A Texas Rescue Christmas

by Caro Carson

  Her mother took her hands and kissed her on each cheek. “How was Patricia’s wedding? Did my ex-husband perform his duties adequately?” She sent a mocking look Hector’s way with that comment, to let him know that she’d found the infamous Daddy Cargill’s performance not up to her standards—unlike her dear Hector, no doubt.

  “I didn’t get to see Daddy,” Rebecca murmured, obedient and vague, as she knew she should be.

  Even as she followed her mother’s cues, her mind raced. She could see things differently now. Surely, her mother had been sleeping with Hector in Rebecca’s absence. Little Becky had flown away, and her mother must have gone to the Caribbean and done some explaining—and some apologizing. Some substituting.

  Your mother is a call girl? Trey had asked Rebecca in the cabin, trying to understand her life.

  Rebecca freed her hands from her mother’s grasp and clasped them before herself. Her mother was not a call girl, but she had used sex or the promise of sex to keep a roof over their heads and to pay for Becky’s private primary education. Rebecca found that sad and almost humbling. She ought to be grateful, but her mother had never acted like it had been a sacrifice, only a triumph.

  The part of her that was still little Becky couldn’t find it in herself to feel thankful for her mother’s triumphs. For the past six years, because of her mother’s need to keep men sexually attracted to herself, Becky had been deprived of a college education and a normal transition to adulthood. It was a sick thing, to keep another person eternally at age eighteen.

  Rebecca had made that transition to adulthood now. Survival in an ice storm had a way of changing a person. Trey had never known her as Becky. Being treated by him like she was a whole and independent person affected how she saw herself.

  “Your mother explained about your scheduling conflict.” Hector spoke from the armchair like it was his throne. “I was very disappointed not to have your company this holiday.”

  Trey!

  But Trey had stayed at the stables. He had things to do on the ranch. If he’d taken one of the horses out, he might not be back for hours. Rebecca was on her own.

  She turned her back on Hector, unwilling to engage in even the most mundane conversation with a man who only wanted her because she looked like she was underage.

  She was afraid she still looked that way. Her slacks were too long without her boots on. It was hard to look sophisticated in socks. But she was no child. She’d just seduced a cowboy. The man of her choice, handsome and strong, had been unable to resist her.

  She unclasped her hands and stopped waiting for her mother’s next move. “What do you need from me, Mother?”

  “Need from you? Don’t be silly, sweetie. I came to take you back home now that the wedding is over. Hector and I enjoyed Bimini but without you...well, it just wasn’t the same. Your sister must still be on her honeymoon, so there’s no reason for you to stay here. Patricia is gone, isn’t she?”

  Her mother was scared of Patricia Cargill. Rebecca had known that, even as a child. It was, after all, why she’d come to the James Hill Ranch: to hide behind Patricia’s wedding gown skirts.

  Rebecca felt Hector’s gaze on her, and she hid behind those skirts again. “Patricia’s out at the moment. I’m not sure when she’ll return.”

  Her mother narrowed her eyes. “She’s out?”

  “Yes.” Rebecca raised her chin and met her glare.

  “Hmm...” Her mother moved from her picturesque spot by the tree and began strolling through the room, gliding her hand along the fireplace mantel, above the Christmas garland Rebecca had hung. Her gaze moved about the room, judging, weighing, evaluating. She paused at the far end of the mantel. “The fireplace is unique, very Texas. I’m sure Patricia will keep it when she remodels. The exposed roof beams have a rustic appeal.”

  She left the fireplace to sit on the arm of Hector’s chair, a route that required her to pass Rebecca. As she brushed by Rebecca, she hissed in her ear. “She’s on her honeymoon. Don’t be an idiot.”

  Her mother perched on the armrest, forcing Rebecca to turn back around and face Hector, Mr. Ferrique, as her mother continued talking. “Patricia will keep those features, I’m sure. She’s always had a good eye. The rest will have to be gutted. You’re saying that’s where she is? At the designer’s? Well, if she’s not back by the time you’re packed, you’ll just have to leave your sister a note. Hector’s plane can’t be kept waiting forever. Go pack, sweetie.”

