Fighting for Elena Page 5

  She threw the first ball. It popped the canvas tarp hanging behind the target lever.

  “You throw like a girl,” Tank teased.

  Pops sucked in his lips and bit them to keep from either laughing or warning Tank, who obviously hadn’t recognized her. She threw another ball. Again, it whizzed by the target, barely missing it, but still slamming into the tarp.

  “Damn.”

  Pops glanced up at the man who’d stepped up beside him. “Short Shit,” he greeted.

  “Wish I had a radar gun.”

  With a chuckle, Pops nodded. “I’m guessing that one was at least fifty-five or above.”

  Short Shit turned his way, one brow raised in surprise. “Dude, seriously?”

  “Uh oh,” Pops said without taking his eyes off the girl. “Yeah, seriously because she’s about to get serious.”

  They watched her turn her back on Tank and the tank. From the throw line, the girl paced off a distance. She scuffed the grass until dirt showed, then she turned around, tossing the ball up and down in one hand, studying the target.”

  “What the hell, Pops?” Short Shit looked completely confused.

  Ducking his head, Pops choked back laughter and gave up trying to hide his smile. “That’s Katie Richardson. She’s a junior in high school and already has every D-1 softball coach in the country salivating for her to sign early.”

  Short Shit’s eyes widened as his gaze bounced between Katie and Tank. “Oh, hell…”

  She got in position, both feet on the scuff mark, did her wind-up and leap, her pitching arm circling over her head from front to back, lead foot stopping right at the chalked throw line as she released the ball and it left her fingertips. It covered the approximately 35 feet to the target in milliseconds. If either man had blinked, they’d have missed the trajectory of the ball. It hit the target with a loud smack. They had just enough time to register the surprise on Tank’s face as he plunged into the water.

  Katie, to a lot cheering laughter and applause, marched to the side of the tank and pronounced. “Damn straight I throw like a girl.”

  Tank came up laughing and congratulated her. She stalked off with her friends, rightfully proud of herself. While Tank reset the board and settled on it, Pops studied Short Shit. “How’s life, Angel?”

  When he used their real names, the guys knew Pops was serious, and he was. Angel had been through a rough patch with his girl, Jemma. The other man looked everywhere but at Pops. So, it was like that.

  “Don’t give up on her, Angel. Or yourself. Jemma’s one to ride the river with. So are you. Y’all will find the way.”

  “Don’t know about that, Pops,” Short Shit answered quietly, finally looking at him.

  “I do. I got faith you in you two, son.”

  Before anything else could be said, everyone in the crowd chanted his named.

  “Pops! Pops! Pops!” He glowered. He put on his “I’m the chief that’s why” face. He put on his “because I’m the adult here” face. He even resorted to rolling his eyes. The guys and gals all ignored him.

  “Fine,” he groused. “Y’all can’t hit the broad side of a barn anyway.” Then he reconsidered and checked the crowd now ringing them in. Whew. The Richardson girl was nowhere in sight, though he wouldn’t put it past some of his people to bribe her to come back. He marched to the steps and prepared to climb when the chant changed.

  “Take it off. Take it off.”

  “Lose the shirt.”

  “I’m not a young stud or pretty young thing like y’all,” he yelled over his shoulder. The department had a few women and they’d all taken their stint in the tank. His declaration was met with catcalls. “Fine, but y’all are gonna regret this!” He reached one hand over his shoulder, grabbed the collar of his T-shirt and yanked it over his head. He hung it over the bar holding the target, climbed up the steps and settled onto the very unsteady board hanging across the tank. That’s when he realized his mistake.

  It looked like the entire department was there, along with some deputies, a county dispatcher, some folks from the Bandera County EMS, and Reba. Who stood right down in front because she was short. And every last one of them held a baseball in their throwing hand. Tank was laughing and elbowing Dirty-D. Even Buff was there and to Pops’s surprise, the barest hint of a smile curved his lips. Short Shit stood behind Reba and he was the one who counted down.

