Texas Miracle Read online

  “Can I get you a bottle of water?”

  “Not necessary. I brought us lemon sodas.”

  “You thought of everything!” Jacqueline sat down across from Alma. She took a soda from the woman’s strong, worn hand.

  “I am happy you asked me to meet with you. Mac speaks so highly of you, and I have been meaning to have the two of you over for dinner some evening. But there has been a lot going on in the family with the new baby.”

  “I know. I’m so glad she is doing well.”

  “Yes.” Alma crossed herself. “We are thankful to God.”

  “I’m actually going over to see her tonight.”

  Alma’s dark eyes lit up. “Be sure to tell her Alma said hi.”

  “I will.”

  They ate a few bites of the tacos, which tasted to Jacqueline like a delicious party in her mouth. Bits of steak were seared to perfection, seasoned with lime, topped with onion and cilantro, and wrapped double in homemade corn tortillas. Slices of avocado complemented the meal.

  “This is amazing!” she said between bites.

  The older woman’s lips curled in a smile. “I can teach you how to make them. Mac would like that.”

  “I’d like that, too.” Jacqueline set down her taco. “Alma, I need your help with something else, though.”

  “What is it?”

  “Are you aware of what is happening to children at the border?”

  Alma’s countenance fell. “I can only imagine.”

  Jacqueline reached across the table for her hand. “It’s terrible. Through some of my other work, I’ve gotten information that there are hundreds of children crossing each day, fleeing violence and poverty in their own countries.”

  “Dios Mio!”

  “I know. And get this. Three-quarters of them are crossing the border in the Rio Grande Valley on the Gulf Coast of Texas.”

  Alma gasped. “Where are they going?”

  “That’s what I’m concerned about. Once they make it to the United States, they’re apprehended by the Department of Homeland Security, and Customs and Border Protection. These guys are only legally allowed to hold them for seventy-two hours. After that, they are moved to temporary shelters operated by DHS—its Office of Refugee Resettlement, the ORR. They try to place them with family members in the US. If they have no family, the other options are foster care and detention facilities. Remember the little girl who was squatting on my land—Angelina?”

  “Of course. I remember Mac telling me about her.”

  “I think she fell through the cracks of this system. The best I can tell, she was placed with a family member, but then ran away. When I took her to DHS here, they told me they would try to place her with a foster family. I hope they did.”

  It was a lot of complicated information that had taken Jacqueline ages to sort out. But Alma didn’t miss a beat. “For how long? What’s next?”

  “For Angelina, as well as the others, they get a ‘Notice to Appear’ in immigration court where a judge determines whether to deport them or allow them to remain in the States, usually through asylum or a special immigrant juvenile visa. These courts are so backlogged it can take a long time, and the ORR doesn’t have the resources it needs to do its job well, especially as the number of children coming in keeps rising.”

  Alma sighed. “What can we do, Jacqueline? What is your organization doing?”

  “Many organizations are trying to help. But I’ve had this idea that I just can’t shake. I wanted to run it by you.”

  Alma leaned forward.

  “What if we opened a home here in Kilgore—a home where these children could come and stay?”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  “YOU READY, LOVER BOY?” Joiner emerged from the bedroom looking like a Levi’s model. He’d been awake for only five minutes, tops.

  “How do you manage it?” Mac asked, ignoring his brother’s reference to the fact he’d just hung up with Jacqueline.

  “Manage what?”

  “That,” Mac said, waving his phone up and down in the direction of Joiner’s person. “Five minutes ago you were snoring. Probably had drool dripping out of your mouth. Now you’re the new Marlboro Man.”

  Joiner shrugged. “Don’t hate.” He flexed his muscles and Mac rolled his eyes. “Hey, you’re looking pretty good yourself for a nerdy cowboy. Jacqueline help you pick out your clothes?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “I heard she’s going over to my place tonight to keep Stella and the baby company. That’s cool.”