  “No, thank you.” Rebecca felt the significance of her stiff words. Her heart pounded, but the weight of the world seemed to lift from her shoulders. Three little words had never been so liberating. “I’ve decided to live here. I won’t be returning to Boston. I was going to send for my things.”

  That had been a tactical error. From the way her mother’s eyes narrowed, Rebecca knew she should have called the staff at the Cape Cod home and had them ship her belongings the day Trey had told her she could stay. She’d never get her things now. Not one thing.

  It’s okay. I’m going to have a job. I’ll buy my own things.

  In the meantime, she wouldn’t starve and she wouldn’t freeze, because Trey would support her.

  Just as Hector supported her mother.

  Something inside her protested that it wasn’t the same thing, but as she looked at her mother perched beside her provider, she knew the truth. Had Trey been in the room, Rebecca would have sat with him. He provided all her material needs, and she...seduced him. Kept him happy.

  She was just like her mother.

  Hector pulled back the cuff of his sweater with a neat jerk and made a show of checking the time on his Rolex. Then he rested his hand on her mother’s thigh, and drummed his fingers impatiently. Just once.

  Her mother got the message. With a quickness of mind that had always impressed Rebecca, she changed tactics.

  “I should have guessed that once a Cargill returned to Texas soil, she wouldn’t want to leave. There’s nothing more Texan than an oil baron’s daughter, is there?” She laughed her martini and diamonds laugh, letting it taper off into a sigh. “It looks like I’ve got a little family matter to address. We won’t bore you, Hector.”

  Her mother stood and threaded her arm through Rebecca’s. “Let’s take this to the kitchen, Becky. Show me where they keep the coffee.”

  * * *

  Rebecca had never been a match for her mother. She’d learned not to disagree so long ago, she couldn’t recall ever telling her mother no. Her mother never argued with her, for Rebecca never opposed her. But she was disagreeing with Mother today, and the resulting battle was worse than she could have imagined.

  Back in the cabin, Trey had said she’d been trying to break out of prison. The analogy had resonated with her. She’d always known the prison guard would be harsh if she were caught. The actual sting of the guard’s baton, however, could not have been prepared for. Each verbal hit was painful, even though she’d known it was coming.

  “You stupid child. Patricia Cargill got here first. There is no room for you. You would have known better, if you had half a brain in your head.”

  They were sitting at the kitchen table, steaming mugs in front of them. Appearances were preserved. Anyone walking in would see a mother and daughter catching up over coffee. Her mother delivered all her blows quietly, hissing her words through perfectly white teeth.

  “Damn it, Becky, use your head. This is your chance. You can have everything. The house on Cape Cod. Trips around the world. You’ll be able to point at anything in any store window, and it will be yours.”

  “I don’t want that,” she said quietly. Respectfully.

  Her mother slapped her palm on the table, making Becky jump as the sugar bowl rattled. “You don’t know what you’re saying. Patricia will not want you underfoot in this house. You’re younger than she is. Men are
drawn to innocence. You think she’s going to want her husband looking at you breakfast, lunch and dinner?”

  “I’m going to get a job and move out soon.”

  “Oh, please.” Her mother closed her eyes as if Becky’s ignorance caused her pain. “This is what we’re going to do. We’ll return to Boston with Hector. If you’ve taken it into your head that you can do better, then we’ll start looking. Cape Cod is too small. We’ll stay in town and let you be seen at some clubs, so people will realize you’re twenty-one. You’ll need a new wardrobe. Nothing too dramatically different, at first.”

  “No.” Rebecca stood up. “I don’t want to start clubbing in Boston, Mother. I’m twenty-four, and I’m staying here.”

  The sound of the mudroom door opening made her knees go weak with relief. She turned to see Trey coming in as always, stomping the dirt from his boots, unfastening his coat. “Trey?” she said, trying to sound calm.

