by Ann Logan
“Unfortunately, I could exercise no influence over her in those days. She lost her heart and her sanity to Carlos Fuentes. The Fuentes men are so extraordinarily handsome it has even given rise to the superstitious rumor that Lucifer founded the Fuentes family. They are very possessive and keep their women secluded from society.”
“But that’s almost medieval,” Mercy said, looking shocked.
Chamorro nodded. “After Sylvia and Carlos were married, I could not even see her. At first, I think she felt flattered by Carlos’s possessiveness, but she later told me she came to see it as a form of bondage. I doubt you would enjoy being part of that harem.” He looked pointedly at her.
“I agree I have a mind of my own,” Mercy said, laughing, “but where does Papa’s family live?”
“I will let Sylvia tell you the rest.”
Wulf sensed Chamorro’s evasiveness. Unfortunately, Mercy was drinking it all up like water on a hot day. Her need for family he could understand. He’d been an only child, too.
They left the building minutes later and piled into Ramon’s limo along with two security guards, both brandishing automatic weapons. Wulf tried to catch Mercy’s eye, but she purposely ignored him. Why did Chamorro need so much security? To protect himself from Adolph and the Fuentes family? Maybe, but it didn’t ring true for some reason.
They picked up their bags from Steiger Oil’s private jet, climbed into the Chamorro family jet, and taxied down the runway, all in the space of about thirty-five minutes. Everything happened in such a blur Mercy wondered if she’d ever have a normal life again.
Since meeting Wulf in Hazel’s office, her life had changed dramatically. Airports and private planes were common place to her now. She looked around with concern—it felt so luxurious, so decadent to travel so effortlessly. Maybe she wasn’t mousy Mercy anymore, but she didn’t belong in this rarefied atmosphere either.
They enjoyed a light meal on Ramon’s jet. What kind of business was Ramon in that allowed him to maintain such an expensive lifestyle? But the thought flew out the window once they arrived at the Chihuahua airport, her excitement overshadowing her reservations. She could hardly wait to see her grandmother.
A long black limo pulled up beside the jet, and a man in a business suit got out. He looked vaguely familiar, but Mercy couldn’t decide why until she realized he was a younger, taller, handsomer version of her Uncle Ramon. He introduced himself as Mario, Ramon’s third and youngest son.
Mercy liked him immediately, from his self-effacing smile to his Old World manners, so much like Ramon’s.
Wulf gritted his teeth as he watched Mercy greet her cousin. It was all he could do to restrain himself from bashing the young man’s face in. Furthermore, he didn’t like the way he kept holding Mercy’s hand, either. What was the need for that? His glare at the man earned him nothing but a smile and a wink. Hell, he hadn’t felt this jealous since Ben Ryder had danced that one dance with Mercy at the going-away party back in Texas.
During the forty-five-minute ride to the Chamorro ranch, Ramon treated them to a narrative history of the Chamorro family: Their ancestors had come directly from Spain and had raised horses for almost four hundred years.
“It doesn’t hurt that there is plenty of oil and gas on the ranch, too,” Mario explained with another wink at Wulf. “That’s what supports all those thoroughbred racing horses.”
“Don’t forget that it is the thoroughbreds I started raising many years ago that have earned all the awards and prizes for the Chamorro ranch,” Ramon interjected.
“I can’t wait to see the horses,” Mercy said. “Mama was an excellent equestrienne. She taught me everything I know.”
“I’m anxious then for you to see my horses,” Ramon responded.
“He knows each one by name,” Mario teased, “just like some Old World Spanish grandee. Watch out that he doesn’t bore you to death with their statistics.” Even Wulf had to admit Chamorro did, indeed, resemble an old grandee. He obviously loved the role as much as his land and his racing stock.
It annoyed Wulf that he was beginning to like Mario, even though he kept touching Mercy in that typical Latin fashion. Quickly sandwiching himself in the conversation between Mario and Mercy, he took control for the rest of the ride. Mario was knowledgeable about the gas and oil side of the ranch, so they had a lot to discuss. If there was one thing Wulf knew, it was the oil and gas industry.
