was a two-inch minnow, and he was more traumatized than you.”
“Oh, so you think fish abuse is funny.” Her eyes were twinkling, though, so maybe she was getting over the shock of their forced landing.
“So what do you say we break out of this joint? Find out who this plantation belongs to.”
“I don’t think I can get my door open.”
“Okay, then come this way.”
The double-decker Cessna Combi-Bush was designed with the cockpit high above a deep freight compartment. Owen jumped to the ground, turned and reached for Benny’s waist. She put her hands on his shoulders and let him set her lightly down.
She frowned a bit when he didn’t immediately step back. Boy, she didn’t like to be touched. He wondered if more than water panic had been behind that scene at the river last summer. She’d fought him like a wildcat, even when they were safely in shallow water.
Suddenly, something bumped the back of his legs hard enough to buckle his knees.
“Mba-a-aaa!”
Owen looked down to find a small gray goat backing up to butt him again. “Hey!” He dodged, pulling Benny with him.
She laughed. “We invaded the earthling’s territory.”
“Looks like.” Owen danced to avoid another thrust of the underdeveloped horns.
Benny didn’t seem concerned. Standing in a shaft of dusty sunlight, she absently reached down to pet the animal’s nappy head as she surveyed their surroundings. “How’re we gonna get out of here? The plane’s blocking the door.”
“I’m surprised we didn’t knock the whole barn down.” Owen looked up to examine the tin roof. It was apparently sturdier than it appeared.
“Look, there are a bunch of loose boards over here.” Bernadette walked over to the corner and started shoving at the walls.
“Watch out! You’ll have the place falling on our heads.” Owen followed her and saw that she was right. With one good kick, he could open a space big enough for them to slip through. “Stand back, I’m gonna—”
“¿Quién está?” demanded someone outside the barn. “¡Voy a disparar!”
Benny’s big dark eyes widened. “Did he just say he’d shoot us?” She peered through a knothole in the wall and said in Spanish, “Please, señor, we’re Americans! We had to make an emergency landing, but we won’t hurt you. Can you get us out of here?”
The voice growled out a series of Spanish words. Then the boards in front of them began to splinter and fall away from the outside. Owen and Benny found themselves staring into the myopic brown eyes of an elderly Mexican gentleman carrying an equally ancient shotgun. He had apparently used it to pry loose the wall.
“You are scaring my chickens,” he said in surly Spanish, moving back so Benny could squeeze through the narrow opening. “I should charge you a hundred pesos’ compensation.”
“Reckon he’s gonna send ’em to poultry therapy?” Owen sucked in his breath to follow Benny.
She gave him a quelling look, then batted her long, curly lashes at the farmer. “We are so sorry for the inconvenience.” She glanced at the plane, stuck in the doorway of the barn for all the world like an alien spacecraft in an Ed Wood movie. “We’ve got a problem with the fuel tanks, and one of the wings is broken. We can’t move it right now. If you would be so kind as to let us leave it here until we can have someone come repair it, we’ll be glad to pay you a storage fee.”
“How am I supposed to get in to feed my animals?” The farmer folded his skinny arms without lowering the gun.
Owen decided he’d been quiet long enough. “You’ve got a nice new opening started right here. I’ll help you straighten it up and build a door.”
“I won’t pay you one peso.” The farmer’s gaze fell on Benny’s face and softened. “However, my wife will give you a good dinner before you—” he glared at Owen “—go away.”
Owen had no desire to impose himself on the farmer’s dubious hospitality any longer than absolutely necessary. He pulled Bernadette aside.
“The least I can do is repair the old guy’s chicken coop. While I’m doing that, why don’t you sweet-talk him into giving us directions to Poza Rica?”
“But that’s a big city. I think we should avoid crowds. We need to go around—”
“All right, all right. I’ll let you make that call. But sooner or later, we are going to talk.” He searched her face. Avoiding his eyes, she stood there with arms folded and one toe drawing circles in the dirt. Owen had never had any patience for puzzles. “Benny—”
“Okay, Owen.” She sighed. “I owe you an explanation. But not now.” She glanced at the farmer, whose gray brows beetled in patent suspicion. “You fix the door and I’ll see if I can come up with some other mode of transportation.”
Benny turned her beautiful smile on the farmer, who unbent enough to lower the muzzle of the gun to the ground. With Benny jabbering in enthusiastic Spanish, the two of them headed toward a small adobe house sitting on a lumpy hill about a hundred yards away.
Owen slipped back into the barn and climbed into the cockpit of the plane. Benny wouldn’t like it, but he was going to try the radio again. They’d taken off without filing a flight plan and he had to let somebody know what had happened. Otherwise, people were going to worry.
His brother, for example. Eli was a Border Patrol agent, too, and hadn’t been wild about Owen taking this little jaunt. The prototypical big brother, Eli had become a total worrywart since a month ago, when he’d taken on a wife and a couple of kids.
As if flying medical supplies across the Gulf of Mexico was any more dangerous than chasing illegal aliens and dope peddlers through the desert.
Settling into his seat and adjusting the headphones, Owen paused in the act of flipping the radio on. Come to think of it, things had turned a little dicey in the last few hours.
Oh, well. Eli would just have to get over it.
After supper, Benny sat beside her hostess on the sagging sofa in the family room, where the only light came from an oil lamp and a string of multicolored Christmas bulbs strung along the ceiling. Mariela, a tiny butterball of a woman distinguished by a gray-streaked black bun and an enormous wart on the side of her nose, had given them coffee and empanadas for dessert.
Benny wished she’d had a video camera to record Owen dealing with Gustavo and Mariela de Oca. Over a simple meal taken at their kitchen table, Owen had piled on lavish praise for the good señora’s frijoles and tamales until she wouldn’t hear of her guests continuing their odyssey without a good night’s sleep. Furthermore, he’d apparently done such a good job with the barn door that even crusty old Gustavo was ready to apply for membership in the Owen Carmichael fan club.
Trying not to wince as she sipped the strong coffee, Benny watched Owen playing el juego de damas—checkers—on the bottom of a cardboard box with their host. Gustavo sat cross-legged
