A Texan on Her Doorstep

“Thank you, Cesar. We’ll be right there.”

The two women rose to their feet, and Mac followed behind Ileana as they left the living room and entered an adjoining room to their right. The rectangular space was furnished with a long cedar table that seated ten. The top was made of board planks while the legs had been roughly hewed from small cedar post. The matching chairs were worn smooth from years of use. Above the table, a lamp fashioned like a kerosene lantern hung from a low ceiling and cast a dim glow over the dining area. Across the way, heavy drapes were pushed back from a double window. Beyond the blackened panes, Mac could make out the tall branches of a spruce tree whipping in the cold wind.

In the past year, his brother had married a ranching heiress, a daughter of one of the Sandbur Ranch families. Since then, Mac had had the pleasure of visiting the huge ranch, and he could safely say that this house was nothing like the huge, elaborate homes there. This Bar M Ranch house was much smaller in scale and far more rustic in furnishings and appearance. As Mac helped both women into their chairs, he decided the Sanders family was only concerned with two things. Comfort and practicality.

After Mac took a seat directly across from Ileana, the man called Cesar served them a salad that was full of ripe olives and bits of corn chips. The concoction was so tasty Mac forgot that he didn’t like salads.

“Ileana tells me that you’ve come to Ruidoso to see Frankie Cantrell,” Chloe said, once all of them were eating.

Mac hadn’t expected her to bring up the subject so bluntly, but he was quickly seeing that Chloe wasn’t bashful about speaking her mind.

“That’s right. I—we—that is, my brother and I didn’t have any idea she was ill. If we’d known I would have put off the trip to a later date.”

Chloe thoughtfully chewed a bite of food, then said, “So Frankie didn’t have any idea you were coming to New Mexico?”

“No. Ripp and I didn’t want to write or call. This matter is something that needs to be dealt with in person. Face-to-face.”

Silence settled over the table, and Mac could feel Ileana’s gaze settle on him. When he looked across the table at her, there was a shy smile on her face. The sweetness of it caught his attention far more than a wicked wink would have, and he wondered if the high altitude of these desert mountains was doing something to him. Right now they were probably more than seven thousand feet above sea level. Maybe he was getting altitude sickness. Something was definitely making him dizzy.

“I’ve told Mother about your concerns—that you believe Frankie might be your mother. I hope you don’t mind me sharing the information.”

“Of course I don’t mind,” he said. “It’s hardly something I’m trying to keep a secret. I can’t find answers without asking questions. And questions require explanations.”

“Well,” Chloe began, “I’ll be honest, Mac. Your story floored me. I’ve known Frankie Cantrell for nearly thirty years. I’ve never heard her mention having other children. I mean, children from her past.”

Mac told himself not to let this morsel of information get to him. A good lawman always gathered all the evidence he could find before he took action. Even when he might be the victim.

“Maybe she wanted to forget she had other children,” he suggested.

With a long sigh, Chloe put down her fork and faced him directly. Mac studied her closely, and as he did, he found himself comparing the woman to Ileana. The two didn’t match in looks or demeanor, so he assumed Ileana must have taken after her father.

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