Unattainable

by Garcia, Leslie P.

  Dell drew herself up straight, staring at the wall. She’d heard the rumors about the De Cordovas and drugs. She’d dismissed them, thinking her grandfather didn’t need drug money. But Jovani Treviño had shown up at her place, looking for work when she could least afford to wait. He’d developed an interest in the old riverfront property and had fired a long-time employee. Nothing made sense — except that Jovani worked for Lionel De Cordova. For some reason, the rich old man must have wanted someone he trusted on her father’s ranch — her ranch. Grimly, Dell stood. She walked to the door, then stopped, walked back, and took the photo out of the desk, stuffing it remorselessly into the tiny clutch. Then she forced her unwilling legs to carry her back in the direction of the noise and Hal McDade.

  Nothing had changed in her absence. Men still huddled in a corner, talking with the animation of several drinks and inflated egos. She didn’t realize she was frowning at them and turned, startled, when a soft, cold voice behind her said, “Well!” in slightly accented English.

  Erika De Cordova stood in front of her, imposingly tall, slender, and blonde. The dark, almost black fabric of her designer gown called attention to the paleness of her skin, and she hadn’t aged noticeably since Dell had last seen her.

  “Aren’t you going to kiss your mother?” she asked, and Dell turned her head away as the woman bussed the air in the way of the social elite.

  “I didn’t intend to, no,” Dell returned, amazed at the absence of emotion her mother engendered. She didn’t regret the distance between them, didn’t feel fondness, didn’t even feel hate.

  “You are incredibly beautiful, my dear,” Erika said, with little expression. Her green eyes swept over Dell appraisingly. “Quite beautiful. You’re much more like your father than me, of course — in color, at least.”

  “In everything.” They eyed each other silently for a moment. Finally, Erika’s full lips twisted. “You’re here with a man who once courted me. Strange, isn’t it? Almost perverse, I would say.”

  Dell regarded her mother aloofly. “Perverse? No. We’re only business acquaintances. He loves Carmela — you remember her, I suppose?” A small dart of pleasure speared through Dell when her mother flushed angrily, and she allowed herself a small smile. “But believe what you choose, Mother.” The word dripped from her lips with undisguised poison, and the older woman looked discomfited. Her expression changed back to one of arrogance as Dell’s grandfather crossed the room toward them, lean and elegantly dressed, one well-groomed hand clutching a drink.

  “Well, my darling,” he said to Erika, kissing her cheek, “you look stunning tonight, as always. But your daughter” — he slanted a glance at Dell — “could fast become the talk of the town, if she’d stay.”

  “But I won’t,” Dell said quietly. “Why would I?”

  “Why, indeed?” Her grandfather regarded her with his imperious, gray gaze. “Perhaps because you are a De Cordova. The Rosales part of you is virtually nonexistent.” He held up a hand, silencing his daughter’s protests.

  “Your mother is going to tell me that you have the Rosales darkness. Colorwise, you don’t resemble your mother much. But you’re a determined, competent woman, I hear.” He smiled, but the gesture had no warmth. “Someone told me they call you ‘inalcanzable.’” The glance he directed at Erika was still full of old bitterness. “Your mother could have done well to be a little choosier in her youth.” When Erika would have spoken, he silenced her again. “She’s done well, now, though. She is engaged to Carlos Del Huerta — the Mexican banking family. Perhaps you remember.”

  “I lost a family, not the ability to read Spanish,” Dell retorted. She still read the Mexico City and Monterrey dailies as often as she could. When she had served as a liaison between Texas businesses and Mexican interests, she had learned a lot about who the power mongers really were. “Congratulations,” she added, more coldly, to her mother. “The Del Huertos and De Cordovas suit perfectly. Much better than Rosales and De Cordova, I suspect.”

  Her mother didn’t answer, although Dell doubted it was from remorse or any twinge of conscience. Her grandfather frowned.

  “You are rude, Dell,” he said matter-of-factly. “It would behoove you — us — to consider mending our fences. You have no one, and while I have family, you are a De Cordova. Losing you would be a pity.”

