Czytaj książkę: «In Search Of A Hero»
“I guess you were right, Rebekkah. That sermon tonight was for both of us.
“You pray for me and I’ll pray for you,” André went on, “and we’ll believe that God can bring a reconciliation about. How’s that?”
Rebekkah nodded. “Better be careful what you pray for, André.”
André smiled. “Oh, I am. Believe me, I am.”
And he was certain he was going to be praying for God to help him find more time to spend around this woman….
CHERYL WOLVERTON
RITA Award finalist Cheryl Wolverton has well over a dozen books to her name. Her very popular HILL CREEK, TEXAS series has been a finalist in many contests. Cheryl grew up in Oklahoma, lived in Kentucky, Texas and now Louisiana, but she and her husband of twenty years and their two children, Jeremiah and Christina, consider themselves Oklahomans who have been transplanted to grow and flourish in the South. Readers are always welcome to contact her via: P.O. Box 207, Slaughter, LA 70777 or e-mail at Cheryl@cherylwolverton.com. You can also visit her Web site at www.cherylwolverton.com.
In Search of a Hero
Cheryl Wolverton
MILLS & BOON
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Jesus looked at them and said, “With man this is impossible, but with God all things are possible.”
—Matthew 19:26
Mom—It’s been 12 books and you’re still reading them and even tickled with all of the overseas copies. Thank you for your support. I love you.
Anita, you had no idea how wonderful Titan could be. Now you’ll have to watch for your new baby, Katie, in a book! I love you.
To my other siblings, Deb and James, thanks for telling me you like my books!
To my family, Steve, Christina, Jeremiah and the unofficial family Darrell Stevens (who might as well be family the way he lives over here—grin) and in-laws Phyllis, Me Maw, John, John II, Michelle, Ross, Diana, Leigh and Randy.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Epilogue
Letter to Reader
Prologue
The information was out in the open again.
She had been told it wouldn’t be found, that it was buried for good. With her help, they’d managed to cover everything up.
Why had she done it?
She should have let them take their chances, but at the time, it had seemed like the right thing to do. The right way to go.
Hanging up the phone, she turned, sighing and heading toward the stairs. “What am I going to do? This will ruin everything!”
She didn’t see the shadow of a person she passed on her way upstairs.
Chapter One
The sweltering heat of the humid Texas night clung to André Watson as he lounged on the bench in Colundra Park in the downtown city of Hamilton. He waited for the meeting his contact had set up.
He wondered just how out of the ordinary he looked in the khaki pants and dark green polo shirt. Especially at this time of night.
Twisting his arm, he again checked his watch. Nearly ten.
Two years ago André had thought by this time he’d be married, settled down and on his way to having children with Sarah. Sarah whom his father had deceived, Sarah who had hit rock bottom and ended up at her brother-in-law’s house, Sarah who had married Justin and had a seven-year-old niece-step-daughter and now, through modern miracles, had her own child on the way.
He’d lost Sarah, left the family business and started out on his own, a business dedicated to helping the poor, the needy, not the rich class like his father did. Two years ago seemed like a lifetime.
A lifetime in which he had catered to the rich, not the poor—which was why he sat here now at nearly ten on a Friday night. Had he not started his own business after his father had ruined his engagement to Sarah he would be at home now, watching TV, getting ready to go to bed for the night and maybe play a round of golf in the morning…
So many things had changed. Looking back, he wondered how he’d been so shallow and empty and not seen it.
He would never have been caught dead out this time of night to meet a contact. And not in this part of the town.
André glanced at the overhead light, one of many that dotted the cement path winding its way through the huge park. He again told himself he was doing the right thing. He’d let go of Sarah, wishing her well with the man who had stolen her heart. He’d even, to a point, admitted the only reason he’d dated Sarah was he’d been in love with the idea of settling down and having children. He’d been searching for something to fill his emptiness—he’d just been searching in the wrong area. Sarah hadn’t been for him.
He’d even forgiven his stepbrother who, though he hadn’t worked full-time in the business at that time, had sided with his father over the firing of Sarah.
What he couldn’t forgive was his father’s actions or get over the hurt his father had caused by refusing to admit that what he’d done was wrong.
A sluggish wind whispered through the bushes, moving the humid air around in the suburb that was well outside the Fort Worth Dallas area. It did nothing to cool him off as he shifted impatiently.
