Blaze a Trail (The Flanagan Sisters, #3) Page 4

  Zita took the baby from her. “I’ll see what I can do.” She cooed to him and rocked him as she carried him downstairs, away from the bedrooms so the others could sleep.

  In the living room, her dogs greeted her with wags of their tails, but didn’t get up. It was too early for them as well. Zita settled herself on the sofa, Julio against her chest, and murmured nonsense to him. His cries grew softer.

  She closed her eyes. She was so tired. After she’d gone to bed last night, she hadn’t been able to stop replaying her kiss with David in her mind. She’d not been expecting the passion, the intensity and she couldn’t wait to see him again. She smiled.

  Julio hiccupped and stopped crying. Zita shifted him so he was next to the back rest and the two of them fell asleep.

  The noise from the television being switched on woke them both. Zita sighed, opening her eyes as Julio started to cry again. Beatriz was fumbling with the remote to turn the volume down, glancing at her fearfully.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t see you,” Beatriz said.

  “It’s all right, Bea,” Zita soothed, and sat up, shushing the baby. “What time is it?”

  “Seven.”

  Last night, Beatriz had curled up on a sofa at the bar and fallen asleep way before midnight. “Did you have fun last night?”

  Beatriz nodded and sat on the sofa next to Zita, making faces at Julio. He stopped crying and watched her in fascination.

  “You’re good with babies,” Zita said, smiling at the girl.

  She looked up. “There were many babies in my neighborhood. I helped with them to stay out of Pablo’s way. The mothers appreciated my help.”

  “I’m sure they did.”

  “I promised Elena I’d help with her baby when it comes. I like babies. They don’t hurt you.” Beatriz held out her hands to take Julio and Zita passed him over.

  Her heart went out to the ten-year-old girl.

  Carmen ducked her head into the living room. “Already up, niñitas?”

  “Hola, Mamá.” Zita stood and followed her mother into the kitchen. “Did you have a nice time last night?”

  “It was wonderful,” she said. “But I imagine you had more fun with David.” Mama grinned at her.

  Zita’s cheeks heated. “I’m not answering that.”

  Her mother laughed. “He seems nice.”

  “I hope so.” She didn’t want to talk about it. She switched on the coffee machine, yawning.

  “What time did Julio wake?” Carmen asked.

  “Five.”

  “You should go back to bed, baby. You’ve barely had any sleep.”

  “I’m fine. I’ll take the dogs for a walk and get some fresh air.” She poured them both a coffee and sat down.

  The first sip was heaven.

  Just then, loud voices started yelling upstairs. What now? She glanced at Carmen, whose eyes were closed as if she was summoning the strength to deal with them. Zita got to her feet. “I’ll check on them. You have your coffee.”

  “Thanks, niñita. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  The words brought a stab of guilt. It was a reminder her mother couldn’t do this on her own. She needed Zita’s support. Any idea that Zita had about having her own life could be forgotten. With a small sigh, she headed upstairs.

  By early afternoon, Zita was seriously considering running away. Surely a circus would have less excitement than Casa Flanagan. All of the girls had been tired and short-tempered. They’d snarked at each other and at Zita and Carmen all day. Carmen had spent hours calming a tearful Elena, who at eight months pregnant, had decided she didn’t want the baby, which had left Zita playing referee to the rest. She needed some fresh air. She hadn’t even had a chance to take Bess and Saint for a walk.

  She shooed the girls out of the kitchen so she could clean up after lunch in peace. Hopefully, they would have an afternoon nap or hang out in their own rooms where they wouldn’t argue.

  Zita put the dishwasher on and was wiping the bench when Teresa came in. “Can we call Mama again, today?” She hugged herself, while looking hopefully at Zita.

  How could she refuse?

  Johanna might be in the kitchen cleaning up from lunch and be near the phone. “Let’s do it now.”

  Teresa’s grin was huge.

  Zita dialed the number, thinking about what she would say if Johanna answered.

