Once a Cowboy. Linda Warren
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go.” Her blue eyes pleaded for Alex to understand.
“I’ll do my research and be very honest about my findings.”
“Thank you.” She turned to leave, then reached into the pocket of her two-piece suit. “I live here in Dallas and my parents live in Weatherford. Here are my numbers.” Maggie laid a card on the desk. “If you find anything, please call me first so I can be with my mother when you tell her.”
“I will,” Alex promised, and Maggie walked out.
She studied the card—an accountant. What a load Maggie carried being the only remaining child. That had to be hard for her, but she also seemed like a strong woman.
Alex gathered everything and put it in her briefcase. Her goal now was to breathe fresh air—cool fresh air.
The offices consisted of four rooms—a reception area, her father’s office and hers, then a storage room. With her briefcase in hand, she headed for the front door. It opened before she reached it and her father, Dirk Donovan, walked in.
“What the hell? It’s like an oven in here. Why in the hell don’t you have on the air-conditioning?”
Buck, as he was called, was an ex-police officer who stood over six feet and had a hefty frame and a sour disposition. To say they never saw eye-to-eye on anything was an understatement. Sometimes Alex questioned her sanity in going into partnership with him, but after her last assignment with the Dallas police department she needed someone who would not treat her with kid gloves. Buck certainly had never done that.
And a part of her was searching for a closer relationship with her father. She felt she barely knew this man who most people seemed to fear, including her at times. Her mother died when Alex was two so she never knew her. She yearned for a family connection, a normal life and a deeper father-daughter relationship.
They’d been partners for two years and Buck criticized, ridiculed and browbeat her at every turn. She gave as good as she got, but what did that say about her—that she was a glutton for punishment? Or maybe, like Mrs. Braxton, she still believed in fantasy, fairy tales and a happy ending.
She placed one hand on her hip. “You’re a detective. Can’t you figure out why it’s so hot in here?”
“Damn. It’s out again.”
“You got it.”
Buck swiped an arm across his forehead. “Did you call that damn repair man?”
She took a long breath. “Yes. Bert said he’d be here in the morning.”
“In the morning!” The earsplitting exclamation almost shifted the pictures on the walls. “What the hell’s the matter with him?”
“It’s July in Texas. He’s busy.”
“You have to learn to push, girl. You’re too damn soft. How many times do I have to tell you that?”
She kept her temper in check. “Feel free to push all you want. I’m going home where it’s cool.”
“Bert’ll have his ass over here by this afternoon.” Buck headed for his office, then stopped. “Who were those women I saw leaving?”
“Mrs. Helen Braxton and her daughter. She hired me to find her son.”
“What?” One eyebrow jerked upward in surprise.
“Her son was stolen from a hospital almost forty years ago when he was two days old.”
“Oh, for crying out loud. Why would you take such a case? Call her and tell her you’ve changed your mind. We’re working on those cases for the district attorney and that’s where our attention should be—where the money is. Get your head out of the clouds.”
She stiffened her backbone, which was an effort in the heat. “I have no intention of doing any such thing.”
“Don’t talk back to me, girl. Just do what I tell you. You put yourself through hell when you found that murdered girl. A cop learns never to put his heart into those kinds of cases, but you had to learn the hard way.”
She gritted her teeth until her jaw ached. “Yes. I did, but I don’t regret my involvement in the Woodly case. The perpetrator is behind bars for the rest of his insane life and the parents have finally moved on. They had another child last year. I get a card every Christmas from them. You’re right, though. I do get emotionally involved, but I’m older now and much stronger, especially after working with you.”
He nodded, taking the words as a compliment. “I told you I’d put some grit in your gizzard.”
Alex grimaced. “That sounds very painful. I’d rather have chocolate in my gizzard; it’s a whole lot sweeter.”
“Heaven forbid.” Buck rolled his eyes. “Women!”
“And just so you understand me—I’ll work on any case I want. If I get emotionally involved, well, that’s my choice.”
Her response was met with a scowl, but no scathing remarks were forthcoming.
“Mrs. Braxton thinks she’s already found her son. I just have to prove that this man is or isn’t the right man. Very easy case.”
“Just make sure it doesn’t interfere with our work.”
“I’ll do it in my spare time. It’s not like I have a social life or a family.”
“If you moved out on your own, maybe you would.”
“And who would keep you and Naddy from killing each other?”
“Your grandmother can hold her own, she doesn’t need you to protect her.”
Nadene and Buck did not have a typical mother-son relationship. Buck was the result of a teenage pregnancy and Naddy had been married so many times that it was hard to keep track.
Her grandmother drank, smoked and loved to have a good time. Though Buck was a lot like her, he did not appreciate those qualities in his mother. As a bail bondsman, Naddy had led a colorful life. At seventy-eight, she was now retired. Her days were spent surfing the Internet for criminals. She did a lot of research on missing children and had even helped to find a couple.
When Alex was younger she used to wish her grandmother was more conventional, yet she had always been comforted by the thought that whatever she had to go through in this world, Naddy would be behind her all the way.
“Thought the old battle-ax would have moved out by now.” Buck’s voice brought her back to the conversation. “Hell, she’s gone ten years without getting married. That has to be a record.”
“She’s getting older. I think Naddy is with us to stay.”
“Ain’t that a helluva thing. She was never there for me as a kid and now I’m supposed to take care of her.”
Alex watched the man who was her father. With his crew cut hairstyle, shaggy gray eyebrows, slant for a mouth and sagging features, Buck Donovan was as hard as they come. Naddy had a part in making him that way but Alex wondered what kind of feelings he had for her, his own daughter. Buck probably couldn’t define them himself. And asking him would be a mortal sin, she was sure.
She caught his eyes. “She was there for me when my mother died. Doesn’t that count for something?”
“Maybe. Might be the only reason she’s still in my house.”
That comment was like a crumb to a starving person and she savored it as such. Those crumbs were few and far between.
“I’ll see you at home.”
Was she pathetic or what? Thirty-four years old and still living at home with her father and her grandmother. She needed a life. Bad.
SHE NEGOTIATED the Dallas traffic the same way she’d handled her father—with a large dose of patience and gritted teeth. She turned off US-75