To Love And Protect. Muriel Jensen

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      Rosie, who seemed to consider herself the world’s moral monitor, looked at her as though she were crazy. “But he said a bad word. He does it all the time.”

      “He needs a friend,” Corie added. “Try to point out the nice things about him instead of the bad.” She gave Rosie a quick hug. “I have to go to work. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She cast a general wave in the direction of the children and they chorused a goodbye.

      Shouldering a large, colorful straw satchel, Corie ran out the door. Ben followed, stopping her when she would have climbed into her truck. She rummaged in her bag and looked up at him impatiently. “What? I’m going to be late.”

      “I’m here to talk to you,” he said firmly, “and I’m not leaving until I do.”

      She yanked open the driver’s-side door and put her bag on the seat for easier access. “So, talk,” she said, but he got the distinct impression she wasn’t listening. That was confirmed when she dumped out the contents of her bag and growled when whatever she’d been looking for wasn’t there. She said the word that had gotten Soren in trouble.

      Still ignoring him, she walked around the truck, patting her pockets. Too short to see into the truck bed, she put a foot on a tire and climbed up. Hands braced on the side, she leaned in, scanned front to back then leaped down again.

      As she dusted off her hands, she noticed him and seemed surprised he was still there. She looked cross, but then, she usually did with him.

      “Lost your keys?” he asked.

      “I’m sure I’ve just misplaced them.” She glanced at her watch.

      He pulled open the passenger’s-side door of his rented Navigator. “Need a ride to work?”

      Her chin dropped onto her chest when she accepted that she did. With impressive precision, she swept the contents of her purse off the driver’s seat and into her bag, slammed her door closed and walked, arms folded, to where he stood.

      “I do,” she said, “but I’d rather walk if you’re going to badger me the whole way.”

      “There’d be no badgering required if you just answer my questions.”

      She considered him a moment then climbed in. “Okay, but I’m almost late for work. I’ll answer your questions after.” She buckled her seat belt.

      “What time is your shift over?”

      “We close at nine. Cleanup takes a little while.”

      “All right.”

      When he pulled up in front of the café five minutes later she jumped out with a very reluctant, “Thank you.” She was about to close the door then stopped and sighed heavily. “If you come just before nine, I’ll get your dinner.”

      He had to pretend not to be surprised. “Thank you. That would be nice.”

      “Then you’re going back to Oregon?”

      “Depends on how our conversation goes.”

      She seemed to want to say more but simply closed the door and hurried inside.

      That was a baby step forward, he thought, but it was forward.

      * * *

      CORIE PUT HER purse in the small back room that served as the supply storage and employees’ lounge, and tied on a white, ruffle-trimmed half apron while her personal history raced across her mind.

      She’d been four years old when she and Jack and their younger sister, Cassidy, had been separated. She had only vague memories of her life until that day, impressions of a woman’s slurred voice, of eating peanut butter on bread in their bedrooms because there was shouting in the living room. She remembered Jack—dark hair, dark eyes, always there.

      Then Roscoe Brauer, her mother’s boyfriend, had been shot, and she and Jack and Cassie had spent a couple of nights with Ben’s family, the Palmers. When their mother went to jail Cassie had been sent to her father, who lived in Maine, and Corie went to Texas where her father lived.

      She remembered the big change her new life had been, her stepmother and two stepsisters, who’d made it clear from the beginning that she wasn’t welcome. Missing Jack and two-year-old Cassidy had hurt with a physical pain.

      Her father, Miguel Ochoa, had explained that her mother, Charlene Manning, had been a singer in small clubs. She’d gotten caught up with friends who partied with drugs. Jack’s father, a drug dealer, died in the crash of a light plane when Jack was three. Miguel had also pushed drugs, but left her mother when even he thought she wasn’t sober long enough to be in a relationship. Cassidy’s father, a counselor, had tried to help her get her life on track, but that hadn’t lasted long either. She had died in jail.

      Talk about baggage.

      “Who’s that?” Polly Benedict asked, peering through the blinds that covered the café’s window. She was twenty-two, had a boyfriend who was always off with the rodeo and lamented Corie’s lack of a romantic relationship. “He’s gorgeous!”

      Corie walked past her on her way to the kitchen. She glanced up at the clock and saw that she was two minutes early.

      Polly, several inches taller than Corie, fresh-faced and curvaceous, and unfailingly cheerful, stopped her progress and pinched her cheek.

      “Look at you! You’re smiling. My goodness, how long has it been since I’ve seen your teeth? Is he responsible for that smile?”

      She didn’t feel like smiling, but customers hated a moody waitress.

      “He’s my brother’s brother. That’s all. He’s...visiting for a few days.”

      Polly frowned over the “brother’s brother” explanation. “You’ve explained that to me before, but it’s so weird. How many people have a brother whose brother isn’t their brother?”

      Corie hooked her arm in Polly’s and led her toward the kitchen. “I know, but putting it that way only makes it worse. So, what’s going on tonight? What’s the special?”

      The bell rang. “Order up, Pol,” Hector called as they walked into the kitchen. With a parting grin for Corie, Polly detoured to the window to pick up her order.

      “Corazon!” Wiping his hands on a kitchen rag, 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 СКАЧАТЬ