To Love And Protect. Muriel Jensen

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СКАЧАТЬ Hector glanced up at the clock. “I thought you were going to be late. You’re always ten minutes early. Did I hear you talking about your brother’s brother who isn’t your brother? I thought they lived in Washington.”

      “Oregon,” she corrected. “I promised him dinner if he comes before closing.”

      Hector was not very tall but his apron covered a generous middle. He was laid-back and kind, unless someone criticized his food or mistreated an employee. He’d given Corie a job based on nothing more than Teresa’s recommendation, and Corie would be forever grateful. His restaurant was a favorite hangout for families and young people on a date. People came from around the county.

      Hector whisked an egg and cream mixture. “Good. What’s he doing here? I mean, since he’s not your brother. And you said he didn’t like you.”

      Corie was tired of things she couldn’t explain. “He came to talk.” She looked in all the pots to see what was on the menu tonight.

      “His phone doesn’t work?” Hector was smart and her reply had been lame.

      “He’s a cop, Hector. I used to be a thief. He thinks that Jack and I reconnecting means trouble for Jack.”

      Hector frowned. “You want me to set him straight?”

      She shook her head, smiling. “I’m going to do that.”

      “By buying him dinner? Or was the plan that I give him dinner?”

      She grinned as she passed him. “I’m buying him dinner.”

      “Didn’t I see you go by earlier with a big tree in the back of your truck? That must have set you back. Christmas trees are a fortune this year.”

      “It’s for Teresa and the kids.”

      “I know. You’re so good to her, but someday you have to fly the nest a second time and concentrate on you.”

      The bell rang over the front door, announcing customers. She began to fill water glasses.

      “I’m doing just fine.”

      * * *

      IT WAS AN average Saturday night. They did enough business to run out of the special, but not enough that Corie and Polly couldn’t keep up. Families came and left while one couple had spent the past two hours gazing into each other’s eyes while their enchiladas de queso grew cold.

      Sukie Cunningham sat with her Kindle at a table at the back of the room. She was blonde and blue-eyed, a plump thirtysomething who had a taste for clothing from the junior department. She was administrative assistant to the deputy mayor, Robert Pimental. It was clear she’d been hired by Pimental for her curvaceous proportions and her too tight, too short clothing rather than her competence. Still, her pleasant personality and her look of wide-eyed innocence made her impossible to dislike.

      Polly picked up a coffeepot, ready to do the refill rounds. “Do you think she has any idea Pimental is never going to leave his wife and marry her?” she asked Corie under her voice.

      “I’m sure she doesn’t.” It was rumored that Sukie did more for her employer than mis-schedule his appointments and lose his messages.

      “What is it about that man that appeals to her?”

      “Power, I suppose. She thinks he can change her life. Her parents were poor and she waited tables here for a while before you came. But she forgot to put up orders, got them confused and dropped a tray of pies. She was always apologetic, but Hector was losing money. He finally had to fire her. Then Pimental hired her and eventually set her up in a little rental house on the other side of town.”

      “She’s very loyal to him.”

      Corie nodded but thought about the change she’d seen in Sukie recently—a loss of innocence in her eyes, a smile that didn’t come as easily as it used to. “She has been. I’m not sure what’s going on with them now. Maybe she’s catching a glimpse of the real him.”

      Polly nodded. “Yeah. Crooked, mean, scary.”

      “Yeah.”

      Polly headed toward Sukie with the coffee.

      * * *

      BEN ARRIVED JUST before nine. He wore dark slacks and a dark cotton shirt. Corie had to stare for a minute. He’d combed his hair and actually dressed for dinner. In Querida. Good breeding was an impressive thing.

      She led him to a table at the back. “Hector makes mean fajitas, wonderful camarónes—that’s shrimp if you’re not familiar with the word. All kinds of quesadillas, beef—”

      He stopped her. “Camarones sounds wonderful.”

      “Sautéed with lemon butter, done in salsa chipotle or á la diablo?”

      “Diablo? Devil?”

      “Yes. Pretty hot. Or we can go easy on the red chili.”

      “I can take it,” he said. “Diablo. As it comes.”

      “Something to drink? We have beer and wine.”

      “Coffee’s good.”

      She placed his order and brought his coffee. “Did you get a room at the B and B?”

      “Yes. The owner seems suspicious of me, though. Mrs...?”

      “McMinn.”

      “That’s it. I don’t know what she thinks I’m doing here, but she seems convinced I’m up to no good.”

      “Ah. That’s because I’m sure word is out now that you’re here to see me. She’s from Manzanita, a little town up the road where my family lived. We didn’t have a very good reputation. My father was a nice man, but hung around with people who weren’t, and Juanita was a dragon. My stepmother,” she explained. “She was unpleasant to everyone except her two daughters from a previous marriage.”

      “But that’s them. How did you come by this reputation?”

      She rested the coffeepot on the table. “One Easter when I was eleven, Juanita made dresses for her girls but not for me. Her girls were sweet and obedient. I wasn’t. Actually, they were scared and I wasn’t. I saw a dress in the window at a thrift shop, but I didn’t have any money. So, I stole it.” She arched an eyebrow. “Mrs. McMinn ran the shop at the time. She caught me and called the police. Juvenile Court made me pay it back. I think you’re considered suspect if you have anything to do with me.”

      She couldn’t tell what he thought of that, but he finally nodded and said, “All right. Good to know.”

      When Ben was finished, Corie took away his plate and put a dessert bowl containing custard with a sweet-smelling brown sauce in its place.

      “Flan,” she said, “with caramel espresso sauce.” And walked away again, saying over her shoulder, “Best custard you’ll ever have.”

      * * *

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