  “Three, two, one!”

  At least two dozen balls flew toward the target. The majority missed by a mile and thumped against the backdrop. At least one, though, hit square. Pops barely had time to suck in a breath before he was under the water—water that had been augmented by bags of ice. He came up sputtering. April was warm, but it wasn’t like July or August. The water in that tank was damn cold. Parts of his body testified to that fact by shriveling up.

  Willing hands were there on the platform to help him out. Someone tossed him a towel and once his torso was dry, someone else handed him his shirt. He pulled it on and as his head popped through the neck, he froze. The woman stood not fifteen feet away. Staring at him. She licked her lips and those parts that felt the cold so intensely just moments before threw off the chill and sprang to life. He arranged the towel in front of his groin just in case his condition because as apparent to onlookers as it was to him.

  She offered him a shy smile. He blinked a couple of times and attempted to smile back. From the amused expressions of the people standing around it, it was probably wonky because that’s the way he felt. Wonky. Off center, off balance, and off his rocker because he had no call to be feeling what he was feeling, or to be reacting the way he was. Even so, he couldn’t take his eyes off her.

  Something caught her attention and her tentative smile changed to pressed lips and furrowed lines on her forehead. Her gaze shifted to something happening off to the left, toward the food trucks. She turned as if to walk away, then paused and looked back at him. She offered a hopeful smile and mouthed something. He cocked his head and leaned forward trying to hear her.

  “You need dry clothes.” At least that’s what he thought she said. “I need to check something. We’ll meet up later?”

  Yes. He wanted to meet up later. He nodded and she was walking away when he called her name, “Elena!”

  Everyone around him fell silent and their gazes all tracked his. A few mouths gaped, and he caught several indrawn breaths. He ignored this and took several steps in her direction. “I’ll come find you!”

  Her smile grew until her eyes crinkled at the corners. Pops decided he liked that look on her. A lot. And was she blushing? Maybe it was just a trick of light, but it sure looked like her cheeks had turned pink. Whatever had caught her attention before captured it again. She offered a shy wave and took off.

  “Elena?” Short Shit asked.

  “She’s a pretty woman,” Dirty-D added.

  Short Shit wasn’t about to let it rest. “Young and pretty.”

  “Hell, Pops, you’ve been holding out on us,” Tank teased.

  He ignored all of them and stalked off toward the station for dry clothes. That’s when he realized that Buff hadn’t been part of the group. Buff didn’t like crowds. Buff avoided people. Buff had PTSD. Bad. And Pops got worried. When Buff was around the team, he usually seemed okay. If he was having a tough day, he’d find something to do away from the group, or he’d seek out Pops. Being on stage tonight had been tough on him. He didn’t like being the focus of anyone’s attention, much less hundreds of people. But he’d seemed fine. A little tight. His expression blank, like he was holding it all in. Okay then. Change of plans. First he’d find Buff to make sure he was okay, and then he’d hunt down Elena. And once he found her, he’d discover why she was here, and why she was being all shy and cute about it, and why his damn dick perked the hell up whenever he thought about her.

  Elena couldn’t decide how she felt about David’s reaction to her presence. First impressions indicated he was glad to see her. And he remembered her name. That
was good, right? She thought so. And if it hadn’t been for the two people she’d caught glimpses of—and hopefully, they were not who she thought they were because it was just plain crazy they’d be here in Tarpley—she would have definitely stayed to speak with the handsome fire chief. Maybe even walk with him to wherever he planned to change clothes. She’d passed the fire station on her way in and she suspected that’s where he was headed.

  First, though, she had to assuage her curiosity. There were lots of preteen girls with brown ponytails. There weren’t, however, a lot of prudish, middle-aged women who could be a clone for her supervisor. If Pamela Byrd was here to spy on Elena, that was bad. The two of them saw eye-to-eye on very few things—well nothing, to be exact—and while they weren’t friends, they were colleagues. But why else would Pamela be here?

