The Rebel's Return

The kid who’d been sent to reform school for stealing another man’s Porsche now owned one of his own. And a Jag and several antique vehicles. His penthouse apartment had cost him in the millions, he owned a home in Aspen and he was part-owner of a chain of resort hotels in the Bahamas.

Oh, yeah, a part of him would love to rub Maddie Delarue’s nose in his success. Of all the people back home, she was the only one he really wanted to impress. She was probably married now, with a couple of kids. Surely she hadn’t married Jimmy Don Newman, Dylan thought.

Since her father’s death a few years ago, she was now the richest woman in Texas. Dylan chuckled. Hell, maybe she wouldn’t be that impressed with him after all.

Grinning, Dylan sipped on his whisky. Even after several days of mulling over the entire matter, he still found it difficult to believe that his father had called him. Out of the blue, after all this time, Judge Carl Bridges had set aside his unswerving pride and telephoned his only child.

“Son, I’m asking you to forgive me,” Carl had said. “Can you find it in your heart to give your father a second chance? Is there any hope that we can put the past behind us and build a new relationship?”

Strange that he hadn’t vented years of frustration and rage directly at his father. Even stranger was the fact that he, too, wanted nothing more than to put the past to rest, to reach out and forge a new relationship with his father. As a man of experience, he now realized what a rebellious hellion he’d been as a teenager, and how both he and his father had allowed their grief over Leda Bridges’ death to separate them instead of bring them closer together. Yes, his father had made mistakes, had concentrated on his career more than his son, had given Dylan no room for failure. But Dylan knew that he had made a lot of mistakes himself, that he’d acted up time and again hoping to get his father’s attention.

If staunch, unyielding Carl Bridges could admit mistakes and ask for forgiveness, then so could his son.

Dylan had ended his conversation with his father by saying, “Yeah, Dad, I’ll think about coming to Mission Creek for a visit. I just need some time to get used to the idea.”

This morning when he awoke, he decided right then, even before his first cup of coffee, that there was no better time than the present to find out if his dad and he could reconnect as father and son. Besides, he needed a vacation. He worked too much; even his closest friends told him he’d become a workaholic. But despite his wealth and great success, he didn’t have anything else in his life that truly mattered. Only work.

Long ago, he’d come to the conclusion that a guy couldn’t count on anyone or anything except himself. Family was a bogus term. He felt as if he’d lost his only family when his mother died. The desire to marry and start a family of his own had eluded him, mainly because he’d never met a woman he thought he could spend the rest of his life with—never loved or trusted a woman enough to make a serious commitment.

He supposed he should call his father and apprise him of his plans, but he liked the idea of just showing up on his dad’s doorstep and surprising him. He’d already gotten a reservation on a flight to Mission Ridge, the nearest airport to his hometown. He’d be home in time for supper. Maybe he’d take his dad to the country club, to the Empire Room. Now, wouldn’t that be something—to go back to the Lone Star Country Club as a guest instead of an employee.

And who knew, maybe if things worked out with his father, he might even relocate to Mission Creek.

“Mrs. Delarue, please stop.” Alicia Lewis jumped up from behind her desk in Maddie Delarue’s private office space in the Lone Star Country Club and rushed forward toward her boss’s mother. “Maddie is very busy and I’m not supposed to let anyone disturb her.”

“Well, my dear young woman, I’m Maddie’s mother and I can assure you that I’m not just anyone.” Over the years Nadine Delarue had perfected the royal put-down. “My daughter’s position as the events manager here at the club is nothing more than a hobby for her anyway, so she can’t possibly be that busy.”

Hearing the ruckus outside her office, Maddie groaned. Oh, Lord, just what she needed this afternoon—dealing with her self-pitying, hypochondriacal mother. For the past sixteen years, ever since her parents’ widely publicized, bloody divorce and her father’s death a few years back, Nadine had clung to Maddie with a tenacious stranglehold. Only by sheer force of will had Maddie been able to live her own life. But her life was often interrupted by her mother’s histrionics. Maddie did her best to be the dutiful daughter, but there were times when the burden became almost too much for her to bear.

When Maddie opened the office door, she found Alicia standing there blocking Nadine’s path. The moment her mother saw her, she burst into tears.

“This awful girl wouldn’t let me see you.” Nadine hiccuped. “And I told her that I was your mother.”

Oh, great, her mother was tipsy. “It’s all right, Alicia.” Maddie patted her assistant’s shoulder. Alicia was new on the job, so this was her first encounter with Nadine the Terminator. When the bewildered young brunette stepped aside, Nadine flung herself at Maddie, who wrapped her arm around her mother’s shoulders and led her into her office. “Have you had anything to eat today? You seem a little unsteady.”

As Maddie closed her office door, her mother wiped her eyes and sniffed several times. “I had lunch with the girls here at the club,” Nadine said.

“I see.” Lunch had undoubtedly consisted of several martinis. “I don’t mean to rush you, Mother, but I am very busy this afternoon. The Mystery Gala at the club is this weekend and I have a zillion loose ends to tie up. Is this something that could wait?”

Nadine slumped down on the sofa, upholstered in a beige-and-white striped silk. Maddie groaned internally. No way was Nadine going to let her get off so easily.

“You’re always too busy for me.”

Nadine stroked the soft waves of fine white-blond hair that lay close to her face in an attractive, modern style that her hairdresser had assured her took years off her appearance. But not nearly as many years as her most recent facelift, Maddie thought. Since the day her husband had walked out on her, left her for a much younger woman, Nadine had been obsessed with staying young. After the divorce, she’d gone through a succession of suitors half her age, but was left high and dry by each one when they realized that her divorce from billionaire Jock Delarue had not gained her half his net worth. Grandfather Delarue had been a smart old buzzard; he’d insisted Nadine sign a prenuptial agreement before she wed his only son, something not standard procedure in the mid-sixties.

