces of radio equipment. A hobby, he said. There is a small desk in the study that he uses, but he prefers his bedroom when he’s doing the books.”
“He’s antisocial?”
“He has nothing to do with women,” Consuelo replied. She frowned. “Although, there was a pretty blonde woman who came here to see him one day. They seemed very close. I asked. But he ignored the question. He does not talk about himself.”
“How odd.”
“You are not married, or engaged?”
Glory shook her head. “I don’t want to marry. Ever.”
“You don’t want children?”
Glory frowned. “I don’t know that I should try to have them,” she said. “I have a…medical problem. It would be dangerous.” She sighed. “But since I don’t trust men very much, it’s probably just as well.”
Consuelo didn’t ask any more questions, but her manner with Glory was gentle.
THE TRUCK FARM WAS HUGE. There were many fields, each with a separate crop, and the plantings were staggered so that something was always ready to harvest. The fruit trees were just being picked. Peaches and apricots, nectarines and kiwi fruit were first to harvest. The apple trees were varieties that produced in the fall. In between were berries, dewberries and raspberries and blackberries and strawberries.
“I’m going to be busy,” Glory exclaimed when Consuelo pointed out the various surrounding fields.
“We both are,” the older woman replied. “I was thinking about giving up this job. It’s too much for one woman. But two of us, we can manage, I think. The jams and jellies and pickles will add a lot to our revenue if they sell. They’re popular with tourists. We also stock them at the local florist shop, and they’re put in gift baskets. We have a processing plant for the organic vegetables and an online shop that our warehouse operates. They ship orders. But this is early days for our specialty canning. I’ve only managed to do the usual things, fruit preserves and jellies. I would love to do small batches of organic corn and peas and beans as well, but they mostly do those at the processing center in bulk. Besides, those require the pressure cooker to process and more time than I have had since Rodrigo took charge. He is a dynamo, that man.”
“Pressure cookers make me nervous,” Glory began.
“We’ve all heard terrible stories about how they can explode,” Consuelo chuckled. “But this is a new age. They all have fail safe controls now a days. Anyway, we won’t use them here. Let me show you what we’re working on. It’s an easy job.”
EASY. THE WORK WAS. Glory’s hip pained her, and she spent some of her time on a heating pad. But Consuelo found her a stool and she adjusted to the new physical demands of her job.
Rodrigo, however, was not easy. He seemed to have taken an instant dislike to Glory and was determined to say as little to her as possible in the course of a day.
He seemed to think she was a useless person. He was impersonally tolerant of her disability, but he often looked at her as if he suspected that her brain was locked away in a fleshy cabinet and was only taken out occasionally to be polished. She wondered what he’d think if he knew what she did for a living and why she was actually down here. It amused her to consider his reaction.
One day, he brought a new man into the house and told Consuelo that he would be overseeing the men while Rodrigo had to be away over the weekend. Glory didn’t like the newcomer at all. He seemed to never look anyone in the eye. He was small and swarthy and he made a point of staring at Glory’s body when he spoke to her. Already uneasy around men she didn’t know, this one was causing her some real problems.
Consuelo noticed, and she got between the man and Glory when he became too friendly.
“I cannot imagine what was in Señor Ramirez’s mind when he hired that Castillo man as an assistant,” Consuelo muttered to Glory when they were alone in the kitchen. “I don’t like having him around here. He’s spent time in jail.”
“How did you know that?” Glory asked. She knew the answer, but she wondered if Consuelo was just sensing the man’s past or if there was a reason for the remark.
“The muscles in his arms and torso are huge, and he has tattoos everywhere.” She mentioned one particular tattoo that marked him as a member of one of the more notorious Los Angeles street gangs.
Glory, who knew about gang members all too well, was surprised and impressed by the woman’s knowledge.
“What is he doing here?” Glory asked aloud, pondering.
“I would not dare to ask,” came the solemn reply. “Señor Pendleton should be told, but it would be worth my job to mention it outside the house. We will have to trust that Rodrigo knows what he is doing.”