  “Yes. Nice of Stella to invite her.”

  “She’s vetting Jacqueline for the Temple tribe.”

  Mac laughed and shook his head.

  “You had breakfast?” Joiner plopped a Folgers Classic into the coffee machine and fired it up.

  “About an hour ago.”

  Joiner snorted. “You’ll understand one day. That was the best night’s sleep I’ve had since we brought Lilianna home.”

  He opened the fridge to have a look. “What did you eat?”

  “There’s cereal in the cabinet.”

  * * *

  THIRTY MINUTES LATER they were high in the sky. Clint’s pilot had coordinates for possible sightings of mustang herds, and each brother held a pair of binoculars. They kept a sharp eye out of their respective windows.

  The scenery was spectacular. Mac took in blue lakes, snow-capped peaks, lush evergreen forests and painted desert patches. It was hard to believe so much variety could exist in the same vicinity. Of course, they were flying over thousands of acres. The Bureau of Land Management tried to keep wild mustang herds contained—and protected—on public land. But, according to Joiner, it was becoming more and more difficult. As cattle and sheep ranchers competed with the mustang herds for grazing, the horses became more and more endangered. Joiner’s mission was to start a foundation in Pap’s name that would ultimately be able to purchase a huge amount of acreage, preferably in Texas, that could be set aside solely for the horses. He already had a name for the place, too—Lone Star Refuge.

  “See anything, Mac?” Joiner broke his train of thought.

  “Seeing lots of stuff. But nothing that looks like wild horses.”

  “Me, neither. I guess the problem is confirmed. But I sure was hoping to see some.”

  “Wait a minute, Joiner! Come here!” Mac squinted into his binoculars. They were flying over a scrubby-looking area at the foot of some red hills. In the distance, Mac could see a few evergreen bushes, and filing out of those bushes, kicking up a cloud of brown dust, was a herd of horses. They formed a loose V as they ran. The lead horse was black. His nostrils flared and his mane waved like a banner in the air. Following closely were two red horses with black manes and tails. Behind them were another black, a white and several reds with assorted markings. Their movements were fluid, as if they were dancing together to some choreographed routine.

  Mac whistled softly. For the first time in his life, Joiner seemed speechless, and Mac had no words, either. He felt at once in awe, and privileged, and yet almost like an intruder on some private, sacred scene. No wonder these horses were the enduring symbol of the Wild West. He’d seen a million pictures like this—they were plastered all over Texas and a part of cowboy culture—but never before had Mac grasped the majesty. The freedom. The untamed beauty. He didn’t want to move or blink for fear of missing anything. As the muscles rippled, manes fluttered and hooves thundered below him, Mac couldn’t tear himself away.

  * * *

  BACK AT THE AIRPORT, Mac and Joiner rented a car and grabbed some lunch. Then they headed to the office on the outskirts of town where they were supposed to meet their guide, the man Mac had hired to help them search for Pap’s grave. He hoped this outing would prove as successful as the search for horses.

/>   “Mac Temple?” The man behind the desk rose and offered his hand. “I’m Bryan Trujillo.”

  “Nice to meet you. This is my brother Joiner.”

  The towering man with a shaved head and goatee shook Joiner’s hand, as well. “Nice to meet you.”

  Joiner nodded.

  “I’ve reviewed all of the information you sent me and prepared a map.” Bryan picked up a file on his desk. “Ready to go?”

  Joiner sat in the backseat so Bryan could be in front and direct Mac as he drove. Between directions, Bryan talked.

  “I see that the private investigator you hired out in Arizona came to a dead end.”

  Mac glanced in the rearview mirror and noted the puzzled look on Joiner’s face. “Yes, that’s true. He did mention checking out a few leads in New Mexico, which is what led me to you.”