“I’m sorry, Mother. Really I am. But I do have a job, you know. Responsibilities. People counting on me.” Maddie eased her behind down on the edge of her elaborately carved, antique mahogany desk.

“I’m counting on you, Maddie. You’re all I have in this world.”

Oh, here we go again, Maddie thought. I’m all alone. No one needs me. No one loves me. I gave birth to you. An excruciating labor. You were a colicky baby. My every thought since the day you were born has been of you. She’d heard it all before—ad nauseam.

“What do you want? What can I do for you today?” Maddie focused her attention directly on her mother.

“I—I…well, I’m not sure. It’s just that the others, my friends…well, they were all going home to husbands. And you know that I don’t have a man in my life. And they all have grandchildren to dote on. I’d think the least you could do is give me a grandchild.”

“I’d like nothing better, and maybe someday I’ll—”

“Why must you work here? Why do you bother with such a mundane little job? You’re the wealthiest woman in Texas. For God’s sakes, Maddie, your father left you several billion dollars. You don’t need to work. If you spent half as much time socializing as you do playing with this silly job of yours, you might find a husband.”

Maddie groaned. Nadine hiccuped, then shook her head, as if trying to clear the cobwebs.

“I socialize,” Maddie said. “But let’s face it, I haven’t had much luck with men. They all seem far more interested in my money than in me. Does that ring a bell, Mother?”

“No need for you to be cruel. And there’s no need for you to remain single, either. There are several eligible men in Mission Creek. Young men wealthy in their own right. You could have had Flynt Carson or Matt Carson if you hadn’t let them get snapped up by other women. Neither of whom was half as suitable as you to become a Carson bride.”

“Let’s don’t go there again. I’ve known Matt and Flynt all my life. They’re simply my friends. They could never have been anything more.”

Tears trickled down Nadine’s rosy cheeks. She sniffed several times. “Why must you scream at me? I’m not a well woman.” She clutched her silk blouse where the material draped across her breasts. “Sometimes I don’t know why the good Lord sees fit to let me go on living. I suppose I haven’t suffered enough.”

Nadine stood on wobbly legs and made a valiant—if somewhat overly dramatic—effort to walk toward the door. Halfway there, she stumbled. Maddie rushed to her mother’s side, slid her arm around Nadine’s waist and sighed deeply.

“Let me drive you home,” Maddie said. “A nice, long drive in the fresh air will be good for both of us.”

“Yes, dear, that would be lovely.” Nadine patted Maddie’s cheek. “You can be such a good daughter…when you want to be.”

Maddie sat her mother back on the sofa until she could clear off her desk and retrieve her handbag. On the way out, she instructed Alicia to forward any important calls to her cell phone and take messages about anything that could be handled tomorrow.

Ten minutes later, with Nadine secured by the seat belt in Maddie’s white Mercedes-Benz convertible, they headed down Gulf Road, past County General Hospital. With wind humming around her, her hair flying like a bright red flag, Maddie shut out the sound of her mother’s droning whine. Complain, complain, complain. Was there never any end to it? Why couldn’t her mother be content? Sometimes Nadine didn’t care that no one responded to her incessant chatter; all she seemed to require was an audience to listen.

Still tuned out to everything except her private thoughts about the upcoming gala at the club, Maddie whipped the convertible off the road and into her mother’s private drive. After their divorce, Jock had generously given Nadine the home they had shared for nearly twenty years, and Maddie now paid for the upkeep as her father had once done. The palatial Georgian sat on twenty acres, all immaculately groomed.

Maddie parked, helped Nadine from the car and to the front door. Instead of bothering with trying to unlock the door, she simply rang the bell. Ernesta Sanchez, her mother’s longtime housekeeper, opened the door.

“Oh, my, Señora Delarue, are you all right?” The short, squat Ernesta’s concern was genuine. Maddie knew, even though her mother would never admit being fond of a servant, that Ernesta was probably her mother’s best friend.

“Mother’s had a busy day.” Maddie escorted Nadine past Ernesta and into the huge marble-floored foyer. “She had lunch with the girls at the club.” Maddie and Ernesta exchanged so-she-had-too-much-to-drink glances. “I’ll have one of the valets bring her car home later. She didn’t feel quite up to driving herself.”

“Let me help you.” Ernesta took Nadine over completely, her big arm securely circling her employer’s waist. “What you need is a nice, long afternoon nap.”

“Yes, you’re probably right,” Nadine said, smiling forlornly at her housekeeper. “I am a bit tired.” Nadine glanced at Maddie. “Do you mind terribly, dear? I’m sure you’d hoped we could spend the afternoon together. But I’m afraid I suddenly have a horrific headache.”

“I don’t mind,” Maddie said. “Let Ernesta help you up to your room. I’ll run along, but I’ll phone later this evening to check on you.”

“Yes, do that. Please. I do so look forward to your calls.” Nadine allowed Ernesta to lead her toward the massive staircase. “You should phone more often. I get terribly lonely.”

“I promise that I’ll do better in the future.”

While Nadine leaned on Ernesta as the two walked up the stairs, Maddie let herself out and rushed to her car. She sat behind the wheel for a couple of minutes, contemplating her mother’s life and their relationship. She had been trying—unsuccessfully—for the past ten years to get her mother to see a psychiatrist, to seek professional help for her depression, but Nadine adamantly refused.