Tailor-made suits had given way to khakis and jeans as he’d moved into the slums to represent the less fortunate. It seemed like another lifetime—a lifetime his father enjoyed reminding him of as he insisted André get over his snit and come back to work for him.
But André refused, for many reasons, the least of which was his father wouldn’t admit he had been wrong. So here he sat, waiting in the semidarkness, sweat trickling down his back, wishing the hundred-degree heat would finally break and bring some relief to the area.
He was waiting on a contact that had information on something that would really interest him, or so he’d been told. What it was he couldn’t imagine, but many contacts in the past had come through for him, especially the one he was waiting on, so he wouldn’t leave until the tardy man showed up. The slight sound of sneakers on cement caught his attention, drawing his gaze to his unhurried contact.
“Hey, man, you been waiting long?”
André heard the drawl of Billy Redford as he came idling up. Tall and slim, Billy wore pants that were way too big, held up with a belt cinched in around his middle, and a tank top that had seen better days. The cap on his head was turned, the bill pointed down and to the right—always the same direction, same color, same tilt to the hat. Billy dropped down on the bench next to André.
“What do you think, Billy? We were supposed to meet thirty minutes ago,” he said impatiently. It was too hot to be impatient, he realized, and glanced across the park, willing himself to relax. Billy had good information. He usually did. Getting upset wouldn’t hurry the man. More than likely it would slow him down.
Few people could be seen wandering the park. In the distance he heard the occasional horn or someone’s loud laughter that broke through the night. Other than that, it was eerily quiet. Most couples, and singles for that matter, traveled into Fort Worth for the evening on a Friday night.
“I got caught up, man. You know you didn’t have to wait. A man with the color of your skin this time of night could just get himself into major trouble out here, ya know?”
“I live in this neighborhood now, Billy. I doubt because I’m Caucasian anyone is going to pick me off.” Of course, that wasn’t necessarily true, André thought, but he wouldn’t admit that to Billy. He wanted to help in the lower income area. He ignored the voice that said he still had bitterness toward his father that had partially been responsible for landing him where he now practiced.
Billy never met André’s eyes, his gaze constantly roving as he reached under his shirt and pulled out a manila folder, dropping it between them. That’s how Billy was. He was never still, always moving, his gaze never settling on one thing. Tall, slender, black, he was at least five years André’s senior.
And he was right. André needn’t have waited, except he had nothing at home waiting for him, no one there to welcome him, nothing at all. “Yeah, well,” André countered, “you said it was important. Your client was sure I’d want this.”
André lifted the folder to look in it, but Billy stopped him. “Where’s my payment?”
“I see the goods, you get paid,” André replied mildly, thinking they went through this every time Billy brought him information. It was standard practice.
Billy released the envelope. “I think you’ll find some interesting stuff in there.”
“Reading the mail again?” André murmured as he opened the papers to peruse just what was in them.
“Nah. But I have ears.”
“This life is gonna get you in trouble one day, Billy. You need to go legit,” André said and then sat forward as he realized what the papers covered.
“My money?” Billy prompted.
“Who gave you this stuff?” André demanded, his gaze going to Billy, his heart starting to hammer loud in his ears.
“Hey, that ain’t part of the deal, man,” Billy protested. “I can’t reveal my sources. I just deliver the goods and get paid.”
“This is different.” To André, at least, it was. This was about him, about his father, about the past.
“Not to me it ain’t,” Billy muttered. “I tell on my sources, I don’t get the business.”
André forced himself to calm down and pulled an envelope from his back pocket “Tell your contact I want to meet him.”
“I’ll do that,” Billy said, snatching the envelope. Just as quickly it disappeared from his hand under his shirt. Billy hurried off, leaving André sitting there holding the information that might just prove that his almighty father wasn’t perfect. That he could make mistakes. Of course, if it was true, it could also ruin his reputation, but all André could think about was the fact this might finally make his dad see things differently. It might finally make him admit he could be wrong.
But how?
André continued to sit there and stare at the information until an idea bloomed in the back of his mind, an idea that he didn’t really cotton to at first as it crawled up and presented itself, but an idea just the same. It was an idea that, as he forced himself to look at it and examine it objectively, might really work.
If André could only get his dad to go along with him.
And if the information wasn’t simply a pack of lies. Either way, this was something that couldn’t be ignored, and whether André liked the idea or not, it was a way to find out if this information was the truth.
His dad would probably love his plan.
André wasn’t sure how he felt about it.
