Immune (The Rho Agenda #2)(148)

A lean, handsome man in a brown leather bomber jacket and khaki slacks stepped out of the SUV and removed his sunglasses. Jack!

“Uncle Jack! Uncle Jack!” The excited yells of the two Robertson grandchildren drifted across the fields in an echo of Heather’s own feelings. Jack grinned as he bent down to scoop them both up, laughing as the two girls wrapped their arms around his neck, covering his cheeks with kisses.

“What did you bring us?”

The universal question brought a smile to Heather’s lips. Even with the Spartan self-discipline the Mennonite lifestyle taught, kids were kids. As she got closer she could see Jack reach into his jacket and pull out two small bags of Hershey’s Kisses, handing one to each child and then placing a conspiratorial finger to his lips. The chocolates immediately disappeared somewhere inside their skirt pockets. Then, with their chocolate treats calling them to a more private place, they raced off, each stopping for one last wave before disappearing around the largest of the barns.

Jack’s eyes caught Heather as she stepped onto the gravel driveway, the warmth of his smile setting her at ease in a way that surprised her. Instead of the awkwardness that usually came with reunions, the bear hug with which he embraced her just felt right. Not exactly like family. More like the celebratory hug of a teammate after you scored the winning goal.

As he stepped back, his eyes swept her appraisingly.

“Let’s see. Tan face. Strong, tan arms. Farm life seems to fit you well.”

Heather nodded. “The Robertsons have been fabulous. They’ve treated us just like family.”

Jack laughed. “Meaning they put you to work.”

“Exactly,” said Mark as he and Jennifer rounded the corner.

“Ah, I was wondering where the other two amigos had run off to,” Jack said, hugging Jennifer, then gripping forearms with Mark in a way that reminded Heather of some old Viking movie.

“Can I help you with your bag?” Mark asked.

“Not necessary. As a matter of fact, you’re the ones who need to start packing. After I visit with Norma and Colin for a bit, I’ll be taking you all with me.”

Heather asked the question before either Mark or Jennifer could open their mouths. “Taking us? Where are we going?”

Once again, Jack smiled that devilish smile of his. Heather had a momentary flashback to the first night they had met Jack and Janet Johnson at her house. And although the memory was tinged with sadness, she had to admit, being around the man made you feel good to be alive.

“Oh, didn’t I tell you? We’re going to my ranch.”

“You have a ranch? In Bolivia?”

“Long story. I’ll tell you about it on the way. Don’t worry. We’ll have plenty of time for that on the world’s crookedest straight road.”

The front door of the house opened, and Norma Robertson leaned out, her gray hair elegantly pinned back beneath a small, round cap.

“Jack Frazier! Are you going to stand outside talking with your young friends or come in and have a proper visit?”

Jack winked at Heather and then strode to the door as they trailed along behind him.

“Never fear, Nana. I was just saying how we should step inside.”

“Humph. I could see that.” Despite her mock reprimand, the older woman hugged Jack like a long-lost son. “Please come in. I’ve sent Jonny to fetch Colin. Oh, and you are staying for dinner, so there will be no arguments.”

“Wouldn’t think of it,” said Jack as they all moved inside the two-story farmhouse.

Dinner. Heather had taken a while to get accustomed to calling lunch dinner and dinner supper. Regardless, it passed too quickly: mutton, biscuits, and yucca, a fried potato-like Bolivian tuber that Heather loved. Then as Jack, Colin, and Norma retired to the sitting room for their private conversation, Heather, Mark, and Jennifer returned to their rooms to pack.

Almost before they knew it, they had changed out of their Mennonite clothes and into jeans, tennis shoes, and T-shirts, had said their good-byes and thank-yous, and were turning off the Robertsons’ dirt road and back onto the highway that led northeast, toward San Javier. Mark rode shotgun beside Jack while Heather and Jennifer occupied the backseat, their bags filling the Explorer’s rear.

It didn’t take long before they understood why Jack had called it the world’s crookedest straight road. For two hours, Jack swerved across both lanes of the highway, dodging deep potholes that covered the straight two-lane highway. And he wasn’t alone. Like some sort of snake mating ritual, both directions of traffic swerved in and out as they moved toward and past each other, only straightening out at the last second to avoid head-on collisions.

“Were you serious about owning a ranch?” Mark asked.

Jack nodded. “I’ve owned it for the last eight years.”

“How did you get it?”

“An acquaintance gave it to me.”

“Gave it to you?” Jennifer interrupted.

“Well, I guess you could say he owed me. Anyway, he was a prominent member of the government, and when an elderly German with a somewhat soiled early life died suddenly, my friend discovered that I was the only heir. Down here people know me as Jack Frazier.”

“Wow! Some acquaintance. What did he owe you?”

“His life.”

Mark laughed. “Well that explains a lot.”