A Perilous Pursuit

by Diane Gilmore

  He paused while he took a swallow from his glass.

  “The Americans, on the other hand, are a nation of spectators,” he continued. “Their creativity is smothered in high technology. The Mexicans have a love for their country and culture that the Americans lack.”

  “You sound as if your nationality is Mexican, not American,” Taylor commented.

  “Well, my parents were Mexican, but I lived in the States all my life,” Robert said. “I gained much of my wealth there and I have become ‘Americanized’ like many immigrants who live there, but part of my heritage is here, in Mexico, and I will always have a loyalty to her.”

  Later in the car, Robert became very quiet, and Taylor began to grow uneasy. He seemed far away in thought as he drove, his mind deep in concentration, as if to him, Taylor were no longer there.

  “Is something wrong?” she finally asked.

  “No, I was just thinking,” he said, glancing over at her. “I have an idea.”

  “What idea?”

  “You’ve been here for several days. You are obviously encountering barriers, with an unfamiliar language, culture, and layout of the city.”

  “Yes, that’s true,” Taylor agreed.

  “I would like to offer you my home, for as long as you are here.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “What?”

  “I understand what difficulties you are facing because I remember what I encountered when I first came to Mexico several years ago,” Robert explained. “I have since made many friends, some in high places, who could perhaps help you in the search for your friend.”

  Taylor, taken completely taken by surprise at his generosity, was momentarily speechless. “I don’t know what to say—”

  Robert smiled reassuringly and took her hand. “Say you will come, or at least consider the possibility. I have a large estate, and it is very safe, so you would have all the room you could possibly want without spending all your remaining money on your hotel accommodations. And since I live alone with only a handful of staff to talk to, your company would be more than welcome.”

  He turned a corner and pulled up to the curb of her hotel.

  “Thank you for a lovely evening,” Taylor said gratefully as she gathered her things, “and for your offer to help.”

  “I’d be more than happy to help you out in any way I can,” Robert replied, then added seriously, “I hope you will consider my offer. The arrangement would be beneficial for both of us.”

  “I will,” Taylor promised. “I’ll let you know my decision in the morning.”

  Robert squeezed her hand. “Until tomorrow, then.”

  Taylor swung the door shut and walked into the lobby of her hotel. She didn’t see Robert smiling confidently in the darkness of the car’s cool interior as he added, “Your new home will be ready for you, Taylor Fairchild.”

  Chapter 19

  The next afternoon Taylor made the drive out to the address Robert Cabrera had given her. The car sped smoothly down Highway 15, where the city soon gave way to rolling hills, spreads of green vegetation, and farmland under a bright, blue morning sky. She liked the air of rural tranquility that surrounded the area, the fields of cotton, and even the endless rows of tomatoes, one of Mexico’s chief exports.

  Her thoughts had been occupied since the night before, thinking about the man who had befriended her and his generous offer.

  Admittedly, she was impressed with Robert Cabrera. He was a keenly intelligent man who exuded an air of power and importance that perhaps a younger man could not have done. He reminded her a great deal of her father. Perhaps that was why she was drawn to him, for there were many similarities between the two. Out of all the people she contacted regarding Craig’s whereabouts, he was the only one who offered any assistance at all. Perhaps her luck was changing. He could well be the one person she could trust.

  Yet one small part of her held back, not quite sure of his generous intentions. He didn’t even know her, yet he deliberately sought her out at the café. Why was he so interested in her search for Craig? After all, he didn’t know Craig, or even her, before yesterday. To anyone else, her relationship with Craig was just another love affair, nothing out of the ordinary. He took more than a keen interest in her at dinner. Then he offered his home to her, free of charge. Why would he do a thing like that?

  Although suspicious with questions that had no answers, she put her nagging doubts aside. True, things were happening rather fast, but if she refused his offer of assistance, she would soon run out of money and have to return to Los Angeles. Furthermore, if she didn’t take advantage of his contacts around the city, she could risk never finding Craig at all. Staying there, even for a few days, would be a great help right now.

  She had to take the chance that Robert Cabrera was her friend. And in her present situation, she was desperately in need of a friend.

  She continued driving until she was almost out of town. She exited the freeway and began taking a narrower country road, following it straight until she felt as though she would drive right into the rugged mountains ahead. As Robert had promised, she came upon an obscure, unmarked roadway on her left. It was the lane marking the beginning of his property. She made the turn and followed it, where the hilly brown landscape and alternating patches of vegetable fields turned green and lush, with large oaks shading the drive. She rounded a bend and came upon a high, wrought iron entrance gate, connected to a tree-lined iron fence that marched along over the slopes and out of sight in either direction of the property.

  A burly Mexican man emerged from a tiny cottage next to the gate. Her eyes wandered to a small leather holster tucked in his waist. He was armed.

  He walked over to her car and just stood there with his arms folded in front of him, looking down at her, not saying a word.

