Borders of the Heart Read Free Page B

glowed, but that was the power of the bean. J. D. felt it too.
    “Where are they?” Slocum said.
    J. D. hadn’t seen the cattle, but he told him where he thought they’d be, at the back fence line where there was still a semblance of grazing.
    “I need to get a new protein lick over by the canyon bottom. They’ve gone through that grass like a fire.” Slocum said it like he expected him to run back right away.
    J. D. put his foot on a wooden step. “I was thinking of heading into town.”
    “What you need in town? You remember we’re slaughtering chickens later this morning. It’s all hands on deck.”
    He couldn’t think of anything to say that would convince the man. “Just need to go.”
    “Still got that pump to work on too. We don’t get water moving in the line, we’re gonna lose every one of them Tohono O’odham melons. Most of that cabbage is done burnt.”
    Nora Slocum came out, wiping her hand on her apron, carrying a Ball jar of water from the refrigerator. He could tell because it was misty on the side, water beading.
    “Cooper said you wanted a drink,” Nora said. “You want to come in and get cool for a change? Eat your breakfast with us?”
    J. D. took the water and drank a little. “That’s kind of you, ma’am, but I think I’ll take it over to my place if that’s all right.”
    “Suit yourself,” she said, shaking her head and turning.
    A roadrunner bounced between the barn and the house and paused before darting into the desert. The two men watched it silently until Slocum spoke again.
    “You up to doing the market by yourself tomorrow?”
    “I expect so. Just give me the list of prices.”
    “Last WWOOFer we let do this ran off with the money box. Never did see him again.”
    J. D. had heard that story a dozen times, plus the one about the guy from France who had tallied up a six-hundred-dollar phone bill before heading west. They had another kid from California they let drive their truck. He raised their insurance by smashing the side of a Porsche at the Harkins Theatre off I-19.
    “We’ll load the meat after supper tonight,” Slocum said. “Vegetables and salsa in the morning.”
    J. D. nodded and smiled. “You two going on vacation?”
    “What’s a vacation? I don’t even know the meaning of the word.”
    Nora brought J. D.’s plate in one hand, wrapped in cellophane. Eggs with salsa and diced potatoes. She threw spicesonto whatever she cooked like they would go bad if she didn’t. In the other hand was half a melon with a grapefruit spoon in it, also wrapped in cellophane.
    “Thank you, ma’am.”
    “What time will you be back?” Slocum said.
    “Won’t take long. Before chicken-slaughter time.”
    “See to it,” Slocum said. “And if you’re headed for the liquor store, get me a twelve-pack.”
    When he returned to the shack, the woman was sitting up, moving the handcuff back and forth on her wrist. He handed her the Ball jar, and she drank the whole thing in one gulp. He held out the plate and pulled the cellophane away from the melon. She shook her head.
    “Go on and eat it. You gotta be hungry.”
    She studied her wrist.
    “Comer. Para ti.”
    She looked up at him with those eyes, big and brown and a world of hope behind them. Or maybe it was fear he saw. She took the plate and stabbed her fork into the potatoes, cut the eggs and ate around the salsa, then went ahead and scarfed it down too.
    He offered her the melon but she waved him off. He put it in the small, empty refrigerator and turned. “I want to get you to a doctor.”
    Her brow furrowed. “¿Médico? No. No quiero médico.”
    “You’re dehydrated, all scratched up, and I . . .”
    She stared at him like he was an alien from another world.
    “ No miedo. I can find a médico . Somebody safe. Seguro. ¿Comprende ? ”
    She shook her head and rattled off something in Spanish sofast that his head spun, but her voice . . . it was like an angel talking. Crisp and fluent and