  He looked up immediately. She must not have sounded very calm, because he came directly into the kitchen with his coat and boots on. After the briefest of glances at her mother, his attention was all for her. “Are you all right?”

  He stood next to her, very close, and placed his hand in the small of her back as he removed his hat.

  Her mother sat up very straight, missing nothing.

  Rebecca took a deep breath. “Mother, I’d like you to meet Trey Waterson. Trey, this is my mother, Charlene Lexington Maynard.”

  Trey calmly tossed his hat on the table. It knocked her mother’s coffee spoon sideways. He nodded, once. “Ma’am.”

  “Oh, call me Charlene, please.”

  Her mother was all gracious smiles, but Rebecca could see the wheels in her mind turning. She’d counted on Patricia and her husband being away on their honeymoon. Rebecca would perhaps be staying with some doddering old folks, relatives of the groom. She hadn’t expected a man like Trey.

  “Trey Waterson?” she confirmed. “Not Patricia’s Luke?”

  “James Waterson the third,” Rebecca said quietly, taking pride in the name, although it really had nothing to do with her.

  “You live here, then, James. And my daughter’s been living with you. Sit down, and let’s get to know one another better.” She patted the table to indicate an empty chair.

  Rebecca began to move toward it, but Trey stopped her by sliding his hand from her back to rest on her hip. Other than that, he didn’t move at all.

  She wished she were more like him; it hadn’t occurred to Trey to obey her mother. She stood still, waiting for a scene to unfold that she hadn’t foreseen. Never had she imagined that she’d face her mother with a man like Trey by her side.

  Her mother tilted her head, studying Trey with her smile still in place. “You look like a cowboy, James. Do you not think you ought to meet with a girl’s parent?”

  Rebecca looked at Trey nervously. He didn’t look nervous at all. He had that stoic cowboy look on his face, the one he wore most of the time, unless she teased a grin out of him.

  It didn’t sit well with her mother. “This isn’t a suggestion. Where I come from, a man sits when he’s invited to talk with a lady.”

  “You don’t strike me as a person I’d like to sit down and talk with.”

  Her mother’s gasp was loud enough to cover her own. Rebecca bit her lip. It was possible Trey hadn’t meant to say that, but he looked very cool and unruffled. Her mother wasn’t going to hear an I didn’t mean to say that.

  He’d meant it, and he said more. “If there is anything particular you’d like to say to me, Charlene, I suggest you say it now. You weren’t invited into my home, and you’ll be leaving it soon enough.”

  Rebecca held her breath.

  Charlene stood and crossed her arms over her chest. “You want it that way? Fine. I’ll make this simple for everyone to understand. You’re shagging my daughter. You took her virginity. I don’t see a ring on her finger.”

  Marriage. Of course, her mother would demand marriage. Although Rebecca had broken the cardinal rule and Trey had gotten the milk for free, now her mother would demand that he buy the cow.

  Tears stung her eyes. She didn’t want a proposal wrung out of any man under duress. As she took a breath to beg her mother not to start with the marriage talk, Trey squeezed her hip, as if he wanted her to stay silent. Rebecca kept quiet and didn’t beg.

  Her mother kept talking. “Don’t assume that I’m unhappy about that. Just the opposite. Thank God, there’s no ring on her finger. She can do much better than a midcentury modern house in the middle of nowhere. But since you’ve felt free to enjoy her company, I want to know what you’re going to do for her future. When you’ve had your fun, what is she going to have to show for it?”

  “Mother, stop.” It was so crass, Rebecca broke her silence. She felt her own blush.

  “Do you think I’m going to keep that rental car on my credit card for one more day, Becky? Your boy here can pony up and buy you something decent to drive. You should have already arranged it, young lady.”

  “I don’t want that.” The discussion was making her feel cheap and tawdry, but worse, it was exposing every ugly truth about how she’d been raised. She’d told Trey about the stepfathers and the marriages, painting as positive a picture as she could of her life. With all these crass words, Trey’s opinion of her had to fall. It was true she’d been raised with her mother’s values. She’d never believed in them, but she felt guilty by association.