  “Hola.” It was a female voice.

  Zita tensed. “Johanna Garcia?”

  “Sí.”

  “My name is Zita Flanagan,” she said in Spanish. “I’m taking care of your daughter, Teresa.”

  “Teresa,” Johanna whispered. “Is she safe?”

  “Yes. Can you talk for a moment? Is your husband around?”

  “He is outside.”

  “I’ll be quick then. Teresa is staying with us while her asylum application is being processed, but she would like to get you and Manuela out of the country as well. Would you like that?”

  “Please.” It was a sob that tore at Zita’s heart.

  “I have a friend in El Salvador, Fernando. He spoke to you a few weeks ago. You can trust him. He will tell you what you need to do. I’ll get him to visit you next week.”

  “Thank you.”

  Their time was short. Teresa’s father could come back at any stage. “I’ll let you talk with Teresa.”

  She handed the phone to the girl and stood back while Teresa spoke with her mother. After a couple of minutes, Teresa hung up, sobbing and shaking.

  Zita hugged her. “It’s all right. We’ll get them out.”

  Teresa shook her head and pushed her away. “No! It’s not all right. The gang has taken Manuela. She’s not yet been prostituted out, but Mama thinks it’s only a matter of time.” Tears rolled down her cheeks. “We have to get her out.”

  Zita wanted to throw up. Manuela was only twelve. “I’ll call Fernando.”

  Carmen walked in from the garden. “What is wrong?”

  Zita explained, and Carmen wrapped her arm around Teresa’s shoulder and comforted her. Zita called Fernando, and he promised he would visit Johanna tomorrow. It was the best she could do for now.

  Teresa had stopped crying and was staring at the table.

  Zita wanted to scream. Life wasn’t fair. This shouldn’t be happening. They had done nothing wrong. Her heart pounded and her muscles were so tense they might snap. She had to get out of here before she exploded. She needed some air.

  “I’m taking the dogs for a walk.”

  Carmen nodded and gave her a small smile.

  Zita whistled for her dogs, got into her car and left.

  ***

  Zita drove on auto-pilot to the state park. They had to get Manuela and Johanna out of El Salvador as quickly as possible, but these things took time. The asylum application took months to process, and Zita wasn’t sure they had that much time. She wanted to jump on a plane and fly them over herself, but they would likely be shipped right back home again and things would be far worse. Plus, she couldn’t risk the criticism that would be directed at Casa Flanagan.

  She swore. She wasn’t as familiar with the asylum process as she was with the SIJ status that the girls normally applied for. She’d have to ask Shelly.

  If she was an immigration lawyer, she’d know all the things they could try. Right now she was useless.

  Pulling into the parking lot and stopping next to the only other vehicle in the lot, she turned off the car and got out. She should have brought boots. The ground was fairly muddy — the dogs were going to love it. Keeping them on the leash, she started down one of the walking tracks.

  She breathed deeply, enjoying the coolness of the air and trying to relax. The bushes surrounding the wide path were heavy with the rain that had fallen earlier in the day and the air was still. Occasionally, a bird would call out or flit from bush to bush, shaking the drops from the branches.

  Zita needed this. The peace, the time for herself. She needed it for her own emotional wellbeing.<
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  She wasn’t happy.

  Her chest tightened at the admission, but it was time she faced the truth. She was twenty-five, still living at home, and couldn’t see how she could possibly leave.

  Guilt swamped her and she fought to stay on top of it. Was it so wrong to want to move out of home, to have her own space and her own things? She wanted to have a decent night’s sleep, and be able to stay as long as she wanted in the shower, and to make herself toast for dinner if she didn’t feel like cooking. But she couldn’t leave her mother to cope with the girls on her own. It would be selfish and ungrateful. Her mother had left everything she had in El Salvador to give her daughters a better life.

  Zita kicked a pebble on the path and it rolled a short distance before stopping.

