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

She was teasing, because he was still as trim as men ten years his junior, and nicely muscled.

      He pursed his lips and his black eyes twinkled. “As you can see, I’m running to fat.”

      She laughed. “That’ll be the day.”

      He studied her quietly. “Can you sit down for a minute?”

      She looked around. The lunchtime rush was over and there were only a couple of cowboys and an elderly couple in the café. “Sure.” She sat down across from him. “What can I do for you?”

      He sipped coffee. “I’ve been enlisted to get some information to your son without telling him anything.”

      She blinked. “That’s a conundrum.”

      “Isn’t it?” He put down the coffee cup and smiled. “You’re a very intelligent woman. You must have some suspicions about his family history.”

      “Thanks for the compliment. And yes, I have a lot.” She studied his hard face. “I overheard some feds who ate here talking about Dolores Ortíz and her connection to General Machado. Dolores worked for me just briefly. She was Rick’s birth mother.”

      “Rick’s stepfather was a piece of work,” he said coldly. “I’ve heard plenty about him. He mistreated livestock and was fired for it on the Ballenger feedlot. Gossip is that he did the same to his stepson.”

      Her face tautened. “When I first adopted him, I lifted my hand to smooth back his hair—you know, that thing mothers do when they feel affectionate. He stiffened and cringed.” Her eyes were sad. “That’s when I first knew that there was a reason for his bad behavior. I’ve never hit him. But someone did.”

      “His stepfather,” Grier asserted. “With assorted objects, including, once, a leather whip.”

      “So that’s where he got those scars on his back,” she faltered. “I asked, but he would never talk about it.”

      “It’s a blow to a man’s pride to have something like that done to him,” he said coldly. “Jackson should have been sent to prison on a charge of child abuse.”

      “I do agree.” She hesitated. “Rick’s last name is Marquez. But Dolores said that was a name she had legally drawn up when Rick was seven. I never understood.”

      “She didn’t dare put his real father’s name on a birth certificate,” he replied. “Even at the time, his dad was in trouble with the law in Mexico. She didn’t want him to know about Rick. And, later, she had good reason to keep the secret. She married Craig Jackson to give Rick a settled home. She didn’t know what sort of man he was until it was too late,” he added coldly. “He knew who Rick’s real father was and threatened to make it public if Dolores left him. So she stayed and Rick paid for her silence.”

      Barbara was feeling uncomfortable. “Would his real father happen to be an exiled South American dictator, by any chance?”

      Grier nodded.

      “Oh, boy.”

      “And nobody can tell him, because a certain federal agency is hoping to talk him into being a go-between for them, to help coax Machado into a comfortable trade agreement with our country when he gets back into power. Which he certainly will,” he added quietly. “The thug who took over his government has human rights advocates bristling all over the world. He’s tortured people, murdered dissenters, closed down public media outlets … In general, he’s done everything possible to outrage anyone who believes in democracy. At the same time, he’s pocketing money from sources of revenue and buying himself every rich man’s perk that he can dream up. He’s got several Rolls-Royce cars, assorted beautiful women, houses in most affluent European cities and his own private jet to take him to them. He doesn’t govern so much as he flaunts his position. Workers are starving and farmers are being forced to grow drug crops to support his extravagant lifestyle.” He shook his head. “I’ve seen dictators come and go, but that man needs a little lead in his diet.”

      She knew what he was alluding to. “Any plans going to take care of that?” she mused.

      “Don’t look at me,” he warned. “I’m retired. I have a family to think about.”

      “Eb Scott might have a few people who would be interested in the work.”

      “Yes, he might, but the general isn’t lacking for good help.” He glanced up as one of Barbara’s workers came, smiling, to refill his coffee cup. “Thanks.”

      She grinned. “You’re welcome. Boss lady, you want some?”

      Barbara shook her head. “Thanks, Bess, I’m already flying on a caffeine high.”

      “Okay.”

      “So who has to do the dirty work and tell Rick the truth?” Barbara asked.

      Grier didn’t speak. He just smiled at her.

      “Oh, darn it, I won’t do it!”

      “There’s nobody else. The feds have forbidden their agents to tip him off. His lieutenant knows, but he’s been gagged, too.”

      “Then how in the world do they expect him to find out? Why won’t they just tell him?”

      “Because he might get mad at them for being the source of the revelation and refuse to cooperate. And there isn’t anybody else they can find to do the job of contacting Machado.”

      “They could ask Grange,” Barbara said stubbornly. “He’s already working for the general, isn’t he?”

      “Grange doesn’t know.”

      “Why me?” she groaned. “He’ll be furious!”

      “Yes, but you’re his mother and he loves you,” he replied. “If you tell him, he’ll get over it. He might even be receptive to helping the feds. If they tell him, he’ll hold a grudge and they’ll never find anyone halfway suitable to do the job.”

      She was silent. She stared at the festive tablecloth worriedly.

      “It will be all right,” he assured her gently.

      She looked up. “We’ve already had a disagreement recently.”

      “You have? Why?” he asked, surprised, because Rick’s devotion to his adopted mother was quite well-known locally.

      She grimaced. “His lieutenant gave the new detective, Gwen Cassaway, a rose, and I mentioned it in a teasing way. He went ballistic and I hung up on him. He won’t admit it, but I think he’s got a case on Gwen.”

      “Well!” he mused.

      That was a new and interesting proposition. “Couldn’t she tell him?” she asked hopefully.

      “She’s been cautioned not to.”

      She sighed. “Darn. Does everybody know?”

      “Rick doesn’t.”

      “I noticed.”

      “So you have to tell him. And soon.”

      “Or what?”

      He leaned forward. “Or six government agencies will send operatives down here to disparage your apple pie and accuse you of subverting government policy by using organic products in your kitchen.”

      She burst out laughing. “Yes, I did hear that a SWAT team of federal agents raided a farm that was selling unpasteurized milk. Can you believe that? In our country, in this day and time, with all the real problems going on, we have to send armed operatives against people living in a natural harmony with the earth?”

      “You’re kidding!” he exclaimed.

      “I wish I was,” she replied. “I guess we’re all going to be force-fed Genetically Modified Organisms from now on.”

      He burst out laughing. “You