A Texas Christmas: True Blue / A Lawman's Christmas: A McKettricks of Texas Novel. Diana Palmer
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She stood up, too. “Do I have a choice?”
“You could move to Greenland and change your name.”
She made a face at him. “That’s no choice. Although I would love to visit Greenland. They have snow.”
“So do we, occasionally.”
“They have lots of snow. Enough to make many snowmen. South Texas isn’t famous for that.”
“The pie was great, by the way.”
She smiled. “Thanks. I do my best.”
“I’d have to leave town if you ever closed up,” he told her. “I can’t live in a town that doesn’t have the best food in Texas.”
“That will get you extra ice cream on your next slice of apple pie!” she promised him with a grin.
But she wasn’t grinning when she went home. It disturbed her that she was going to have to tell her son something that would devastate him. He wasn’t going to be pleased. Other than that, she didn’t know what the outcome would be. But Grier was right about one thing; it was better that the information came from his mother rather than from some bureaucrat or federal agent who had no personal involvement with Rick and didn’t care how the news affected him. It did make her feel good that so far, they hadn’t blurted it out. By hesitating, they did show some compassion.
Rick went to his mother’s home tired. It had been a long day of meetings and more meetings, with a workshop on gun safety occasioned by the accidental discharge of a pistol by one of the patrol officers. The bullet went into the asphalt but fortunately didn’t ricochet and hit anything, or anyone. The officer was disciplined but the chain of command saw an opportunity to emphasize gun safety and they took it. The moral of the story was that even experienced officers could mishandle a gun.
Privately, Marquez wondered how Officer Sims ever got through the police academy, because he was the officer involved. The same guy who’d gone on stakeout with him and Cassaway. He didn’t think a lot of the young man’s ethics and he’d heard that Sims had an uncle high up in the chain of command who made sure he kept his job. It was disturbing.
“You look worn-out,” Barbara said gently. “Come sit down and I’ll put supper on the table.”
“It’s late,” he commented, noting his watch.
“We can have supper at midnight,” she teased. “Nobody’s watching. I’ll even pull down the shades if it makes you happy.”
He laughed and hugged her. “You’re a treasure, Mom. I’ll never marry unless I can find a girl like you.”
“That’s sweet. Thanks.”
She started heating up roast beef and buttered rolls, topping off his plate with homemade potato salad. She put the plate in front of him. “Thank goodness for microwave ovens.” She laughed. “The cook’s best friend.”
“This is delicious.” He closed his eyes, savoring every bite. “I had a sandwich for lunch and I only had time to eat half of it between meetings.”
“I didn’t even eat lunch,” she said, dipping into her own roast beef.
“Why not?”
“I had a talk with Cash Grier and afterward I lost my appetite.”
He stopped eating and stared at her with narrowed eyes. “What did he tell you?”
“Something everybody knows and nobody has the guts to tell you, my darling,” she said, stiffening herself mentally. “I have some very unpleasant news.”
He put down his fork. “You’ve got cancer.” His face paled. “That’s it, isn’t it? You should have told me …!”
He got up and hugged her. “We’ll get through it together. I’ll never leave your side …”
She pulled back, flattered. “I’m fine,” she said. “I don’t have anything fatal. That isn’t what I meant. It’s about you. And your real father.”
He blinked. “My real father died not long after I was born …”
She took a deep breath. “Rick, your real father is across the border in Mexico amassing a private army in preparation for invading a South American country.”
He sat down, hard. His light olive complexion was suddenly very pale. All the gossip and secrecy suddenly made sense. The feds were all over his office, not because they were working on shared cases, but because of Rick.
“My father is General Emilio Machado,” he said with sudden realization.
Chapter Five
“My father is a South American dictator,” Rick repeated, almost in shock.
“I’m afraid so.” Barbara pulled up a chair facing him and held his hand that was resting on the table. “They made me tell you. Nobody else wanted to. I’m so sorry.”
“But my mother said my father was dead,” he repeated blankly.
“She only wanted to protect you. Machado was in trouble with the Mexican authorities when he lived in the country because he was opposed to foreign interests trying to take over key industries where he lived. He organized protests even when he was in his teens. He was a natural leader. Later, Dolores didn’t dare tell you because Machado was the head of a fairly well-known international paramilitary group and that would have made you a target for any extremist with a grudge. He was in the news a lot when you were a child.”
“Does he know?” Rick persisted. “Does he know about me?”
Barbara bit her lower lip. “No. She never told him.” She sighed. “After Cash told me who your father was, I remembered something that Dolores told me. She said your father was only fourteen when he fathered you. She was older, seventeen, and there was no chance that her family would have let her marry him. She wanted you very much. So she had you, and never even told her parents who the father was. She kept her secret. At least, until she married your stepfather. Cash said that your stepfather got the truth out of her and used it to keep her with him. She didn’t dare protest or he’d have made your real identity known. A true charmer,” she added sarcastically.
“My stepfather was a sadist,” he said quietly. “I’ve never spoken of him to you. But he made my life hell, and my mother’s as well. I got in trouble with the law on purpose. I thought maybe somebody would check out my home life and see the truth and help us. But nobody ever did. Not until you came along and offered my mother work.”
“I tried to help,” she agreed. “Dolores liked cooking for me, but your stepfather didn’t like her having friends or any interest outside of him. He was insanely jealous.”
“He also couldn’t keep a job. Money was tight. You used to sneak me food,” he recalled with a warm smile. “You even came to visit me in the detention center. My mother appreciated that. My stepfather wouldn’t let her come.”
“I knew that. I did what I could. I tried to get our police chief at the time to investigate, but he was the sort of man who didn’t want to rock the boat.” She laughed. “Can you imagine Cash Grier turning a blind eye to something like that?”
“He’d have had my stepfather pilloried in the square.” Rick smiled, then sobered. “My father is a dictator,” he repeated again. It was hard to believe. He’d spent his whole life certain that his biological father was long dead.
“A deposed dictator,” Barbara corrected. “His country is going to the dogs under its new administration. People are dying. He wants to accomplish a military coup, but he needs all the help he can get. Which brings us to our present situation,” she added. “A paramilitary group is going down to Barrera with him, including some of Eb Scott’s guys, some Europeans, one African merc and with ex-army Major Winslow Grange, Jason Pendleton’s foreman