  “Losing me?” Dell’s derisive snort was full of contempt. “You don’t have me to lose. You never had that right.”

  “Possibly not.” The man was silent for a moment, then shrugged. “You should learn from your mother’s mistakes, my proud little one. What do you intend to do with your life? Your father’s money — money that really was De Cordova money, as you must know — won’t support you and your teenage prostitutes and drug addicts forever, child. And sleeping with horse handlers loses its glory eventually.” He turned sneering eyes on his daughter. “Doesn’t it, Erika?”

  “Damn you, Father,” she whispered, adding in soft Spanish, to Dell, “Ten cuidado. Be careful. It just never ends.” Blinking away tears and pasting a smile on her face, she waved at someone across the room and left them.

  Her grandfather’s annoyance was evident in the tight slash of his eyes, the brief look of contempt as Erika left. But he turned back to Dell.

  “She’s right, Adela. But it can end. You can choose to be a De Cordova, you know. You can choose the top instead of being a glorified maid tied to someone who shovels out stalls.”

  “I’ll honor the name Rosales every day of my life. Tell me where the honor is in being a De Cordova?” Dell shook her head and walked away, but she felt her grandfather’s gray stare follow her across the room. Hal came across to meet her, and she forced a smile and allowed herself to be introduced to a new group of elegant strangers. One of them, Hal mentioned, was a recently hired executive in his entertainment conglomerate, and was working on putting together a water park proposal for Laredo. Similar measures had failed, but Hal felt the time was ripe for a new venture.

  The man seemed out of place and uncomfortable, and Dell spent the rest of the evening talking to him, sharing a dance or two, and wishing the whole time that Hal McDade would call it a night and rescue her. They wound up staying until three, to be driven back through the deserted streets in the comfortable silence of De Cordova’s own armor-plated limousine, escorted by two unmarked police cars. Kidnapping and armed robbery were less common in Monterrey than in the capital, but those with money were reluctant to take chances.

  Just before they reached the hotel, Dell, mulling over the evening’s events, realized Brock Hampton, the man Hal McDade had introduced her to, must have known who she was. Some of his questions about horses and social concerns made no sense unless he did. Troubled and tired, she said a rather curt good night to Hal McDade, went into the suite, and bolted the door carefully. Then she sat down on the sofa, fished the picture of Jovani Treviño out of her clutch, and stared at it with a devastating sense of loss.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Dell picked up the phone reluctantly. She had been back from Monterrey for two days now, and it seemed her brief absence had cost her far more than she had earned, even given Hal McDade’s generous terms. They had made the three-hour drive without incident. They talked about various business and political issues the trip raised, but neither broached the subject of Lionel and Erika De Cordova.

  Dell fought back the grimness she felt every time she thought of the picture, transferred from her evening bag to her handbag. Although she toyed with the idea of dismissing Jovani immediately, the trip had given her time to think things through. There was no point in firing Jovi yet, in spite of his obvious betrayal. Now that she knew her grandfather had sent him, she could deal with him. Having him close at hand was probably safer than having him out of her sight. There was still time to find the resolution to the problem of Jovani Treviño.

  Back at the ranch, though
, she had been received with the surprising and disheartening news that Selina was leaving. Her ex-husband and his parents had convinced Judge Ovalle-Martinez that the young couple should be given another opportunity to work out their problems. Selina, who had been arrested twice for public intoxication after marital problems, had been sober since coming to the ranch. She insisted, to both the judge and Dell, that she had grown up enough to cope.

  Dell hoped she wouldn’t suffer. The girl and her teenage husband were both so young. The path ahead would be hard. But Dell put on her best face and said a painful good-bye to Selina, then tried to deal with the anguish Amy and Michelle felt. Maribel was her usual resentful self, telling anyone who would listen that the marriage would once again fail, and Selina would come back in disgrace within days.