The grandeur and understated elegance, particularly the landscape lighting of the shrubbery and trees surrounding the adobe walls, impressed and delighted Mercy.
Ramon escorted her through the rancho gates, letting Mario and Wulf follow behind them. It’s almost too much to take in, she thought as she entered the large wooden patio gates of the hacienda. The beautiful old patio with its red brick tiles provided the perfect complement to the lush shrubs and plants hanging from the eaves and branches of the trees. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, inhaling the cornucopia of floral scents.
“It’s beautiful,” she said, opening her eyes and smiling at Ramon.
He inclined his head. “It is your home.”
The silver-haired old woman who stood in front of them with tears in her eyes had to be her grandmother. Mercy walked right into her outstretched arms.
Disconcerted, Wulf watched their embrace. Until now, Mercy had depended on him. Now she had a whole family to rely on. Why would she need him?
He eyed Ramon and Mario. Although Ramon’s face held no expression, Mario was grinning from ear to ear.
Grandmother Sylvia pushed herself away from Mercy without relaxing her grip. “Have you eaten yet, nieta?” she asked.
“We ate a lovely dinner on the plane, thank you.”
“Then Ramon and Mario will entertain your young man and show him to his room while I show you to yours.” She tugged Mercy along after her. Sylvia tucked Mercy’s hand in the crook of her arm and started from the room. “We have much to talk about.”
“Wait just a minute,” Wulf said, pulling Mercy back. “We need to talk,” he said as he dragged her out into the shadows of the patio.
“What about?”
“I don’t like it. I want you where I can see you.”
Mercy’s face froze, her words cold as ice. “This is Mexico! We do not stay together in one room unless we are married.”
“I don’t care. I still don’t like it.”
“You don’t have to worry about me. This is my family.” She turned back to her grandmother. Wulf almost hit the adobe wall in frustration. For right now, he would let her go with her grandmother. Then he was going to get her and stay with her whether they liked it or not.
“Don’t worry about her, amigo,” he heard Mario say as he felt a hand on his shoulder. Wulf swallowed hard as he turned to face Mario. He used to be able to camouflage his feelings. Now, every time he turned around he seemed to be a seething caldron of emotions. “She is safe here,” Mario assured him. “You may be used to having her near you at night, but my aunt has prepared her bedroom in the women’s wing. Your bedroom, of course, is on the opposite side of the house.”
“What?”
Mario clicked his tongue at him. “You’re not going to force me to go through the whole, boring, macho thing, are you?”
Wulf stiffened. “I insist on seeing her again after they talk, whether you like it or not.”
“Of course,” Mario agreed readily, “but why don’t we have a drink for now, shall we?”
By the time Wulf drank the second or third sip from his glass, he knew he’d been drugged. But by then it was too late.
Chapter 12
* * *
At least tonight she would not have to fight her traitorous body, Mercy thought as she followed her grandmother to her bedroom. She would be protected from Wulf, but more importantly, she would be protected from herself!
“You mustn’t worry about your novio,” her grandmother said as they walked down the long corridor. “He’ll have you for the rest of
your life, but I have just found you, and I want you all to myself for a while.”
“We’re not really engaged,” Mercy tried to explain. Why was she having such trouble convincing everyone of that fact?
“You mean that large ring you wear on your left hand is nothing?” Her grandmother winked at her. “I see the way he looks at you and the way you look at him. I am old, but I remember much.”
“No, honestly,” Mercy protested, “we aren’t engaged anymore. I just haven’t been able to get this ring off my finger.” The pain of Wulf’s betrayal still felt like a whirlpool sucking her insides into its bottomless depths. “It was a mistake anyway,” she said. “Let’s just leave it at that.”
Sylvia smiled as they turned to the right, and walked down another long hallway to an open door.
“It’s lovely,” Mercy breathed. In spite of the dark Spanish furniture, the abundance of white eyelet linens made the room appear feminine and inviting. Large Mexican pottery planters, in a white, blue, and yellow floral pattern contained masses of flowers and exuded the same fragrant bouquet as those on the patio.