  “I’m Taylor Fairchild,” she began, breaking the silence, “and I’m here to—”

  “I know why you are here, Señorita,” he said in a cool accent. He made no effort to extend any other courtesies to her than what his job required of him. Taylor felt the animosity immediately. “Señor Cabrera is expecting you.”

  She watched, surprised, as he turned and walked back into the cottage and closed the door, not even bothering to introduce himself or say anything further. A moment later, the huge metal gates mechanically swung open.

  Shrugging off his unwelcoming attitude, she continued up the sloping drive until she crested the final hill. Robert Cabrera’s estate sprang into view.

  It was a magnificent home, more massive than Taylor had ever imagined it to be. The house sat at the base of a ridge of giant mountains that rose to menacing jagged peaks, etched in patches of light and shade from the afternoon sun. Herds of cattle grazed contentedly in the surrounding meadow, and Taylor could see farm hands in the distance, atop their horses, going about their duties.

  She came to a circular driveway and parked behind the Mercedes that Robert had picked her up in the night before. She got out and rang the bell. The rich sound echoed through the house. The door opened and a Mexican woman, whom Taylor guessed to be the housekeeper, stood waiting in the entranceway. Her face was narrow, and she was old, probably in her seventies. Her gray hair was pulled back in a bundle at the base of her neck, and the plain black dress she wore hung loosely on her frail body. Taylor guessed she must be one of the women who lived in one of the neighboring villages. She obviously didn’t speak English.

  She murmured a soft but stiff greeting to Taylor in Spanish, then stepped aside so that Taylor could walk into the wide entrance hall. Like the restaurant last night, the hall was decorated in antique Spanish style, with brick-red clay tile on the floor and ivory-colored paint coating the rough stucco walls. A massive staircase rose along the wall, leading to the upstairs bedrooms.

  The woman motioned Taylor to follow her through the
house. Taylor obliged and soon found herself walking into an impressive living room, where Robert stood next to the bar, concluding his conversation on his cell phone.

  “Call him back,” he curtly ordered to the person on the other end of the line. “Tell him it’s still on for tomorrow. And keep a low profile around here until I tell you otherwise.” He disconnected the call and placed the phone back in his pocket. He turned to face her.

  “Taylor!” he said cheerfully, his manner changing instantly. “Welcome.”

  She was about to walk into the room when she heard a noise and stopped cold. The largest Doberman she had ever seen stood in the corner of the room, watching her. He stood up when she took her first step, his ears perked high and the short, brown hair on his body bristling. He began to move toward her, and a deep growl came from his throat, his sharp teeth bared. Taylor’s eyes grew wide as she stood still, motionless with fright.

  Robert issued a sharp command in Spanish to the dog from where he stood. The dog looked apprehensively at his master, then retreated to his corner by the sliding glass door.

  Robert smiled and came toward her. “Taylor, come in. I’ve been waiting for you to arrive!”

  His light tone helped her to calm down and bring the blood back to her face.

  “He isn’t very friendly, is he?” Taylor asked casually of the dog, masking the quiver that still shook her insides.

  “I’m sorry about the dog,” Robert said apologetically, then gazed at his pet with affection. “He’s just doing his job. He’s always cautious of strangers, but he’ll soon come to realize that you are my guest.”

  “Are you sure of that?”

  Robert laughed. “Of course! I hope you’ll get used to him, because I keep a few others just like him to watch the house and the grounds.”

  Taylor’s curiosity piqued. “I noticed the armed guard at the gate. Why all the security?”

  “Poachers,” Robert answered. “I have to protect my cattle and my house in some way, don’t I?”

  “Yes, of course,” Taylor smiled quickly, but she still felt uneasy. There was an air of tension, even readiness, around these people she could not ignore. It was as if she were staying in a military compound.

  Robert turned and gave an order in Spanish to the housekeeper, who had stayed in the doorway after Taylor had entered the room.

  “Taylor, this is Maria, my housekeeper,” he told Taylor as an introduction. “I’ve just instructed her to show you to your room. Your things are probably already there by now. When you get settled, come back down, and I’ll take you to the stables. We can take a ride around the ranch before dinner.”

  Taylor had a love for horses and had ridden since she was a child. Eager with anticipation, she followed Maria, who turned on her heels and walked stiffly and silently through the house toward the stairway in the hall. She led the way up to the second floor, then down a long hallway, past several closed doors on either side. The woman’s tiny feet whispered down the richly carpeted hallway until she reached one of the rooms at the end. She swung open the door, and Taylor entered a huge bedroom, elegantly furnished in Spanish style. Maria left her almost immediately, disappearing down the wide corridor.

  Taylor took a moment to survey her surroundings. Along one wall of her room was a decorative stone fireplace, with pine logs neatly stacked in the corner for the chilly mountain evenings. In front of it sat a sofa and matching armchair, upholstered in a heavy material of pink and peach. The walls were painted in a subtle cream. A thickly piled area rug, clearly handmade, covered the room’s shiny wood floor, and matching drapes cascaded from the tops of three huge French windows. A bouquet of fresh peach and pink roses sat atop the dresser, accenting the room’s decor.

