To Love And Protect. Muriel JensenЧитать онлайн книгу.
The two boys laughed.
“We don’t have a football,” Rigo, the next oldest Santiago brother, pointed out.
“That’s okay, I do.” Soren picked up his cocoa. “When your family comes, you can have my football.” He shrugged.
Ben suspected the boy didn’t believe that would happen.
“Maybe Santa will bring us one,” the youngest Santiago brother said hopefully.
Miguel, brother number three, chimed in with, “You’d have to be good for that to happen, Tonio.”
The boys laughed. “We’d better take Soren’s football.”
Corie came with the coffeepot to top up Ben’s mug. “You doing all right?” she asked. “These guys can be hard on the nerves when they’re excited. You got your strength training in for the day by lifting them all up to hang their paper chains. It’s fun for them to go beyond their reach.”
He had to agree with that. “It’s fun for all of us. What brought each of them here?”
She put the pot back on the warmer and came to lean beside him. “The Flores girls’—or Stripe Sisters, as you call them—mother is a widow and lost her job. She’s being retrained at a place in Florida that teaches food service skills and hotel management. Teresa got her into the program—it’s run by friends of hers. The Santiago Army’s dad was injured on the job in an oil field and, when he recovered, he went for retraining, too.”
“The kids have been here through all that?”
“Eight months for the Flores girls, six for the Santiago boys.”
“What about Rosie?”
“Teresa’s been in touch with her father, who is a US citizen living in Mexico. Her mom was in poor health and died at home and the neighbors brought Rosie here so her father, who remained in Mexico, could come for her and take her home without having to deal with the system.”
“Her parents were divorced?”
“I think so. Not sure. He doesn’t think he can support her but has been looking for a solution.”
Ben said in annoyance, “Like a job?”
Corie hitched a shoulder. “Teresa tries not to make judgments. Soren was the son of a border guard who died in the line of duty. He’d been a friend of Teresa’s, so she took Soren in. He’s sort of happy here.”
“Sort of? Shouldn’t a kid be definitely happy?”
“Ideally. It’s just not in the cards for some.”
He thought he heard a personal note in her voice. “Like you?”
Her eyes narrowed. “I was happy when I was really little. I remember Jack taking good care of me. I didn’t even realize how bad our mother was until they sent Cassie and me back to our fathers. That part of my life was okay until my father died. Then it was awful. Until Teresa found me when I was twelve.”
Ben sighed, realizing how much strength was around the table—and standing beside him. “Lots of sad stories.”
“Yes. Well. It’s a foster home. This is often sad-story central.” She straightened from the counter. “It’s too bad you’ll be going home soon. The kids really like you.”
“I have some things to do first.” He toasted her with his mug. “You’ll have to deal with me a little—”
The sound of the doorbell rang through the house. Teresa, arbitrating a dispute between Soren and Rosie, looked up.
Corie stayed her with a hand. “I’ll get it.” She set her cup down and crossed the living room to pull the door open.
Gil Bigelow, Querida’s chief of police, stood there in his dark blue uniform, his brimmed hat at a testy angle over light blue eyes. His craggy face was etched in stern lines. He was another good friend of Robert Pimental’s and one of Corie’s least favorite people. When Pimental had had her arrested for assault, Bigelow hadn’t even listened to her side of the story. If it hadn’t been for that passing delivery person, she’d probably be doing time today.
Bigelow’s hands rested lightly on his creaky leather belt overloaded with tools of the job. Teresa came up beside Corie.
“Good morning, Chief,” she said. “What is it?”
He firmed his stance. “I’m here to tell you that you have to be out of here in five days. According to Mr. Tyree, you’ve ignored all his efforts to encourage you to abide by the rules of your renter’s agreement. You argued with the assistant he sent. Therefore—”
“That isn’t true, Gil Bigelow, and you know it.” Angry color filled Teresa’s cheeks. “I am behind in the rent, but I’ve told him over and over again about the leaky ceiling, the bad plumbing in the kitchen and the wide cracks in the veranda. Those are his responsibilities as my landlord and he’s done nothing about them.”
“Now, Teresa, there’s no point in getting hysterical. The law is the law. He has the right—”
“I am not hysterical. I’m loud because you don’t hear me otherwise.”
Corie struggled to remain calm. “He’s done nothing but harass Teresa since he inherited the house from his father. He—”
“Pardon me.” Corie was completely surprised by the sound of a male voice behind her. A hand on her upper arm moved her aside as Ben stepped between her and Teresa. All the children, she noticed, had clustered around them, Rosie holding Roberto.
Ben extended his hand to Bigelow, his manner courteous but somehow charged, as though a current ran beneath the calm. The chief seemed to recognize it. “Good morning, Chief,” Ben said. “I’m Ben Palmer. I’m visiting for a few days. What’s this about eviction?”
Bigelow sized up the intruder then widened his stance, as though taking up more room somehow expanded his position. “This,” he said, his voice lowering a pitch, “is none of your business, Mr. Palmer. It’s between Ms. McGinnis and me.”
Ben continued to smile. “I’m sure you don’t want to violate the law, Chief. As a police officer, myself, I know that only a county sheriff or one of his deputies can enforce an eviction order, and then, only at the end of the court process.”
Anger and offended male ego lit Bigelow’s eyes. He cleared his throat. “Where you from, Palmer?” he asked.
“Oregon.”
“Well, this is Texas.”
“Right. But unless Texas has seceded, this law applies to you. It’s a federal law. It applies everywhere in the United States. You can’t make her leave.”
The chief took what he likely thought was an intimidating step toward Ben.
Ben stood firm and watched him approach, his manner still polite.
“I want her,” the chief said, a furious tremor in his voice, “and the children out of here in five days.”
Ben shook his head. “The landlord has to file an eviction notice. That would be a five-day notice for nonpayment of rent, which isn’t the case here—at least not without good cause. A ten-day notice for a breach of the lease, which isn’t the case, either. So, a thirty-day notice would be required. Still, the tenant could contest it. A formal eviction notice has to be filed first before a court case can proceed. At the very least, Ms. McGinnis can remain here for the next two months.”
Ben’s manner changed, the smile gone as he took a step toward the chief. “You’re the one who has to leave. You have no right to be here, therefore, you’re trespassing.”
“I,” Bigelow said, “am a representative of the law.”
“Without legitimate reason for the eviction you’re trying to serve, without the required