But to see his family name like this, in these papers, and the consequences it would cause if it were true…
He had to do it.
Chapter Two
“Your father is busy. Is there something I can help you with?”
Rebekkah Hawkley stood poised by the elevators, ready to deter André Watson from going into his father’s office, if at all possible. She hated it when André showed up. He always put Drydan in such a foul mood, and then she had to work with an angry man for the rest of the day.
“Hello, Rebekkah,” André murmured with a smile, turning on the charm that usually got him past the secretaries in the building. Had Wanda not contacted Rebekkah, André would probably have made it all the way past Shirley and Mary and be in there right now, once again arguing with his father about some silly case.
The smile he had could warm anyone to his way of thinking if they weren’t careful. She’d seen him use it on jurors before. Tall, slender, golden hair like his mother, Margaret DuMoiré Watson, André had had it all, until he had a falling out with his father.
“Hello, André,” she replied and waited to see what he would say next.
She’d heard the story of what happened with his father. Supposedly, Drydan had fired André’s fiancée worried that André had taken time off to avoid seeing Sarah for some reason. Some sort of problem between the two had rocked the foundation of their relationship, according to office talk.
Drydan worried about his son and had thought he was helping him. But André had reacted in anger, leaving the practice, breaking Drydan and Margaret’s heart. The only good thing that had come of it was that it left an opening for an up-and-coming lawyer—her—and had gotten Drydan’s stepson, Michael, more involved in the business. He wasn’t a lawyer, but he did assist in research and such for Drydan—he had for nearly seven years now, since he’d come to live with the Watsons. After the falling out between André and his father, Michael had gone to work full-time for his father.
“Tell me, Rebekkah, are you still gofering for my father?”
Rebekkah’s eyes narrowed. André was great at distractions. He got to know his opponent and knew how to attack. That’s what made him a good lawyer. Unfortunately, it had made him cynical in many ways, too, she believed. “You know I don’t gofer for anyone, André. I’m a lawyer in my own right, and your father respects that.”
André snorted. “Yeah. Just like he does me.”
“You know he only wants you back in the business,” Rebekkah argued. “That’s why he’s always on you to get out of the inner city.” Sighing with exasperation she asked, “Why do you come here to cause Drydan problems? Your constant attacks wear him down.”
André at least, had the grace to shift uncomfortably. In khaki pants and light blue shirt with the sleeves rolled halfway up, André even looked good when he was uneasy. That unsettled her, as well. He shouldn’t look so good. However, she was glad she’d scored a point and ruffled that calm exterior. It gave her a feeling of control, something she rarely felt when André Watson was in the same room.
Or she thought she had scored a small triumph until he continued. “You’re naive, Rebekkah. You can’t believe everything Pastor Jacob says about forgiveness. Sometimes things have to be taken into our own hands.”
Sadly, she shook her head. So much for thinking she had unsettled him. He still thought of her as the green kid at the firm, the one who didn’t know what Drydan was really like. “You’re too bitter, André.” Stubbornly she added, “I think I’ll have a talk with Jacob Sunday and mention he should take a small amount of time to preach forgiveness again.” She paused significantly then added, “If you agree to show up, that is.” It concerned Drydan that André rarely went to church. At least Drydan seemed to have changed and cared more since he lost André to his own practice.
André shrugged. “Talk to Jacob?” he asked mildly. She knew he saw right through her lie. She had never been able to bluff André. She’d known him impersonally for nearly six months, and yet he still had the capacity to drive her crazy. He was a good man except for the blind spot he had about his father. “I go sometimes,” André said, absently waving off her comment.
He was a good man except for his blind spot about his father and church, she amended.
Abruptly André’s tone changed. “Believe it or not, Rebekkah, I’m not here to argue with my father but to work on a case we have to reopen.”
Rebekkah gaped at André trying to determine if she’d heard the man right. Finally, when she recovered her voice, she asked, “You’re going to work for your father?”
“Isn’t that what I just said?” he murmured, that smirking little smile appearing as his head tilted down toward her slightly and his eyebrows transformed into that certain angle as he gave her a superior look.
Using the time to smooth her peach jacket and straight skirt, Rebekkah regrouped. “I don’t believe it.”
“Why don’t you come with me to Dad’s office and you’ll find out if I’m telling the truth.” He baited her knowing how she had planned to turn him down the hall in another direction, to another office, anywhere but Drydan’s. However, what would he do if she called his bluff?
