Doralice
Chapter 6 – Doralice Donovan MedinaThey made a handsome couple, even if it was just business at this point. Maude, dressed in something black and glittery, would have looked good on anyone's arm, but with Bart she sparkled like a diamond. And every female head in the place turned and admired the incredibly handsome man that the youngest Maverick had become. They were seated at a table of prominence, put on display for all to see. Maude might have been used to the adulation, but Bart certainly wasn't. Another of Maude's little tests to see how he'd respond to being stared at and whispered about?
Bart simply ignored the attention and went about his business. Maude was appropriately impressed, nothing seemed to rattle him. She knew she'd found the perfect man for the job and would make the offer tonight.
Bart ordered wine and dinner. It amused him that Maude ate steak the same way he did – well done. When he mentioned it to her she smiled and remarked, "I want my men alive, not my food."
They drank in silence for a minute or two before Maude spoke again. When she did, there was a tone of respect in her voice. "You must have an Achilles heel somewhere, Bart, everyone does. But I can't seem to find yours. What am I missing?"
"I have my share of weaknesses, Maude. But I've learned to hide them from most people. Just like that tell you looked for last night and couldn't spot. Sometimes your life depends on it."
"I've searched for just the right man to do a job for me, and I didn't think there was one in this town. Until you showed up at 'Maude's' last night. Even then I wasn't sure. That's the purpose of all the scrutiny. This can only be attempted once, and if it doesn't work I'll never see my daughter again. Interested?"
"I need more details before I can give you an answer." He took a sip of wine and set the glass back on the table. "Are you willing to provide them before I commit?"
"That's a reasonable request. Let's have dinner and we can go back to my office and discuss details."
XXXXXXXX
"We need to talk, Pappy."
Bret finally had a few minutes alone with his father, and he was determined to get to the undercurrent of hostility that seemed to flow through the relationship between the two most important people in his life.
"Oh dear, what have I done now?" It was a serious question with a tone of amusement to it.
"Bart."
"What about Bart?"
"Sometimes it sounds like you don't like him much."
The answer that came back was too quick. "That's ridiculous. I love your brother."
Bret looked at his father skeptically. "I know you love him, pappy. He knows it, too. I'm talking about liking him."
Beauregard said nothing. He knew exactly what Bret was talking about. "You imagine things."
A shake of the head. "No, I don't. I've seen it my whole life. I'd do something stupid and you'd laugh it off. Bart would do something equally as dumb and at the least he'd get a tongue lashing from you. Why? I was certainly no angel, and Bart didn't do anywhere near some of the things I did."
"Water under the bridge. I don't do that anymore."
"Yes, you do, Pappy. You've done it in the two days we've been home. I've heard it. Bart's heard it too, he just doesn't react the way he used to. It's like you give me all the slack in the world and there's none left for Bart. Where does that come from?"
Pappy looked around as if searching for an escape route. Seeing none, he decided it was time to tell his oldest son the truth. "Sit down, Bret. There's a lot I've never explained to you."
They were in the main room of the house, so Bret sat in one of the chairs by the fireplace. Beauregard sat next to him and lit a cigar before starting in on his tale.
"Your mother didn't have an easy time before you were born. She lost a baby, a girl. The doctor advised us to give up on having a family, but your mother was determined. Then you were born. We were thrilled. When she found out she was gonna have your brother, she got real sick and almost lost him. After he was born, we knew there wouldn't be anymore. He was in poor health all the time. And then I lost your momma, and I was alone tryin' to raise the two of you. You were easy goin' and responsible, always ready to help. Bartley was the sweetest child anyone'd ever seen, but he was headstrong and stubborn, and wild at times. You were just like your mother; Bart was like me."
Pappy took a draw on the cigar. Bret was hearing things that Pappy never told him before and hung on every word. "Don't look at me that way. You might've resembled me, but you have your mother's disposition. Bart – I didn't want him to do some of the things I'd done. So I was always extra hard on him. Just so he wouldn't turn out like his old pappy. I guess I still do it, even though I don't need to. He's proved to be a better man than I could ever hope to be. I just thank God every day he hasn't gone through some of the things I went through."