  That was her. Only getting so far before her momentum was lost.

  As much as she loved her foster sisters, loved helping them and watching them grow, she wanted more out of life. She wanted an intellectual challenge as well as some level of independence. “I want to be an immigration lawyer.” Saying the words aloud made her recoil with guilt, but it was true. She wanted to fight the battle for her sisters’ freedom in the courtroom rather than staying silent in the crowd. She wanted to help more than the few girls who passed through their door.

  But it meant going to college, then law school, and long hours of study. There’d be little time to help her mother care for the girls.

  It was wishful thinking.

  Bess barked at something on the path in front of them and Zita brought her attention to the present. It was a squirrel that quickly raced into the bushes.

  Zita held both dogs back as they strained forward on the leash. It was foolish not to pay attention around here. There were poisonous snakes, and she’d spotted the occasional alligator as well.

  Focusing back on the track she continued her walk. There was a place a little further on where she could sit for a while and contemplate.

  When she arrived at the spot, she got the dogs some water and gave them both a treat, then sat down on the bench.

  Perhaps it was simply the New Year blues. The whole “out with the old and in with the new”. A time to set resolutions and plan for the future. But she didn’t feel like she had the freedom to set her own goals.

  She snorted, shaking her head at herself. She was being foolish. She had a hell of a lot more freedom than any of her foster sisters had ever had. She was rich in comparison. She lived in a beautiful house, in a country that respected her rights, and she had a supportive family.

  And her family was supportive. If she was honest with herself, her mother would probably be the first to tell her to go to college.

  So what was her real problem?

  Sighing, she closed her eyes and sifted through her emotions.

  She was scared of failing.

  In high school, she’d been a solid C-grade student. She’d been more interested in socializing than studying, until their first foster child had arrived, and after that she’d been busy helping Carmen. Her report cards had said she could do better if she applied herself, but was it true? Perhaps she wasn’t cut out for study. Maybe she was too erratic to focus on one thing.

  She certainly didn’t have Carly’s drive or technical skills, and even Bridget had channeled her passion into a career, but Zita had been keeping her own desires locked down for so many years, she wasn’t sure she could unlock them now. Her mother had always told her she had to be strong for the girls, to hide her disgust or distress while they told their stories, and she had. She was so used to putting their needs before her own. And really, if she let her emotions out in the courtroom, she might be more of a liability than a help.

  Her mind ran through all of the possible ways she could mess it up and cause one of her sisters to have to return home.

  Bess nudged her foot as she shifted her position and the runaway train wreck of Zita’s thoughts came to a halt. She wasn’t usually this pessimistic. What if emotion was exactly what was needed? Perhaps being so close to her sisters would give her an edge to convince the judge they should stay in the country. She might be good at it, and she’d never shied away from hard work.

  But she’d still have to find someone else to help her mother. Casa Flanagan might not be able to afford to hire a caregiver and she had no idea of the money involved. She only received a minimum wage. It was Carly who had the money.

  She hunched into her jacket, pulling it close around her to ward off some of the chill that was setting in. She couldn’t continue much longer like this. She would explode if she had to keep it bottled up inside. But it had to be little steps. She’d start by investigating law school and what was required.

  Find out if she was smart enough.

  Then she could work out what to do next.

  Feeling a little more positive, she gathered her dogs, and started home.

  ***

  David rang the doorbell at his parents’ southern manor-style mansion and waited until the butler opened the door. He enjoyed dinner with his parents. It was a chance to see his mother, and the food was always sensational.

  “Evening, Franklin.” He walked inside.

  “Good evening, Mr. Randall. They’re in the sitting room.”

  “Thanks.” He walked down the corridor into the large room. His mother was sitting on one of the large beige sofas that were as hard as they were stylish, talking with Jesse Harding’s wife, Hillary. He frowned. No one had mentioned the Hardings were coming. David acknowledged the women and moved over to where his father and Jesse were talking at the fully stocked bar.