“As you can see, ever since Ramon called and and told me you were in Mexico, I’ve been planning your welcome. Now let’s make ourselves comfortable in the women’s sala.”
The sala was a large sitting room with more dark, heavy Spanish furniture, this time accented by native Indian art. The cushions, however, were soft and plush, and the huge French doors to the patio welcomed the breeze into the room. Surrounding the patio stood a white, ten-foot tall, adobe wall. Between the patio and the wall, flowers, trees, and plants of every kind brought life into the courtyard.
“What lovely landscape work,” Mercy breathed.
“Ramon’s oldest son, Fernando, is responsible. He is good, no?”
“Yes. It’s beautiful. He must have the soul of an artist.”
Her grandmother nodded. “Unfortunately, an artist is not what Ramon wanted. He wanted a businessman, but now he has Mario for that.”
“Ah, yes, Mario. He looks just like Uncle Ramon.”
“He does,” her grandmother said, nodding. “However, Mario has exceeded even Ramon’s ability to make money. Now Mario makes it, and Ramon spends it on the horses. Mario is as proud of those silly horses as Ramon is. Never let him tell you anything else.”
After asking a servant to bring drinks for them, her grandmother turned back to Mercy. “Now tell me everything.” Mercy laughed. How could she sum up everything that had happened in the last twenty-five years? Her grandmother didn’t laugh, however. She just sat there waiting.
“Well,” Mercy said, taking a deep breath. She began with a recital of her earliest memories, trying to recapture the essence of her parent’s relationship rather than just the actual events. Her grandmother nodded and smiled, as though each word about her son and his family was a precious pearl to be examined with care and marveled over.
Mercy finished with her father’s sudden auto accident during her freshman year of college. She choked on her words and looked away for a moment to regain her composure. When she looked back, her grandmother sat still as a statue, tears running down her face. Mercy swallowed hard and walked around the little table between them. She sat down beside her grandmother and silently put her arms around the old woman, feeling her frailty and sharing in the depth of her sadness.
Finally, her grandmother opened her eyes and nodded her head gently. “I knew when Pedro left I would never see him again. He was my baby, the only one of my three sons who wanted to live a decent life. Unfortunately, he could not do that and remain in Mexico. When he went away, he made enemies of his brothers. They never forgave him or me.”
“Did Uncle Ramon help him get the job in Dallas?”
“Oh, no. Pedro managed that all on his own,” she said, smiling with pride. “Ramon helped him leave the country. He has always been very family-minded. I didn’t deserve his help after the way I had acted with Carlos. I was so in love, you see, I could not or would not see what Ramon tried to tell me about him.” Her grandmother sighed deeply, looking over at the massive bureau against the wall. “I have some pictures,” she said, her face flushing. “Would you like to see them?”
“Oh, yes! The only pictures I have of my parents are from when I was a child. It’s almost as if they didn’t have a life until they became my parents.”
Her grandmother got up and walked over to the bureau, opening a drawer and bringing out two photo albums. She cradled the worn albums in her arms as she came back to the couch and sat down next to Mercy. Taking a deep breath, she opened the flap of the first album.
A younger Sylvia stared back at Mercy from the pages of the album. She stood next to a devastatingly handsome man. His dark hair was pomaded and his mustache thin and dapper. Her grandmother was beautiful in a softer, more gentle, way. The photographer had expertly captured the dreamy look in her eyes and her innocence as she gazed up at Carlos. There was nothing even remotely innocent in her grandfather’s look.
Mercy studied the picture harder, seeing features in her grandfather that reminded her of her father. But her father had never worn such an arrogant, smug look.
“What happened to my grandfather?”
“He was killed in a territorial dispute with another family. My boys, Alberto and Miguel, managed to survive. The Fuentes family won the fight, naturally.” Her grandmother shrugged. “The other family never had a chance. No one is more dangerous or ruthless than the Fuentes family. They stick together like flies on honey. Did you know that after Carlos’s death, his brothers even threatened to kill me if I left the family compound.”