Bret gave a sarcastic little chuckle. "You don't know what he's been through, Pappy. He's a good man, and he'd give his life to protect any of us. He almost has, more than once. It would mean a lot to both of us if you could cut him a little slack now."
"Just when I think I don't have to worry about him anymore – he goes and gets involved with Maude. What's that all about?"
"He didn't go after her, Pappy. She came after him. And if there's a job involved – maybe it's somethin' legitimate."
"I hope so. There's somethin' about that woman – but that's irrelevant. You're right, he deserves credit for the way he's changed. And I haven't been willin' to give it to him – always watchin' and waitin' for him to take the wrong step. I'll give it my best shot, that's all I can promise, son."
Bret nodded, satisfied that his father was aware of how unfair he'd been to his youngest son. "That's good enough, pappy. I'm sure Bart'll appreciate it."
XXXXXXXX
Dinner over, Bart had escorted Maude back to her namesake saloon, and they'd gone straight to her office. It was . . . . . interesting.
There was a large desk on the far wall and a portrait of Maude hung over it. At least it looked like a portrait of Maude until you got up close and realized it was a smaller, younger version of her. And the eyes were an almost aqua color, rather than blue. Whoever it was, she was definitely related to the saloon owner.
The other walls were adorned with photos of Maude in one costume or another; some were recent and some obviously from an earlier time. One or two had a good-looking man in them, presumed to be Mr. Donovan, and there were several of Maude and a little girl. If it weren't for the photos and the portrait, you would never know the office belonged to a woman. It was all dark, polished wood, heavy and masculine in appearance. There was an elegant humidor on one corner of the desk, and Maude flipped the lid open and offered Bart a cigar, which he willingly accepted.
"Have a seat, Mr. Maverick." Maude indicated the chairs in front of the desk. Big, solid looking chairs, overstuffed and dark red in color.
"We're back to that, are we? Alright, Mrs. Donovan, let's talk business."
"I want it clearly understood – this is business, Mr. Maverick. Anything personal that may or may not exist between us has no bearing on this transaction at all. Agreed?"
"You're making the rules, Mrs. Donovan."
"You wanted details, that's what I'm about to give you. This portrait behind the desk is my daughter, Doralice. She was all of sixteen when that was painted. She's twenty-four now. She's the only child I have, and she means everything in the world to me.
"When she was eighteen she ran away with Sergio Medina, of the Monterrey Medina's, across the border into Mexico. They were married in a little town called San Felipe. According to her, the first few years of the marriage were happy, and then Sergio started gambling and drinking and whoring. She begged him to stop, and he did for a while. But he started up again, and he added beating his wife to the list of wrongdoing. She stood it as long as she could, and then she left him. One night he snuck into her rooms, dead drunk, and insisted that if she didn't perform her marital duties he would beat her to death. He'd begun to do just that when she got away from him and pulled out the derringer that she kept under her pillow. She shot him, twice. His family pressured the Federales into arresting her and charging her with murder.
"They put her on trial, wouldn't let her call any witnesses, and wouldn't let her testify. She was found guilty and sentenced to hang. Only a very persuasive lawyer and a lot of money paid to various Mexican officials have kept her alive this long. Right now she sits in a jail in Reynosa, and I'm running out of money and hope. My attorney's tried every legal maneuver available to him and nothing's worked. The only thing he's been able to accomplish is to get the Federales to agree to turn her over to the Texas State Police, on the pretense that she murdered someone in Texas and is already sentenced to hang here. They'd rather the United States put her to death; it would cause less controversy.
"I have access to Texas State Police identification. I need someone who can stay cool and collected in the face of the Federales, and can improvise if something goes wrong. Somebody who knows when to speak and when to keep his mouth shut. I've come to the conclusion that you're that man, Mr. Maverick.
"If you can bring my daughter back to Texas, alive and unhurt, I'm willing to pay you ten thousand dollars. Is that enough detail for you?"