  “David, there you are!” Bob slapped him on the back and handed him a bottle of beer from the fridge.

  “Hey, Dad. Jesse. How are things?” He put the beer back into the fridge and poured himself a glass of white wine from the bottle the women were sharing.

  “Jesse’s still on at me to go into politics.”

  So that’s why they were there.

  “Your father is the perfect person — an upstanding citizen, successful, and knows how to run things. We need someone like him to take a firm hand.”

  David took a sip of wine. Bob had strong opinions, but his inability to compromise was legendary at Dionysus. It was all right in a business that had been in the family for generations, but in government? David wasn’t so sure. His father was waiting for his response. “What about Dionysus?”

  “You’d take over in an acting role until the election.”

  Damn. He thought he’d have at least another ten years before he’d have to step up. Suddenly his work life gaped below him like a bottomless pit. “I’m still getting my head around the CFO role.”

  “Now you don’t have to,” Jesse said. “If Bob agrees, you’ll do a transition. He’ll still be on hand to answer any questions.”

  David sighed. It was inevitable that he take over Dionysus, but he’d hoped it would be later rather than sooner. “You have my support, whatever you decide.”

  Bob nodded his thanks.

  “We need to discuss what your policies will be,” Jesse said. “Immigration is a big one. The flood of Mexicans needs to be stopped. We have to be strong on that.”

  “David here is following the process of the illegal immigrants,” Bob said. “Making a case.”

  What? “I’m following Teresa’s application so I have an idea of what is involved, but every person has a different story.”

  “Right, right,” Bob said, clapping him on the shoulder. “We need to know more about it.”

  David let out a breath, pleased his father agreed with him.

  Franklin walked into the room. “Dinner is about to be served.”

  David followed the others into the dining room.

  Dinner was a three-course affair with Bob and Jesse dominating the conversation. David tried to picture Zita there and couldn’t. There was no way she’d sit quietly while Bob and Jesse discussed politics. Her opposing opinion would make it an interesting evening.

  He
shouldn’t be thinking about Zita meeting his parents. He didn’t bring women home to meet his family and he wasn’t even dating Zita yet.

  At the end of the night, David said his goodbyes.

  “We’re still going to high tea on Sunday, aren’t we?” Fay asked as she kissed him.

  “Of course.” It was their monthly ritual at the most expensive hotel in Houston. David would have preferred to meet in a café for coffee and cake, rather than having all the fiddly little desserts they served, but his mother insisted on the best. She was very conscious of what people thought of her, and David didn’t want to disappoint her.

  With a wave to the others, he got in his car and drove home.

  ***

  Zita had been looking forward to tonight all week, and it wasn’t just because she was getting away from Casa Flanagan. After parking her car, she checked her reflection in the rear view mirror. She hoped she was dressed fancy enough for the restaurant, but either way she felt great. She was going to dinner with the sexy David Randall.

  Their sizzling kiss had been on her mind every night as she fell asleep. She’d thought about it so often that there was a real chance she’d blown it out of proportion, but tonight she’d discover if he did kiss as well as she remembered.

  She got out and entered the restaurant. Everyone raved about The Wooden Spoon, but she’d never been there. Five-star restaurants weren’t in her budget.

  The spicy, warm aromas of delicious food hit her senses first, and Zita inhaled deeply as she glanced around. The furnishings were sumptuous. The carpet was thick and soft under her feet and the walls were an earthy tone, covered in artwork, much of it Native American. Everything was classy, from the crisp white tablecloths to the dim mood lighting.

  David was sitting at a table by the wall, reading the menu. She studied him for a moment. He was wearing a deep blue, button-down shirt and the color suited him. His blond hair was styled in the messy, just-got-out-of-bed look that she suspected took an age to perfect, but suited him perfectly.

  “Hi,” she greeted him as she reached the table.

  He grinned, pushed back his chair and stood. “You look fantastic.”