Read Online Minor in Possession by J. A. Jance - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: J. A. Jance
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at the weeping Jennifer, who still clung to her mother's waist. "I've got to go, Jennifer," Marsha said, trying to disengage herself. "Can you stay here with Mr. Beaumont?"
Jennifer shook her head and held on even more desperately. "Don't leave me, Mother. Please don't leave me. Can't I come too? Please?"
Marsha's answer was firm. "No, Jen. I have to go be with Daddy. You have to wait here."
One clutching finger at a time, Marsha pried loose Jennifer's grasping hands. There was no anger in the gesture, but nothing very motherly either, no caring, warmth, or comfort, just a practiced indifference. I caught myself wondering if maybe Jennifer was right. For whatever reason, maybe Marsha really had liked Joey Rothman best.
Sobbing and bereft, Jennifer allowed herself to be handed over to me while Marsha paused only long enough to straighten her skirt and give her hair a superficial and unnecessary pat before walking away. As she left, Marsha Rothman didn't favor Jennifer with so much as a backward glance.
I picked up the weeping child and held her, letting her bury her head against my shoulder while I rocked back and forth. I held her for some time, listening to her cry, watching the pelting rain falling outside the windows, and wondering how the hell to ease the hurt she was feeling. Suddenly, I caught sight of Shorty Rojas. Slouched under a huge yellow slicker, he rode past the ranch house on an ancient plodding gray horse. Behind him he led a wet string of bridled but unsaddled horses. It was a heaven-sent but guaranteed diversion.
"Look at all the horses," I said, pointing out the window with one hand while boosting Jennifer off my shoulder with the other. "Would you like to go outside and see them?"
It worked like a charm. Little girls and horses are like that. Jennifer's sobbing stopped instantly. "Could we? Really? Maybe I could even ride one." Then, just as suddenly, her face fell again. She ducked her chin to hide the disappointment. "It's raining outside. These are my school clothes. Mother doesn't like for me to get them wet."
Screw Mother, I thought savagely. For a moment I was stymied, but then I remembered seeing Dolores Rojas leave the ranch's kitchen to walk back to her mobile home, a stately mountain of a woman moving slowly under the shelter of an immense black umbrella.
"Hold on," I said. "I have an idea."
Carrying the child into the kitchen, I found Dolores Rojas elbow-deep in sudsy dishwater. "Could we borrow your umbrella for a little while, Dolores? This is Joey Rothman's sister. She'd like to go outside with Shorty to see the horses."
A quick look of sympathy and understanding flashed across Dolores' broad, brown face. "Sure," she answered. "It's right over there by the door."
I retrieved her umbrella from the metal milk can that served as an umbrella stand. We were about to step outside into the rain when Dolores stopped us.
"Wait," she said, drying her hands on a towel. "I may have a few old carrots around here somewhere."
Of course there was nothing wrong with the handful of carrots she pressed into Jennifer's eager hands. Dolores Rojas was another soft touch. It takes one to know one.
We caught up with Shorty just as he closed a barbed wire gate behind the last of the unsaddled horses and was remounting the gray. When I told him who Jennifer was, Shorty clicked his tongue sympathetically and then asked if she would like to help him bring the rest of the horses up from the stables to the higher pasture. In response to her delighted affirmative, he swept her out of my arms and set her in front of him on the gray's high horned saddle, wrapping her snugly in the folds of the slicker.
"I'll bring her back to the ranch house when we finish," Shorty promised. "They're going to be awhile."
I was sure Marsha Rothman wouldn't approve of the wet horsy odor that was going to permeate Jennifer's private-school pinafore, but that was just too damn bad. Helping Shorty move horses would be a whole lot
Jennifer shook her head and held on even more desperately. "Don't leave me, Mother. Please don't leave me. Can't I come too? Please?"
Marsha's answer was firm. "No, Jen. I have to go be with Daddy. You have to wait here."
One clutching finger at a time, Marsha pried loose Jennifer's grasping hands. There was no anger in the gesture, but nothing very motherly either, no caring, warmth, or comfort, just a practiced indifference. I caught myself wondering if maybe Jennifer was right. For whatever reason, maybe Marsha really had liked Joey Rothman best.
Sobbing and bereft, Jennifer allowed herself to be handed over to me while Marsha paused only long enough to straighten her skirt and give her hair a superficial and unnecessary pat before walking away. As she left, Marsha Rothman didn't favor Jennifer with so much as a backward glance.
I picked up the weeping child and held her, letting her bury her head against my shoulder while I rocked back and forth. I held her for some time, listening to her cry, watching the pelting rain falling outside the windows, and wondering how the hell to ease the hurt she was feeling. Suddenly, I caught sight of Shorty Rojas. Slouched under a huge yellow slicker, he rode past the ranch house on an ancient plodding gray horse. Behind him he led a wet string of bridled but unsaddled horses. It was a heaven-sent but guaranteed diversion.
"Look at all the horses," I said, pointing out the window with one hand while boosting Jennifer off my shoulder with the other. "Would you like to go outside and see them?"
It worked like a charm. Little girls and horses are like that. Jennifer's sobbing stopped instantly. "Could we? Really? Maybe I could even ride one." Then, just as suddenly, her face fell again. She ducked her chin to hide the disappointment. "It's raining outside. These are my school clothes. Mother doesn't like for me to get them wet."
Screw Mother, I thought savagely. For a moment I was stymied, but then I remembered seeing Dolores Rojas leave the ranch's kitchen to walk back to her mobile home, a stately mountain of a woman moving slowly under the shelter of an immense black umbrella.
"Hold on," I said. "I have an idea."
Carrying the child into the kitchen, I found Dolores Rojas elbow-deep in sudsy dishwater. "Could we borrow your umbrella for a little while, Dolores? This is Joey Rothman's sister. She'd like to go outside with Shorty to see the horses."
A quick look of sympathy and understanding flashed across Dolores' broad, brown face. "Sure," she answered. "It's right over there by the door."
I retrieved her umbrella from the metal milk can that served as an umbrella stand. We were about to step outside into the rain when Dolores stopped us.
"Wait," she said, drying her hands on a towel. "I may have a few old carrots around here somewhere."
Of course there was nothing wrong with the handful of carrots she pressed into Jennifer's eager hands. Dolores Rojas was another soft touch. It takes one to know one.
We caught up with Shorty just as he closed a barbed wire gate behind the last of the unsaddled horses and was remounting the gray. When I told him who Jennifer was, Shorty clicked his tongue sympathetically and then asked if she would like to help him bring the rest of the horses up from the stables to the higher pasture. In response to her delighted affirmative, he swept her out of my arms and set her in front of him on the gray's high horned saddle, wrapping her snugly in the folds of the slicker.
"I'll bring her back to the ranch house when we finish," Shorty promised. "They're going to be awhile."
I was sure Marsha Rothman wouldn't approve of the wet horsy odor that was going to permeate Jennifer's private-school pinafore, but that was just too damn bad. Helping Shorty move horses would be a whole lot
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