“Kill you?” Mercy gasped. “Why did you never come to the United States?”
“I needed to stay here and keep the pressure on my other sons or they might have hindered Pedro’s family, even in the United States. It was through Pedro, you know, that I finally escaped from his uncles and brothers. Since then, Ramon has protected me from them. I can never leave the ranch.”
“But why?”
“Because I know too many things, things that the Fuentes family would kill to hide. What is even better, you see, is that I also have the documents to back those things up.”
“But that’s dangerous for you, isn’t it?”
“Of course, it is. However, as long as I am alive, I promise to keep them from harming you. If anything should happen to me while you are here, though, you must leave Mexico immediately. Even Ramon does not know some of the things I know. I cannot and will not tell him. Ever. Do you understand me?”
“I don’t know. What things are you talking about?”
“Things that would get people killed, things that would topple the Fuentes pyramid of power and maybe the government of Mexico.” Sylvia gripped Mercy’s hand. “It is in my best interest and yours to have this hold over them. However, if I ever let these things become public, it would mean the death of my other sons. This I cannot do. They know that. I know that. It is a balance, no?”
They spent the next half-hour going through family photos of Sylvia, Carlos, and their three children.
“I have so many cousins!”
“Yes, but only Ramon’s sons are safe to associate with.”
Mercy could only imagine how much it must have hurt her grandmother to be so estranged from her sons and their families.
“It’s amazing how much my uncles look like Papa,” Mercy said after closing the second book. She shook her head. “Such a family resemblance. It’s uncanny.”
“Yes,” Sylvia said, grimly. “All the Fuentes men are as handsome as sin, my sons and their uncles and cousins, too. Carlos was not alone in his good looks.”
“Funny you should say that. I heard that from someone else today, my granduncle Adolph.”
Her grandmother gasped. “You met that evil son of Satan?” She made the sign of the cross. “It is a miracle that you are alive. He hated Pedro. He even tried to kill him once. Dios mio! What were you thinking to have met with him?”
/> “It wasn’t exactly our idea,” Mercy said. “Adolph had us kidnapped on our way to see Uncle Ramon.”
Her grandmother exhaled. “You were lucky to get out of there alive. Do not play games with him. He is evil!”
“Believe me, I know. I felt it. It didn’t surprise me at all when he admitted murdering my mother’s mother. He made my skin crawl.” Mercy shivered in revulsion.
Her grandmother nodded. “May God have mercy on her soul.” Smiling then, she said, “I would like to talk all night with you, but I can see you are tired and need your sleep. It is time we retire. We will meet again in the morning.”
She got up and started to leave, then suddenly turned around. “Wait one moment. I have something to give you that Pedro forgot to take with him when he left. Old ladies are pack rats, no? Stay here. I will be back.”
Sylvia returned with an old photo in a heavy silver frame. The photo showed Mercy’s mother and her parents when her mother was about six or seven. Erich had a proud, haughty look but Merci looked quiet, almost demure.
“I never knew how striking my grandfather looked when he was younger,” Mercy said, remembering him as he’d appeared in Potsdam. Inspecting the picture closer, she saw that even though the photograph was in black and white, Erich’s typical German looks were distinctive. It was easy to see how light colored his hair was and how light blue his eyes were. Merci, her grandmother, on the other hand, although it was impossible to tell what color her eyes were, had lots of long, curly dark hair.
“Your grandmother was a beautiful woman,” Sylvia said. “I am sorry I never knew her.” As Mercy studied the black and white photo, she remembered again how light blue her grandfather’s eyes had been, so light a blue they almost looked like ice, the exact color of her mother’s.
She’d never seen a picture of her mother as a little girl. It was unnerving to see how much she resembled Stratton.
Finally Mercy put the picture down and turned to her grandmother. “Thank you so much,” she said, giving her a warm hug. “I don’t have any pictures of my mother’s family, except for an old one of my grandmother. You’ve given me something I’ll always treasure.”