  The grounds were crawling with kids of every description, but she’d seen the runaway up close twice now. Elena was very good at her job which meant she paid attention to detail. She glanced at her watch, deciding she probably had ten, maybe fifteen minutes to locate the two people she’d glimpsed. She pushed through the crowd, bemoaning the fact she was short. She spotted the very tall Hispanic firefighter who’d been on stage moving in the opposite direction. He was so tall, it was hard to miss him, and she wished she had even part of his height. She smiled when she recognized David’s salt-and-pepper hair in the middle of the crowd. Even that brief look left her feeling warm inside. “Ay-yi-yi,” she muttered. “Totally loco.”

  Time was wasting. She focused on her task—looking for the girl she’d first encountered on the River Walk in San Antonio, seventy miles away. As she searched, Elena considered the possibilities. How had the girl gotten from there to here? And why here? Was she local? Maybe she was just a runaway and she’d called her family to come get her. Except that didn’t sit right. Her instincts argued against that being the case. The girl had been too scared—no, not scared, terrified! And Tarpley was not a place known as a biker hangout.

  With anxious eyes, she searched each face she passed. There were several gaggles of girls close in age, all being followed by packs of teenage boys. It was the way of the world, this age-old dance between male and female. Her attention wandered to David and she tried to guess his age. His hair and the crinkles around his eyes suggested late forties, maybe even early in his fifties, but his physique? Her heart sped up and she breathed through the tightening of her chest—and other places. She could not deny her attraction to him. She was thirty-six. And not inexperienced, not that she would ever let her mama know that. Or her father, brothers, or male cousins. To say the Rodriguez family was old-fashioned and a lot loco would be a huge understatement.

  She wandered through the craft show and saw no one who matched the descriptions of the two she was looking for. Elena again tried the area where the rides and games were. Nothing there either. Backtracking, she headed for the food trucks and the big tent with the rows of tables and chairs set up for people who wanted to take a load off while partaking of the wide array of food. Again, lots of people but no girl and no Pamela. She checked her watch once more. David would probably be back any moment. She’d head toward the dunk tank, hoping he’d think to look for her there first.

  Pops ignored the stage area. The band was in full swing, speakers blaring. If Buff had an episode, he’d be far away from the din and the crowd. Hands shoved in his pockets, he surveyed the area. The creek. Williams Creek, along with a sandy beach area, was located just across the appropriately named Williams Creek Road, which ran up the west side of this area. He’d check there. He headed through the crowd but stopped when he saw a woman who wasn’t dressed for a fair. Expensive clothes and obviously a city dweller.

  Curious, Pops watched the woman. She wasn’t a local and she carried that air of officiousness that he’d encountered too many times to count. Everything about her suggested that she was here to meddle. Which was a shame, considering all the reasons for this shindig. Hell, he and his guys had gotten shiny medals and plaques proclaiming them to be heroes. That whole idea still caused a mental eye roll if not an actual physical manifestation. Folks were here to have fun. This woman was not.

  Guessing her to be somewhere in her forties, some might consider her attractive but for the pursed lips, condescending attitude, and furrowed brow that didn’t hint of disdain, it broadcast the feeling far and wide. He forgot about Buff as he started tracking her. It wasn’t easy, even out of uniform. As fire chief and just getting recognized with a life-saving medal, people stopped to congratulate him.

  The closer he watched her, the greater his unease. He unwrapped a Tootsie Pop and stuck it in his mouth. Tootsie Pops were his crutch and that was okay, considering he hadn’t touched a cigarette in ten years. The woman ducked between two food trucks and he followed, no longer worried about getting caught. Voices caught his attention.

  “I just need to borrow your phone.” This from a girl of maybe fourteen or fifteen.

  “A girl like you, I’d figure you’d have your own.” A man’s voice, oily and hinting at things a man shouldn’t think about a girl that young.

  Pops bristled and prepared to intervene.

  “I…lost it.” She sounded hesitant and Pops had dealt with enough kids to know she was lying.

