Son of Texas. Linda Warren
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yard was well kept, but the house needed painting and some outside boards were rotten. There were no close neighbors. Lencha lived on several acres. Farther down were some brick homes then a trailer park.
It was noon, but no one was about. Belle opened the gate and they walked up the back steps. A pleasant scent greeted Caleb and he noticed all the flowering bushes and plants in the flower beds. A huge greenhouse was in back and he glimpsed a large garden filled with all sorts of vegetables and more plants.
Belle knocked but no one answered. “Lencha sometimes gets lost in her own little world,” she said, and opened the door. They went into a utility room that held more plants in pots, then into the kitchen. A birdlike woman in jeans and a chambray shirt was at the sink washing dishes. Long gray hair hung down her back. A squirrel climbed down her back then up again to rest on her shoulder. Caleb blinked, wondering if he was seeing things.
When the squirrel noticed them, she scurried down Lencha’s back to the floor, standing on her hind legs making funny noises.
“What’s wrong with you, Chula?” Lencha asked, looking down at the squirrel. “You’ve had your lunch, so be quiet. I’m not giving you any more corn. You’re fat as a pig now.”
Belle smiled at Chula, Lencha’s pet squirrel. As she stood in the room, soaking up the familiarity, that sense of belonging that she hadn’t had until now—Chula, the hardwood floor, the Formica table and chairs, the sunflower curtains and the scent of herbs and lavender—all were familiar. Lencha grew lavender in the yard and it drifted to her nostrils and saturated her body. A metamorphosis began to happen. She could feel it. It was like shedding a skin and letting new life in. For so long she’d felt like a mismatched piece of furniture that she’d been trying to fit into rooms where she didn’t belong. But this was a part of her and a part of her family.
“Lencha,” she said quietly, almost afraid to speak.
“Lawdy, lawdy, will it never stop?” Lencha dried a dish. “People call me a witch and I’m beginning to believe them. How else could I conjure up her spirit and hear her voice so clearly?”
Lencha didn’t turn around or acknowledge her presence. She put the dish in the cabinet as if Belle wasn’t even standing there.
“Lencha.” She tried again.
Chula scratched at Lencha’s legs.
Glancing down at Chula, Lencha caught sight of Belle, taking in Caleb behind her. “Lawdy, now she’s got a man with her.” Lencha shook her head as to rid herself of the image. “How long will I continue to see her? I’m too old for my mind to be this active.”
Belle finally understood. Lencha thought she was seeing things. She walked closer. “Lencha, it’s me. I’m real and I’m alive.”
Lencha shook her head. “Go away, Josie, and stop torturing an old woman.”
Belle touched her and Lencha jumped back, her eyes big, then in a trembling voice, she asked, “Josie? Josie Marie?”
“Yes, Lencha. It’s me.”
“Heaven above. Santa Maria madre de Dios.” Lencha grabbed her and held her tight. “Josie Marie, you’re back. My precious child, you’re back.” She drew away and stroked Belle’s face. “You’re back.”
“Yes.” She gripped the old lady as tight as she could. Lavender was all around her and a peacefulness came over her. The past connected to the present just that easily. She wiped away an errant tear and stared at Lencha. “Josie Marie is home.”
In that moment she became Josie Marie again. New strength surged through her and the shackles of fear slipped away. Her memory hadn’t completely returned, but it would and she could sort out the rest of her life on her own.
Looking at Caleb, she saw a glimmer of sadness in his eyes. Weak, defenseless Belle Doe was no more. She disappeared the instant Lencha called her Josie, and Caleb knew that. She saw it in his gaze.
A moment of dejection swept over her. She brushed it away with a flicker of remorse. She was Josie Marie Beckett, police officer, looking for the person who’d tried to kill her. She wanted justice for what she’d been put through and she’d find all the answers she needed one way or another. Revenge was such a harsh word, but she wanted revenge or something to explain away the nightmare.
Her eyes settled on Caleb. Surviving her parents’ deaths, being shot and living without a memory seemed minimal compared to what she had to do now. How would she say goodbye to a man like Caleb?
CHAPTER FOUR
WORDS FELT LIKE A WAD of cotton in Belle’s throat and she couldn’t force them out. Her eyes clung to Caleb’s and she memorized every line of his honed, lean face, the sensual curve of his mouth, the dark hair, neatly trimmed, and those incredible warm eyes.
Before she could speak, Lencha stroked her face, her hair. “Child, where have you been? Why did you leave like that?”
Belle stared into Lencha’s gray eyes and saw the worry and concern. She would talk to Caleb later. Now she had to tell Lencha what had happened to her.
“Lencha, this is Caleb McCain, a Texas Ranger.”
Lencha turned to Caleb, Chula on her shoulder. She studied him openly. “Texas Ranger, hmm? Had a cousin who was a ranger back in the old days when a ranger was all the law we had out here. Nice to meet you.” She shook his hand.
“Nice to meet you, too, ma’am.” He glanced at Chula. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen a pet squirrel before.”
Lencha scratched Chula. “Found her as a baby in the backyard. Must have fallen out of a nest. I fed her with an eyedropper and she’s been a pet ever since. She’s like a cat, but I can’t leave her alone in the house or she’ll tear up everything.” Her eyes narrowed. “So what are you doing with my Josie?”
Josie took Lencha’s arm and led her to the kitchen table. “It’s a long story….”
Josie told her everything about her ordeal—waking up on Austin’s skid row, the bullet in her head, the cult, the memory loss, the struggle back to reality and the kind people who helped her.
“Santa Maria madre de Dios!” Lencha made the sign of the cross. “Child, are you okay?”
“Partly. I still don’t remember how I ended up in Austin or what made me leave Beckett.”
Lencha jumped up. “Ojo.”
“No, Lencha…” But Lencha was already out the door.
“Ojo?” Caleb asked with a lifted brow.
She sighed. “It’s the eye. The evil eye. It’s Mexican—if a person looks at your child and thinks things, good or bad, about them, it can cause high fever, crying or fussiness or something like that. I’m not up on this stuff, but when I was small I had a real high fever and the doctors couldn’t keep it down. Mama was worried and called Lencha and she came to Corpus. My mom and dad scoffed at a lot of Lencha’s rituals, but were willing to try anything. After Lencha did her thing, my fever was under control within thirty minutes.”
Lencha hurried back in, her gray hair everywhere, making her look like a witch. In her hands she carried a brown egg, a sprig of rosemary and a bottle of brackish greenish liquid. She filled a glass with water and brought everything to the table. Saying a prayer in Spanish, she rubbed the liquid all over Josie, even her clothes.
“Lencha!” Josie protested, twitching her nose at the strong scent.
“What is that?” Caleb asked, and Josie met his eyes, not sure how to explain Lencha and her healing methods. But she knew she didn’t have to. Caleb was very open-minded, understanding… The pungent smell of the herbs filled her nostrils and stopped her thoughts.
“Basil, rosemary and rue. A limpia, a cleanser to expunge evil forces,” Lencha replied, taking some liquid in her mouth and spitting