  Maribel. Dell had called the caseworker before the trip to Monterrey, but the woman only made vague promises about talking to supervisors. The girl was a prostitute, she clucked into the phone, and Dell shouldn’t be surprised. She couldn’t move her, anyway, until a spot opened, she’d insisted. In fact, she’d seemed a little surprised that Maribel hadn’t run away again. Dell thought about raising a little hell with social services, but held back. Clearly, in spite of the girl’s baggage, she wasn’t leaving anytime soon, and she’d keep a closer watch on the girl until there was some other place for her.

  Jovi greeted her politely on her return, but there was something in his eyes — a wariness? — that had not been there before she left. To her surprise, she found he’d sold another of the surplus mares to a breeder for an excellent price. He offered her the check, explaining he hadn’t wanted to deposit it until she returned. The same buyer had offered to take the last two mares up for sale, but only if he could have Red Sugar Cash. Jovi declined the offer, but felt she should have the final say. That was an easy decision, and Jovi promised to call the man back and tell him her father’s favorite was not for sale under any terms.

  The last item among the notes on her desk ordered her to call Judge Ovalle-Martinez. Karla had underlined the word “urgent” three times, so Dell picked up the phone. She smiled grimly as she held the receiver to her ear. It hardly seemed possible that in a few days, the world could have turned itself so totally inside out.

  “We have a problem, Dell,” Patricia Ovalle-Martinez said in her ear, and Dell knew at once it must be serious.

  “Worse than what just happened with Selina?” Dell dragged a hand through her hair and braced herself. “What?”

  “Becky’s mother wants her back. And the agent with Child Protective Services has been told the child is endangered. That … ” Her high school friend paused, and Dell could picture the frown pulling at the corners of her mouth and etching worried lines into her forehead. “Someone said you’re involved in illegal activity. That the child’s welfare has been compromised. When the caseworker tried to call you, you weren’t in. I talked her into waiting to talk to you, and I vouched for you personally. But, Dell, I’m worried. Who in the world can be out to hurt you?”

  Dell closed her eyes. A tear dripped from her eye and splattered on the desk. Who it was didn’t make much difference. Could she live without Becky? And why had the mother suddenly decided to fight for custody of her abandoned child? Clutching the phone with trembling fingers, she fought back the overwhelming grief.

  “I don’t know who’s behind this,” she muttered. “Patricia, I don’t want to lose Becky.”

  “I know. And I’ll do what I can. But, Dell, you knew this could happen. You took this risk when you agreed to keep her there.” Patricia’s voice was gentle, but the words tore at her heart. “The law’s almost always on the side of the mother. If she can prove she’s responsible now … ”

  “When do I have the meeting with the caseworker?”

  “She’ll call you. It won’t be for a day or two, though. There wasn’t enough evidence of imminent danger that she thought Becky should be removed immediately. Meanwhile, I’ve asked some friends in various departments to check out the mother’s behavior very carefully. I don’t want the child placed back in an abusive situation. I’d love her to stay with you, if she can.”

  “Thanks for letting me know,” Dell managed, and disconnected. She picked up the heavy, silver-framed picture of Becky in her last Easter dress, then put it back down and stood, walking over to the window. She didn’t even try to stop the tears. Nothing she’d lost over the years hurt like the thought of giving up Becky’s love and happiness. Suddenly, strong, warm hands closed on her shoulders. Gently, Jovani turned her around, his face concerned as he saw the tears streaming down her cheeks.

  “I knocked, but you didn’t answer,” he said, trying to wipe her tears away. The gentleness in his touch just brought new tears, and he tilted her face up. “What in the world is this all about?”

  “They’re going to take Becky away,” she choked, refusing to acknowledge that this man could be behind the rumors threatening to crush her. “I can’t lose Becky. I thought I could, but I can’t.”

  Strong arms closed around her shaking shoulders, drawing her close into strength and comforting warmth. “Ssssh. Don’t cry, querida.” The Spanish term of endearment barely registered, but she felt the tenderness in the fingers lightly stroking her shoulders. “That can’t happen. They have no reason, no right. How could they take your daughter away? You’re a wonderful mother.”