  “If you’re nice to me I can probably let you borrow mine.”

  “Nice?”

  “Yeah, if you suck my—”

  “If I was you, I would not finish that sentence.” Pops was not about to let this conversation go any further.

  “I’ve got you now!” A third voice, this one sharp like a schoolteacher’s and holding a hint of haughtiness. The woman he’d been following. She locked her hand around the girl’s biceps. Pops caught the flash of pain on the girl’s face and realized the woman had long nails which she’d sunk into the girl’s skin.

  The man who’d all but propositioned an underage girl grumbled something but tossed his cigarette down and ground it out with his boot. “Fuck this.” The guy turned to walk away, but Pops stepped closer, cutting him off. He also had his radio in his hand. They didn’t need a jerkwad like this dude hanging around the festivities. Too many kids.

  “Nope,” Pops said. “You’re staying right here.” The radio crackled and he answered, requesting the county dispatcher send the nearest law enforcement officer his direction.

  The woman ignored the two men. She shook the girl and snarled out, “I am very disappointed in you,”

  “You don’t even know me.” The girl wasn’t backing down. Pops had to admire her gumption. “I need to call my family. I know they’re looking for me and they’ll come get me.”

  And she was lying through her teeth. At least about calling her family.

  “You’re right. Your family in San Antonio is looking for you.”

  The girl’s face paled. “No! I’m not from Texas. I don’t have family here.”

  Pops’s focus sharpened. This girl was scared, and not just scared because she’d been caught. What the hell was going on?

  “I have heard it all before. You girls runaway with your boyfriends and then—”

  “I didn’t run away!” The girl was adamant. “I was kidnapped!” A tear rolled down her cheek. She wiped it away with a vicious swipe from the back of her free hand and then she clamped her mouth shut like she’d just revealed top secret information. His gut did a foot-stomping version of the Cotton-Eyed Joe. Something very wrong was going on.

  Pops, still blocking the man, called, “I believe you, darlin’.”

  The woman whirled, her eyes snapping with anger. “This is none of your business.”

  “Is this girl related to you?” He stared at the woman, wondering why she bristled.

  “No.”

  “Then it is my business.”

  A voice called out from around the corner of the tent. “Anybody seen Chief West?”

  “Back here,” he called in response. A Bandera County deputy, in uniform, stepped out into the uncertain light. The woman
tensed. Surprisingly, so did the girl. The man? Yeah, he was all kinds of pissed and ready to fight

  The deputy’s gaze took in the scene. “Is there a problem here, Chief?”

  “With this guy?” Pops pointed at the man. “Yup.” He nodded toward the pushy woman and girl. “Them? Maybe.”

  “Chief?” the woman asked, apparently realizing he had a title, and one she didn’t seem very pleased to discover. “You’re the chief of police?”

  “No, ma’am. Fire department.”

  She visibly relaxed and once again sought to assert her authority. “I’m a supervisor with DFPS. Pamela Byrd.”

  Yup. His first opinion had been right. She was officious and here to meddle. Over the years, he and Rosie had more than their share of run-ins with the Texas Department of Family and Protective Services. They’d never had kids, but they’d opened their home to a passel of young’uns who needed a place to stay.

  “What are you doing here, Pamela?” Elena stepped out of the shadows.

  The woman eyed her, anger sparking in her eyes. “I received a tip that this girl was here. I’m taking her into custody to return her to her family.”

  That’s when all hell broke loose.

  Chapter 6

  The man he’d confronted about the girl threw a punch in Pops’s direction, missed, and fell over. Both he and the deputy pounced on the guy, holding the asshole down until he was cuffed.

  “Drunk and disorderly for sure,” the deputy said.

  “And he offered to let the kid use his phone if she gave him a blow job.” Pops ground out the words, watching as the deputy jerked back.

  “No shit?”

  “No shit.” That’s when Pops realized the girl was fighting to free herself from the DFPS woman while Elena shouted.