A South Texas Christmas

Later that same day in Aztec, New Mexico, Neil Rankin was about to step out of his law office to head to the Wagon Wheel Café for lunch when his secretary answered the phone.

Pausing at the door, he said, “I’m already gone.”

Scowling at him, Connie grabbed the receiver with one hand and held up the other in a gesture for him to wait.

“What did you say your name was? Miss—” She quickly scribbled on a pad, then pushed it around for Neil to read.

Darla’s photo!

Neil rolled his eyes. This past week he’d had more than a dozen calls pertaining to Darla’s photo and all the callers had been certified nut cases. He wasn’t in the mood to deal with another one. Not when his stomach was growling and the sheriff of San Juan County, who also happened to be a good buddy, was waiting to have lunch with him.

“Quito is already at the Wagon Wheel,” he mouthed to Connie. “Take the caller’s name and I’ll call back.”

Connie shook her head at him. “Of course he’ll speak with you, Ms. Crockett. Just a minute and I’ll transfer you to his personal line.”

With her palm tightly clamped over the receiver, she jabbed the phone in his direction. Neil cursed beneath his breath. He wasn’t a detective. He was a lawyer who normally dealt with simple cases like writing wills or reading abstracts. Dealing with inquiries about an ice cold missing persons’ case was not his style.

But Neil had taken on the task to help his childhood friend, Linc Ketchum. The rancher had gone without a word from his estranged mother for nearly twenty-five years. It had been only recently that Linc’s new bride had encouraged her husband to search for the lost woman.

As for Neil, he didn’t hold a lot of hope for finding Darla Carlton, but he was a man who stood by his promises and he’d assured Linc and Nevada that he wouldn’t stop looking until he’d turned over every stone on the path.

“This one sounds legitimate, Neil,” Connie said with a rush of excitement. “This is what you’ve been waiting for. I can feel it in my bones.”

“You’re going to be feeling something else in your bones if I plant my boot in your backside,” he warned jokingly, while silently hoping that Connie was right. He was getting mighty tired of all the false leads he’d gotten since this search for Linc’s mother had started.

Connie chuckled at her boss’s harmless threat. “You’re too much of a sweetheart to do something so mean, Neil. It’s why I’ve worked for you for the past ten years.”

Groaning, he grabbed the phone from his secretary’s plump hand. “Neil Rankin here.”

“Uh, this is Raine. Raine Crockett. I’m calling about the article you put in the paper—about the woman you’re searching for.”

The voice sounded light and sweet and young, and the thought quickly ran through his mind that a mischievous teenager might be on the other end of the line.

“Okay. Where are you calling from, Ms. Crockett?”

After a short pause she said, “The Sandbur Ranch. It’s located north of Goliad, Texas. Do you know where that is?”

There was an eager note in her question, as though she was hoping she’d found a transplanted Texan on the other end of the phone. The idea put a faint smile on Neil’s face. “Sorry, Ms. Crockett. I’ve only visited Texas twice in my lifetime and both times were to Dallas.”

“Oh. Well, I’m far from Dallas, Mr. Rankin. The ranch is about fifty miles south of San Antonio.”

The mention of the Alamo city caught his attention and he planted his hip on the corner of the desk while he picked up a notepad and motioned for Connie to hand him a pen.

“I see,” he said to the young woman. “So what prompted you to call me, Ms. Crockett? Do you know Darla Carlton or Jaycee?”

“No. At least, I don’t think so. I’m calling—well, to be honest, I’m not sure I should have called you at all. I could be wasting your time.”

“Don’t worry about it. No one else does,” he said with false cheeriness.

Connie frowned at him while he doodled on the notepad resting next to his hip.

“Okay,” the sweet voice replied. “I called you because the woman in the picture resembles my mother.”

Neil’s sandy-brown brows pulled together to form a line across his forehead. “Is your mother’s name Darla Carlton?”

“No.”

“Was she ever married to Jaycee Carlton?”

“No. Not that I’m aware of.”

“Is your mother missing?”

There was a long pause in his ear followed by a tiny sigh. The sound told Neil this woman was troubled and he realized he hated the idea. Particularly when she sounded so nice. But, hell, he could hardly help every troubled soul in the world. Even if she had the voice of an angel.

“If your mother isn’t missing, then you obviously know who she is and where she is, right?”

“Well, not exactly…”

Her words trailed away and Neil was surprised at the disappointment flooding through him. Something about this young woman had made him hope for her sake that she had a connection to Darla Carlton. But it didn’t sound as though that were the case.

“Look, Ms. Crockett, I’m sorry to cut you short, but I have a luncheon appointment. And I really don’t see any point in us continuing this conversation.”

He could hear a fierce intake of breath on the other end of the line and the next thing he expected was the sound of the receiver clicking the phone line dead. But that didn’t happen. Instead the young woman’s voice changed from sweet to clipped and cool.

“I’ve been waiting twenty-four years to find my mother’s lost identity, Mr. Rankin. Surely your lunch appointment can wait for five more minutes.”

Her words knocked the air from him and for a moment all he could do was grip the phone and stare at Connie’s curious face.

“You—what do you mean?” he finally asked in a rush.

She hesitated, then said, “It’s too complicated to go into now. Go to your lunch, Mr. Rankin. You can call me back later.”

“No! Wait!” he practically shouted. “Please don’t hang up. I’m—sorry if I seemed short. I really am interested, Ms. Crockett.”

Silence met his apology, but at least the phone line was still connected. Finally she said, “I’m sorry, too, for being so curt, Mr. Rankin. You’ve got to understand that this is difficult for me. My mother would be very upset if she found out I was doing this. And I hate going behind her back.”

“You say her identity was lost?”

“That’s right. Twenty-four years ago. But I don’t really want to go into the whole story over the telephone. Is there any way I could meet with you?”

Neil’s mind was suddenly spinning. He wanted to hear this woman’s story. “Sure we could meet. If you’re willing to travel up here to New Mexico.”

“Oh. That’s—out of the question.”

She sounded disappointed and Neil had to admit he was feeling a bit deflated himself. As a lawyer he had the impression her story needed to be explored. And as a man he would like to see for himself what sort of woman Ms. Raine Crockett was.

“Why? Is there some reason you can’t travel?” he asked.