26. Chapter 26 #3
His brows pinched together in confusion as he looked warily at me. There was no way to explain my situation to him, so I kept it simple.
“I wasn’t free to leave.”
The suspicion in his expression eased a fraction. That much, at least, made sense to him.
“Who do you need to call?”
“My people. They’re already in El Salvador looking for me.” Lachlan answered candidly.
The farmer’s grip tightened on his gun. “Are they armed?”
“Aye. I’m sure of it.”
The farmer’s expression hardened again.
“But they won’t come here. Let me use a phone, and I’ll arrange to meet them somewhere else. Your family and your land stay out of it.”
“And if Delgado’s men find you here first?”
“We only need one phone call.” Lachlan didn’t hesitate. “I won’t let anyone hurt your family for helping us.”
For several seconds, the only sounds were insects and leaves moving overhead.
Then the farmer glanced toward the mountain again.
“Ciro’s men have brought enough trouble here.” His English was careful, but there was no mistaking the bitterness in his voice. “They take harvests. Trucks. Sons when they need drivers. Sometimes daughters when one of them sees a girl he wants.”
A shiver ran through me.
I’d spent my entire life inside Finca La Cruzona without understanding how far Ciro’s cruelty reached beyond its walls.
“I’m sorry.”
The farmer’s attention returned to me.
“You did these things?”
“No. Never.”
“Then do not apologize for him.”
I had no answer to that.
He looked toward the mountain again. “Ciro Delgado is dead. That is good news. His men fighting each other may be even better.”
Only then did his gun finally lower toward the ground.
“My cousin José is a permanent deacon at Capilla Nuestra Senora del Refugio, a few kilometers from here. There is a telephone there, and José will know somewhere you can stay out of sight.”
Relief came so suddenly that I had to swallow before I could answer.
A telephone meant Lachlan could finally make contact with Lucian and the men searching for him.
Since yesterday, we’d been running and hiding with no way to tell anyone where we were.
Now we finally could—and hope they could find a way to get us out.
The farmer glanced toward the fading light. “If we’re going to reach the chapel before it’s fully dark, we need to move.”
His attention shifted to Lachlan. “The guns stay where they are. If you reach for one, I shoot.”
Lachlan nodded once. “Fair.”
The farmer motioned with his pistol. “You walk in front of me. Both of you. Stay on the path, and keep your hands where I can see them.”
“Understood,” Lachlan said.
Lachlan moved beside me, and we started down the path the farmer had indicated. He followed several paces behind us, directing us whenever the path divided, his gun still in his hand. He had agreed to help, but he clearly hadn’t decided to trust us. I couldn’t blame him.
We followed a series of narrow paths through the farmland while the sun sank behind the mountain. The golden light faded quickly beneath the trees, and by the time a small white chapel appeared ahead, evening had settled over the area.
A modest house stood across from it, warm light glowing through its windows. The smell of onions, fresh tortillas, and something savory simmering on the stove reached us before we made it to the front porch.
My stomach grumbled loud enough to remind me how little we had eaten.
A dog began barking somewhere near the front of the house as we approached.
The door opened, and a moment later, another man stepped outside, looking toward the sound. Silver threaded his dark hair, and a pair of reading glasses rested on top of his head.
“José,” the farmer called.
The man’s attention shifted from the dog to us, and his expression changed immediately.
José’s gaze swept over us, then dropped to the pistol the farmer still held.
“What’s going on, Miguel?”
Miguel gave him the short version in rapid Spanish, explaining that we had escaped La Cruzona, Ciro Delgado was dead, and we needed a telephone to contact those who were searching for us.
José listened without interrupting, his face tightening as Miguel spoke.
Beside us, Miguel finally slipped his pistol back under his shirt.
Before José could respond, a woman appeared behind him.
She took one look at the two of us.
“Madre de Dios.”
“Rosa—” José began.
“Whatever happened can be explained inside.” She stepped out onto the porch, waving us in. “They’re injured, and they look like they’ve gone through hell and back.”
I glanced at Lachlan. He gave me a small nod, and we started toward the porch.
“Come in,” she said, already turning toward the door. “You can talk after you eat.”
Rosa didn’t know who we were or what trouble might have followed us to her door, yet her first instinct was to feed us.
The simple kindness of it left me momentarily speechless.
“Thank you,” I managed. “Really. Thank you.”
Rosa waved away my gratitude. “The church teaches us to help those in need.”
Lachlan’s hand settled briefly at the small of my back, and together we climbed the steps and went inside.