  Bryan tugged at his goatee. “Uh-huh. The first one is down this road.” He pointed for Mac to take a right off the main highway onto a paved road. After they followed it a short distance, it turned into a dirt road. “There’s an old cemetery down here. Some of the graves are marked with stones, but no names, and seem to date about the time of your grandfather’s passing. I thought we’d take a look and see if you find anything familiar.”

  They stopped the car under a tree adjacent to a rusted iron gate. Crumbling letters read Garde of Memorie, obviously missing a couple of letters. The three men walked through the gate and along the path leading through the middle of the tiny cemetery. There were elaborate Spanish-Catholic-style sites bordered by little fences. Some of the graves were still cared for, with red silk roses on one, and a variety of cacti planted on another. At the end of the path was a row of graves that needed tending.

  “These are the ones,” Trujillo said. He pointed to the corner. “Starting there, we have about five graves that are unmarked—or marked only by a stone.”

  While Bryan waited on the path, Mac and Joiner waded through the scrubby grass that had grown up around the graves. Stooping at the first one, in the corner of the back of the cemetery, they pushed back grassy growth to find a good-sized rock. It was weathered, but had no markings to indicate who was buried there. Moving along the row, they found a similar story at each one. When they reached the path, Mac asked the guide, “Why did you think one of these might be our grandfather’s?”

  “Well, I told you that the estimated dates of these five graves match your dates for your grandfather.”

  “That could be true of unmarked graves all over the world.” Joiner’s voice was full of restrained annoyance.

  “What was your reason for looking in this area?” Trujillo asked.

  Mac rubbed his temple. “The private investigator seemed to think our grandfather headed this way after leaving Arizona.”

  “Right,” said Trujillo. “And there was that document he found that you sent me—the old boardinghouse record that showed an M. D. Temple stayed in Santa Fe around the time you think he died.”

  “Were you able to find any more information about that?” Mac asked him, shooting a side glance at Joiner.

  “Unfortunately, no one connected with that boardinghouse is still living. But I do have another place we need to check out.”

  As they walked back to the car, Joiner whispered to Mac, “You have some explaining to do.”

  He nodded.

  “Why didn’t you tell me you hired a private investigator?”

  * * *

  THIS TIME, THEY drove farther out in the country. Rising up before them were the Sangre de Cristo Mountains. Again, they ended up on a dirt road, but this one they followed for several miles. It led to what looked like an abandoned farmhouse.

  “Is this legal? Are we trespassing?” Joiner asked as they got out of the car.

  “No,” Trujillo said. “I have permission.”

  “Not that I would have minded,” Joiner whispered to Mac. “This is turning into quite the adventure.”

  They followed Trujillo past the house into a field. The remains of a rail fence marked what could have been a corral, but Mac wasn’t sure. Beyond the fence was a gigantic spruce tree. And as they approached it, Mac spotted three stone markers at its base. He bent to study them.

  Ora Nell Hurston. The other two were impossible to read.

  Trujillo spoke up. “I don’t know whether you remember it or not, but that name was also on the boardinghouse record.”

  “You think they stayed there together and then somehow ended up being buried here?” Joiner kicked at a clod of dirt.

  “That’s what’s so frustrating. The only record I have of a Mason Dixon Temple after he left Arizona is that boardinghouse register. Her name is on it, too, and then her grave is here with two others we can’t decipher.”

  “Have you checked her out?” Mac asked.

  “No living relatives. She was born and raised in Albuquerque, taught school there, never married. It’s unclear what brought her to Santa Fe or how she died.”

  “What about this land? Why is she buried here?”

  Trujillo motioned toward the dilapidated building. “That was the boardinghouse.”

  Joiner picked up a rock and threw it into the ruins.

  Mac sighed. “Whatever happened here, we’ll never know. And it may not even matter. It’s a weak link at best. Without finding Pap’s grave, definitively, there will never be any closure.”