  But what drew Taylor’s attention most of all was a large, high bed that was covered with a thick comforter and frilly pillow shams that lay neatly on top. It was a magnificent room.

  Craig would love the mountains, and he’d love this place, she mused, then caught herself as a flash of despair entered her heart at the thought of him. Everything in Mexico reminded her of him—the crisp outdoors, the folk music, even the leather boots worn by the local hombres. Once last week, while gazing into a Culiacan shop window admiring the leatherwork, she heard an English tourist who sounded just like Craig talking to a corner street vendor. For an instant, her heart skipped a beat with joy. He’s here, she thought in that moment, I’ve found him. But when she looked, it was someone else, and the familiar sense of loss would return, as always.

  She shook her head. She had to stop dwelling on all this or she would simply fall apart. Her suitcases sat neatly by the corner nightstand. She pulled one of them up onto the bed and changed into a pair of blue jeans, a print shirt, and low boots. Then she went back downstairs to the living room, where Robert awaited her.

  “The room is beautiful,” Taylor told him. “I couldn’t have asked for better accommodations.”

  “I knew you would like it,” Robert replied. “It has the best view of the mountains. Now, let’s get down to the stables. Today we’ll ride and enjoy the scenery and not think about anything unpleasant, all right?”

  He led Taylor through another doorway from the living room, passing several other closed doors and hallways until they reached an immaculately clean, fully stocked kitchen. He opened the back door and guided her outside, where they followed a path down to a set of stables. Inside Taylor saw at least a dozen stalls, some empty, while others contained carefully groomed and handsome horses. A man was in the stable saddling up a beautiful chestnut mare and a large, black stallion who must have stood at least 16 hands high, by her estimate. The animal was a beauty.

  “Taylor, this is Carlos Gonzalez,” Robert said. “He takes care of the horses and keeps an eye on things when I’m away.”

  Carlos nodded politely at Taylor but said nothing, his eyes appraising her with a cool, cautious curiosity.

  “Are they almost ready?” Robert asked him.

  “I’m almost finished, Señor,” Carlos responded, tightening the last saddle strap on one of the horses. He turned to Taylor. “Bonita is a very gentle horse, Señorita, with a good disposition,” he told her. “You should have no trouble with her, since you Americanos probably don’t ride as well.”

  She felt a little resentful at his comment, but she ignored it and swung onto the saddle next to Robert’s sleek stallion. His horse looked powerful, its form beautiful and yet graceful, much like its owner.

  With an air of assurance Robert turned the horse’s head and guided them out of the stable. They sauntered slowly side by side around the property, as Robert pointed out some features of the surrounding mountains and his property. She followed his horse as he led the way over to a grassy meadow where cattle grazed in the wide valley, overshadowed by the huge, majestic mountains. It was a magnificent view, with the green rolling pastures striking a contract with the dull, rocky slopes surrounding them. The hills were rugged. Taylor saw how huge boulders from the mountaintops had come crashing down in the past to collect at the base of the hills.

  Later they stopped at a stream that ran alongside the lush plain to rest the horses. The animals dipped their heads gracefully into the clear, cool water, while Robert and Taylor leaned against the knotty wood fence that kept the cattle within their boundaries. She gazed off at the cows grazing in the distance, watching a group of workers ride atop their horses, going about their duties. It all looked perfect, Taylor thought, like a picture out of a scenic magazine.

  “Your staff does a great job of taking care of the property,” she commented.

  “The Mexicans are hard workers,” Robert informed her. “They grind away from dawn to dusk because they are used to having to stretch themselves to the limit to survive. That is what gives these people a spirit that’s lacking in the Americans.”

  Taylor heard it aga
in, the same note of bitterness about the American half of his heritage. She watched him from the corner of her eye. The abrupt change in the tone of his voice settled a deep frown over his features. His eyes narrowed as he drifted off into thought. Perhaps about something that happened in the past? She had no idea what suddenly could thrust him into such a morose state.

  “Do you live here alone?” Taylor asked, breaking the silence.

  “Yes, except for the hired help.”

  “Do you have a large staff?”

  “No,” Cabrera answered, perhaps with a little more emphasis than was necessary. “I don’t like the house cluttered with people. I keep my affairs to myself.”

  “Oh.”

  “I was married once, if that is what you’re getting at,” he said curtly, glancing over at her quickly, “but that was a long time ago.”

  Taylor cringed at her own indiscretion. Perhaps that explained some of his behavior, she thought. He was married once and must have gone through a bitter divorce. It made absolute sense. He preferred to be left alone now, and when he was in need of any company at all, he found it in a new country among new people.

  She lowered her eyes. “I’m sorry. That was a personal question.”

  He seemed to relax somewhat and smiled. “No, no, you mustn’t feel that way! Sometimes I delve too much into the past. I know that part of my life is over now.”

  He then took her hand. “Let’s go back to the house. You probably want to rest a bit before dinner.”

  They remounted the horses, and Robert led them back to the stable. They left the horses in Carlos’ care and returned to the house.