  “You deserve a car, and more besides. Grow a spine, Becky Cargill. He took your virginity, for God’s sake.”

  “Stop it.” Rebecca stepped forward. “It’s none of your business. I am none of your business.”

  “Hector was taking you to a seaside palace. He’s got a rope of pearls in a velvet box ready for you, and that was just the first day’s gift. There were to be treats every day. That’s what I raised you for, to be treated like a princess. That’s why I took you in, and made you a Cargill. I raised you with Maynards and Lexingtons. We’ve worked for this your whole life.”

  Rebecca whirled back toward Trey, who was still calm, studying her mother intently, taking in every word she said.

  “Don’t believe her,” Rebecca said. “I don’t want any of that. I never have.”

  Trey turned his gaze to her, studying her as he had her mother, as if he had all the time in the world. He placed his warm hand over hers; she hadn’t realized she was clutching his sleeve. “You are the one I know, not her. I trust you. I’m just listening to the tale she’s spinning. It’s like watching a mare try to establish herself as boss of the corral. You watch her for a while to see if she’s gonna calm down and fit in. If she doesn’t, then you have to cut her from the herd. The rest of the horses don’t want her around.”

  Rebecca wished her wobbly smile reflected her rock-solid heart better. She loved this man. She really did.

  “I love your cowboy analogies.”

  He didn’t grin, but he smoothed his fingertips over the back of her hand before moving away. “Some mares never learn to get along. They get trailered and taken to another ranch to become some other man’s problem. Charlene, it’s time for you to go.”

  He gestured toward the living room, but Charlene didn’t move, so he took her by the arm and escorted her with the proper cowboy manners she’d accused him of lacking. Rebecca followed, so grateful the whole dreaded encounter was ending that she forgot what was waiting around the corner.

  “Who the hell are you?” Trey demanded of the man in his armchair. He released Charlene’s arm with an unceremonious push toward the front door and stood with his hands loose by his sides.

  Hector had come to his feet. His initial reaction was a step back from Trey, but then he recollected himself and stood his ground. Rebecca knew that was a mistake.

  “Becky, I have no further time for
your games.” Hector addressed her as if there weren’t a six-foot-four man in between them. “We’re leaving, packed or not. Get in the car with your mother.”

  Rebecca knew that was an even bigger mistake.

  Trey crowded Hector’s space, his words low, but the language that reached Rebecca was far stronger than anything she’d ever heard him use.

  “Robert?” Hector called in a thin voice to the man in the navy suit who’d been stationed by the door.

  “You don’t want to do that,” Trey said, his gaze boring into Hector’s as Robert came over at a jog.

  It’s like watching a train wreck. It was so obvious what was going to happen. Rebecca couldn’t turn away, and so she saw Trey’s smile the instant before he threw his shoulder into the doomed Robert’s chest, knocking the man to the ground. Trey grabbed Hector by the throat. He twisted the collar of Hector’s sweater in his fist. “One piece of advice. Do not tell me your name.”

  Rebecca could only assume Hector had been the boss of his own little world too long. He’d forgotten that power in a Boston bank office didn’t mean he had any other kind of power. “I’m Hector Ferrique, and you better remember that name. I’m going to—”

  Trey’s fist was quick and efficient. Hector hit the ground with only one blow. Unfortunately, he took the table lamp down with him.

  “Hector Ferrique, you owe my mother a lamp. Now get the hell off my land.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  The rain began after Rebecca’s mother left. Trey left Rebecca, too, to bring the horses in from the winter weather. He was gone a long time. There were a lot of horses, and two more barns farther from the house. The ranch was far larger than she’d first realized. Rebecca watched Trey disappear from her spot by the window.

  She made a pantry dinner, boiling water for spaghetti and opening a jar of sauce, but she served it on china by the Christmas tree. She sat with her back to the winged armchair, and tried not to picture her mother’s hand touching the mantel.