“There’s a strange bird,” Glory remarked. “Rodrigo. He’s very cultured and quite intelligent. I’m sure he could write his own ticket in management anywhere he wanted to work. He seems out of place on a truck farm.”
Consuelo chuckled. “I would not ask that one anything which was not necessary for the performance of my job,” she replied. “From time to time, something upsets him. He is eloquent with bad words, and he does not tolerate sloppy work or tardiness. One man he scolded for drinking on the job was fired the same day. He is a hard taskmaster.”
“Yes, I thought he seemed that sort of man. He’s not happy.”
Consuelo looked at her and nodded. “You are perceptive. No, he is not. And I think that he is not usually a moody person. He must have loved his family very much. I notice how he is with my son, Marco, when he visits me.”
“You have children, then?” Glory asked gently.
Consuelo smiled. “Yes, a boy. He has just turned twenty-one. I adore him.”
“Does he live nearby?”
Consuelo shook her head. “He lives in Houston. But he comes to see me when he can. Especially when there’s a soccer game on cable—he can’t afford it, but Rodrigo had it put in here so that he doesn’t miss the games.”
“Soccer?” Glory’s green eyes lit up. “I love soccer!”
“You do?” Consuelo was excited. “Which team do you like best?”
Glory smiled sheepishly. “Mexico. I know I should support our own team in this country, but I love the Mexican team. I have a flag of the team that hangs in my living room during the World Cup and the Copita.”
“I probably should not tell you that I am related to a player on that team.”
“You are?” Glory exclaimed. “Which one?”
Before she could answer, Rodrigo walked in. He stopped in the doorway, scowling at Glory’s radiance when she smiled. “What did I interrupt?” he asked curiously.
“We were talking about soccer,” Consuelo began.
He glanced at Glory. “Don’t tell me you watch it?”
“Every chance I get,” she replied.
He made a sound in his throat, like a subdued chuckle. He turned to Consuelo. “I’m going to be away for the weekend. I’m leaving Castillo in charge. If you have any problems with him, let me know.”
“He does not…” Consuelo began, glancing at Glory.
“He doesn’t bother us,” Glory interrupted with a speaking glance.
“Since you have no contact with him, I can’t imagine why he should,” he told her. “If you need me, you have my cell phone number.”
“Yes,” Consuelo said.
He walked out without another word.
“Why didn’t you let me tell him?” Consuelo asked worriedly.
“He’d think I was complaining to you,” Glory said simply. “If Castillo gives me any trouble, I’ll take care of him myself.” She smiled gently. “You shouldn’t think that my hip slows me down very much,” she said softly. “I can take care of myself. But thank you for caring.”
Consuelo hesitated, then she smiled. “Okay. I’ll let you handle it your way.”
Glory nodded, and went back to work.
CASTILLO DIDN’T BOTHER them. But he did have a long conversation with a man in a white van. Glory watched covertly from the kitchen window, making sure she wasn’t visible to him. The van was old and beat-up and the man driving it was as muscular and as tattooed as Castillo. She made a mental note of the van’s license plate and wrote it down on a pad, just in case.
She shouldn’t have been so suspicious of people, she told herself. But she knew a lot about drug smuggling from the cases she’d prosecuted, and she had something of a second sense about the “mules” who transported cocaine and marijuana and methamphetamine from one place to another. Many of the “mules” were in street gangs that also helped distribute the product.
She and Consuelo were kept busy for the next couple of weeks as the fruit started to come in. They had baskets and baskets of it, picked by the workers and spread around the kitchen. If Glory had wondered why there were two stoves, she didn’t have to ask any longer. Both were going night and day as the sweet smell of preserves and jams and jellies wafted through the house.
Slowly Glory had become accustomed to seeing Rodrigo in the kitchen at mealtimes. He slept upstairs, so she didn’t see him at night. Sometimes she heard him pacing up there. His room was apparently right over hers.