  “I’m sorry, Mac,” Trujillo said. “I wish I had more for you.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  STELLA SCOUT TEMPLE, with Lilianna in her arms, opened her front door in yoga pants and a stained UT Polo T-shirt. She wore no makeup. Still, with her dancing brown eyes and tousled gold hair in its pixie cut, she intimidated Jacqueline as she ushered her into the large rustic home.

  “How are you? How was your day?” Stella asked, directing Jacqueline to the leather couch and then settling herself into the calfskin rocker adjacent to it.

  Jacqueline crossed her legs. “I’m fine. Good. It was a good day.” She suddenly felt overdressed in her aubergine jumpsuit.

  “Make yourself comfortable. Kick off your boots and stay awhile.” Stella smiled at her, lifting her shirt to nurse the baby.

  Jacqueline averted her eyes. As much for something to do as it was to get more comfortable, she unzipped her boots and slipped them off. It did feel good to wriggle her toes.

  “How has your time been with Joiner away?” she asked.

  Stella blew her bangs out of her eyes. “It’s been interesting. I think Lily has missed him. She’s not sleeping as well at night as she was before—which results in me not sleeping as well. We’re both ready for him to get home.”

  Jacqueline smiled and nodded. Stella, Joiner and Lily seemed to her like parts of an atom, so inextricably bound together it was almost impossible to separate them. It must have been hard for him to be away.

  “And you? Have you missed Mac?” Stella was nothing if not direct.

  “I have. Of course, it’s quiet around the office, but it’s pretty quiet for me otherwise, too, with him gone.” Jacqueline tugged at her earring. “Thank you for inviting me over.”

  “I’m so glad you could come.”

  “Are you hungry? Alma actually brought lunch to the office today, and we had lots of leftovers.”

  A smile spread across Stella’s face. “Mmm, Alma food! Say no more! Let’s do it!”

  “I’ll go get it out of my car. I don’t know why I didn’t bring it in.”

  “You were holding out on me!” Stella laughed mischievously, and the sound was contagious.

  “Caught me,” Jacqueline joked back.

  When she returned from her car, she took the food into the kitchen to warm it.

  “There’s tea in the fridge,” Stella called from the great room. “Just make yourse
lf at home.”

  Jacqueline snooped around the kitchen until she found a tray. On it she placed two plates with two tacos carne asada and sliced avocado on the side. She poured Stella a glass of tea and herself some water, then found forks. There were linen napkins in a drawer.

  “Wow! This is great service,” Stella said when Jacqueline brought the tray and set it down on the coffee table. “Although I didn’t invite you over to work.”

  “It’s nothing,” Jacqueline said. “You can thank Alma for the food.”

  “I will,” Stella said, managing to take a bite of her taco without unlatching Lilianna from her breast. “We’ve been very spoiled with Alma’s cooking since the baby came.”

  “I bet. She loves to take care of her boys, doesn’t she?”

  Stella nodded. “She’s pretty amazing. I’m so glad Joiner—and all of them—have her.”

  Jacqueline agreed.

  “You know,” Stella said, “my mother passed away when I was a teenager. It’s something Joiner and I have in common.”

  “Yes, I knew that, and I’m so sorry. Mac told me the baby is named after her, and after their mother.” Combining Lily and Anna was such a beautiful idea and tribute.

  “We thought so. Losing your mother—it’s a loss, a sadness in your heart that never goes away,” Stella said wistfully. “But at least I still have my father, and we’re very close. Those poor guys lost both of their parents. I don’t know what they’d have done without Alma and Felix. Are both of your parents still living?”

  Jacqueline took a sip of her water. “They are. They’re in North Carolina working with a foundation that preserves wild horses.”

  “Oh, that’s right. I knew that but forgot. Joiner told me he plans on consulting with them.”

  “Mac mentioned that. It would be great.”

  “What are they like? I mean, what was your life like growing up?”

  “Those are probing questions.” She chuckled nervously. Jacqueline didn’t know whether Stella was interested in getting to know her as a friend or if she was being vetted for a position in the Temple clan. She guessed it could possibly be both.