“You don’t think I will, do you?” She hated the way this cool, calm golden boy always rattled her.
Slipping his hands in his pockets, he said, “I’m hoping you will.”
She studied him, trying to discern the truth behind the neutral gaze he leveled at her. Was he serious? Did he really plan to come to work for his father again? Or was this simply a trick to see his dad? She couldn’t remember a time both hadn’t ended up in an argument.
Why couldn’t André accept that his dad had changed since the day his son had left? Though Rebekkah hadn’t known him well then, she did know that losing Andréashe had caused a wound within him. A wound that couldn’t heal because they couldn’t talk out the problem. She knew André still wasn’t over Sarah. She’d heard through the grapevine how he avoided places she frequented. He told everyone he was over it, but his hate toward his father supported a different story. Which brought her back to André’s motivations. Was he really interested in just talking this time?
There was no telling how long they would have stood in a face-off if they hadn’t been interrupted.
“Well, well, if it’s not the prodigal brother returned, not to rejoice, however, but to slink into the fold like a wolf hunting more prey.”
Rebekkah winced at Michael’s words.
“Well, hello to you, too, brother,” André drawled.
There was certainly no love lost between the two brothers, Rebekkah thought, exasperated with how this meeting had changed into a confrontation of kin. At least this fight wasn’t on André’s side, Rebekkah reminded herself wearily. Michael didn’t care at all for Drydan’s son, who seemed to always get preferential choice over the stepson. André acted as if he had no idea that it bothered Michael at all.
“How are you doing, Michael?” André smiled benignly at the other golden boy in the office, as Rebekkah thought of him. Michael looked much like André in color and build. The only real differences were the square jaw and the dark brown eyes instead of the deep piercing silver gray ones that André had. There was no doubt both were Margaret’s children. The smoother lines of André’s facial structure, aristocratic nose and silver gray eyes came from Drydan.
“Actually, I was doing great until I heard you had come here to harass your father again.”
Rebekkah noted how some of the employees down the hall seemed to be migrating toward them—obviously to see a family feud in progress. Rebekkah decided to put a stop to it right here and now. Part of her job was to keep Drydan happy. Knowing his employees were getting an eyeful in his firm wasn’t going to bring that about. “He’s here to help his father, he says, Michael. Why don’t we go talk with Drydan?” she offered, turning to André and drawing his attention to her.
“I thought you’d never ask,” André replied and gave her a sweet smile.
Michael showed his disgust with the curling of his lip.
“Michael,” she said, “I need that report on the Keller Water Treatment Facility and how that case turned out—in detail. I’m going to trial in a few weeks and have decided to use the Muller versus the City of Keller case as precedent. Can you do a workup for me?”
Michael hesitated then nodded curtly. “Sure thing, Rebekkah.” Leveling one last disgusted look at his stepbrother, Michael turned and left.
“Looks like he’s as happy as ever,” André murmured as he started down the long carpeted hall toward his father’s office.
“He’s just gotten used to working full-time here, André. He’s settled in,” Rebekkah said quietly. They passed the tall mirrors and portraits of others who had once worked in the office, as well as doors that led to secretaries and legal assistants. Though they were a small firm by many standards, they were the largest firm outside the Fort Worth firms. Cherry-wood tables with floral arrangements dotted the hall as they approached Drydan’s office. “I imagine Michael worries that you’ll come waltzing back into the firm, and he’ll no longer be the number one son.”
André sighed. “I don’t think of Michael like that. True, I didn’t know him most of my life until his father died and he moved in with us, but I’ve always accepted him.”
Rebekkah strolled along beside André, her worry over André’s desire to confront his father shifting to André’s situation with his brother. “I know you have. I think it’s something Michael will have to work through. Be patient.” With a nod they passed the private secretary’s desk.
“Trying to comfort me?” André asked mildly, pausing outside Drydan’s office door.
Rebekkah bristled. Turning to meet his gaze, she replied, “No way. You have too many women around here that would love to do that. I’m simply pointing out the Christian thing to do.”
André chuckled. “The Christian thing. Something you aren’t going to let me forget, are you, Rebekkah, love?”
She reached for the handle of one of the double doors then smiled sweetly—too sweetly. “Not a chance. It gives me great pleasure to remind you daily about forgiveness.” Turning, she pushed the door open, a smile on her dark face. “Drydan, your son is here to see you.”
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