A Texas Christmas: True Blue / A Lawman's Christmas: A McKettricks of Texas Novel

“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 on his Comanche Wells ranch, to lead them.”

“All that firepower and the government hasn’t noticed?”

“It wouldn’t do them a lot of good. Machado’s in Mexico, just over the border,” Barbara said. “They can’t mount an invasion to stop him. But they can try to find a way to be friendly without overt aid.”

“Ah. I see. I’m the goat.”

She blinked. “Excuse me?”

“They’re going to tether me out to attract the puma.”

“Puma.” She laughed. “Funny, but one of my customers said that’s what the local population calls ‘El General.’ They say he’s cunning and dangerous like a cat, but that he can purr when he wants to.” Her face softened. “For a dictator, he’s held in high esteem by most democracies. He’s intelligent, kind, he reveres women and he isn’t afraid to fight for justice.”

“Does he wear a red cape?” Rick murmured.

She shook her head. “Sorry.”

“Who’s in on this?” he asked narrowly. “Does my lieutenant know?”

“Yes,” she said. “And there’s a covert operative somewhere in your organization,” she added. “I got that tidbit from a patrol officer who has a friend on the force in San Antonio. A guy named Sims.”

“Sims.” His face closed up. “He’s got connections. And he’s a total ethical wipeout. I hate having a guy like that on the force. He got careless with a pistol and almost shot himself in the foot. He’s the reason we just had a gun safety workshop.”

“Learning gun safety is not a bad thing.”

He sighed. “I know.” He was trying to adjust to the shock of his parentage. “Why didn’t my mother tell me?” he burst out.

“She was trying to protect you. I’m certain that she would have told you eventually,” she added. “She just didn’t have time before she died.”

He grimaced. “What am I supposed to do now, walk over the border, find the general and say, hey, guess what, I’m your kid?”

“I don’t really think that would be wise,” she replied. “I’m not sure he’d believe it in the first place. Would you?”

“Now there’s a question.” He leaned back in the chair, his dark eyes focused on the tablecloth. “I suppose I could have a DNA profile done. There’s a private company that can at least rule out paternity by blood type. If mine is compatible with the general’s, it might help convince him … Wait a minute,” he added coldly. “Why the hell should I care?”

“Because he’s your father, Rick,” she said gently. “Even though he doesn’t know.”

“And the government’s only purpose in telling me is to help reunite us,” he returned angrily.