  The words didn’t penetrate her misery at first. When they did, she stiffened and drew away a little, looking up at him in confusion. “My daughter?” she whispered brokenly. “Then, you don’t know — you thought?” She shook her head. “Becky isn’t mine,” she said. “She isn’t my daughter. She’s here because her mother abandoned her.”

  Surprise filled Jovi’s dark eyes. Surprise, and Dell thought, in spite of her anguish, a brief flicker of something like relief. “So — she’s a foster child? You never said — ”

  “I guess I just didn’t think to mention it,” she explained. “Rosa and the girls knew, and I … I never liked talking about it. Made having her seem — I don’t know. Temporary.” She took a deep breath. “I didn’t talk about it,” she admitted.

  “Still, I’m surprised you thought that Becky was mine. “Just seems … most of the men I’ve known would have asked. If not about her, about her father.”

  “I just assumed … There are so many single mothers these days. And you obviously love her. Nothing else seemed important.” He closed the distance between them again, took her into his arms, and hugged her. It was a gentle, reassuring gesture with none of the hungry demand he had demonstrated on other occasions. “But don’t cry, Dell. There has to be a way. Have faith.”

  Bracing herself, Dell nodded and stepped reluctantly out of the sheltering arms. In spite of the genuine concern in his eyes at the moment, she had to remember she couldn’t trust this man. This man could hurt her. But she simply couldn’t believe he was behind the rumors endangering Becky’s custody. His surprise and sympathy were too real. Mustering her courage, she walked over to her desk and picked up a Kleenex, blotting her face. The simple act reminded her of the chasm separating them. She faced Jovi from behind the protection of her desk. “Did you need something?”

  “Nothing that can’t wait. You seem to have other problems to deal with.”

  “There’s nothing I can do at the moment. I have to meet with the caseworker before things go any further.” Disgusted with the sensation of weakness seeping into her limbs, she sat down in her chair and waved a hand at the chairs in front of the desk. “Have a seat. Tell me what you need.”

  Instead, he walked over to the window and looked out for a time, much as he had when they first met. Finally he came back over to sit down. Without the hat to turn, he reached over and picked up a pen, flipping it absently in one large, bronzed hand while he studied her thoughtfully.

  “You’ve changed,” he said suddenly.


  His words surprised her. She arched her brows and leaned back in her chair. “Changed?”

  “Yeah.” He smiled, and humor filled his eyes again, replacing the unreadable expression of moments before. “When I came, you were so — so cold. So uncaring.” The tantalizing grin widened. “You decided not to like me,” he added. “But I think you slowly warmed up to the idea of having me around. It certainly seemed that way at South Padre. And on a couple of other occasions.”

  “Does this have a point?” she asked, determined he’d never know just how thoroughly she had warmed up to him. Literally and figuratively. Just the thought of him had been able to generate small shock waves of heat. He knew she wanted him. But hopefully he didn’t know she loved him.

  She watched as the grin faded and the humor left his face. Remembered how Carmela’s words had encouraged her to toy with the idea of Jovani Treviño as a man. As, possibly, the man in her life. Until a photo hidden in her grandfather’s desk had shattered her dreams and killed the warmth.

  “It’s funny. While you were in Monterrey, I’d get these … sudden urges. Just to see you. To know how you were. And yet, you weren’t gone for even forty-eight hours.” He stretched in the chair, apparently trying to relieve tense muscles. She saw indecision in his eyes and a sudden tightness in his jaw. She wasn’t surprised when he abruptly stood up and paced back to the window; avoiding head-on confrontation seemed to be a habit with him. So she waited silently again, and again he finally came back to sit across from her. This time, though, she blinked in surprise when he reached across the desk, curling fingers gently against her cheek in an unexpected caress.

  “It was good, having you back from Monterrey, Dell. At least I thought it was. Until … ” He paused, and there was a huskiness in his voice when he continued, so slight she almost believed she wanted to hear it. “You’re different now than you were before,” he said. “Remote again, just when I thought … ” He shrugged and pulled his hand back. “Some of it might be my fault. I know I said we should wait. Maybe I shouldn’t have pulled back that night you came over to see me.