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She began to sound him out. “Okay,” she said with a demure smile. “We’ve made peace. So tell me about yourself. What takes you to Austin?”
“Business,” he said. “What about you?”
“I’m going to visit my aunt,” she said, which wasn’t a lie. She paused for effect. “I haven’t seen her in ages. It’s a shame to be out of touch with family, don’t you think?”
For a split second, almost imperceptibly, his smile wavered. He didn’t answer her question. Instead he said, “So you’re from Texas?”
“A long time ago,” said Kitt. “I’m permanently transplanted to Manhattan now. What about you? Native New Yorker?”
“Transplant,” he said. “I’m from Beaumont, originally.”
She knew that already. “Castle Enterprises,” she said. “That sounds familiar. What exactly is it?”
“Real estate development,” he said, then turned the questioning. “And what do you do?”
She shrugged as if her job was of small interest. “I work for the Gilroy Group.” This was misleading, she knew. The Gilroy Group owned six magazines, but it was far more famous for its other holdings, especially its television network.
His blue eyes kindled with mischief. “Gilroy? Are you connected with that Uptown Girls show? The sexy one?”
“I’m just a little-bitty cog in the Gilroy machine,” she said flirtatiously.
He gave her a one-cornered grin. “That means yes, doesn’t it?”
She gave a laugh meant to sound self-conscious. “Well…”
“It does mean yes,” he said with satisfaction and leaned closer. “So exactly what do you do?”
She chose her words carefully. “Well, I guess you say I sort of—work around the editorial office.”
His grin grew more wicked. “You mean like—a story editor?”
“Um. Kind of.” She did, after all, work on stories. He just didn’t suspect she was working on one right now and he was its central figure.
“So tell me,” he said, leaning his chin on his hand. “Those plots? Are they based on real experience?”
He looked as happy as a man who has just fallen into a hutch of Playboy bunnies. Uptown Girls was the sexiest show on network television.
You lech, Kitt thought. I bet you think I’m an encyclopedia of erotica. She batted her lashes again. “That would be telling. I’m not going to discuss it until I know you much, much better.”
He leaned closer still. “That can be instantly arranged. What do you want to know?” His dark blue eyes were fixed with happy predation on hers. For a moment her breath stuck in her chest.
“Everything,” she said. “Tell me simply everything.”
“NO!” CAL CRIED as if in mortal pain. “She can’t do that!”
J.T. sat at his desk. In his face, harshness mingled with resignation. “She can and she is.”
“No,” Cal repeated, then swore. “She’s lived here since I was born. Since before I was born. Hell, she’s family—she can’t up and leave.”
“I’m no happier than you are,” J.T. said. In truth, he felt as if somebody had chipped a piece out of his heart.
“Hell,” Cal said in frustration. He jammed his hands into the pockets of his jeans and stared moodily out the window of J.T.’s study.
J.T. gave a gruff sigh. Lettie Mae Reese, the cook, had given her notice this morning. In two weeks she would celebrate her sixty-second birthday. When she’d told him that she meant to retire, tears had brimmed in her eyes.
J.T. picked up a pencil and threw it down again. Hell, when she’d told him, tears had brimmed in his eyes. Lettie Mae had come to work at the Double C when J.T. had married his first wife, Pauline, years ago.
He could not recall a major holiday or birthday without Lettie. He could picture her when she first came to the Double C, a young black woman so thin that her smile seemed wider than she did.
When Pauline had died, the only person who’d seen him cry was Lettie Mae. He’d stood in the kitchen and suddenly burst into sobs, making a noise like an animal in hopeless pain. She’d embraced him and held him fast, until he could stop. His outburst had been brief but violent, and afterward neither of them ever spoke of it.
Lettie had stood by him through everything, including his second marriage to Cynthia. When he became a father again, at fifty-five, Lettie Mae had looked at his new daughter as if the child was as precious as her own. “J.T.,” she’d said, “you sure haven’t lost your touch. After all these years, you still make a mighty good-looking baby.”
Cynthia used to snuggle in his arms after lovemaking and repeat the words as their private joke. “J.T., you sure haven’t lost your touch.”
Cynthia hadn’t been able to use that joke much in the past few months. Lord knew that J.T. liked sex, but by bedtime, he was so tired the need to sleep overwhelmed him. Then he had nightmares about bulldozers eating Claro County, chewing up the very graveyards and the bones of his ancestors.
Cynthia said she thought the stress was getting to him. This morning she’d said, “J.T., I know how much you love this country. But you’re letting it eat you alive. Maybe the time has come for you to ease up.”
Ease up? At first he’d been shocked. But was she right? J.T.’s lawyer, Martin Avery, wanted to quit lawyering and retire. His doctor, Nate Purdy, wanted to quit doctoring and retire. Even that old warhorse, Bubba Gibson, J.T.’s friend from boyhood, was starting to make threats about turning his ranch over to somebody younger.
Everybody else was retiring. Why not him? The ranch hadn’t done so well lately. J.T. was even slightly in debt—to Cal, his own son. Borrowing money from his own child had made J.T. feel somehow diminished.
Cal still stood staring glumly out the window. “Is Lettie Mae gonna stay in Crystal Creek?”
With a jolt J.T.’s mind came back to the crisis at hand. He set his jaw. “I don’t know. She’s going to visit her cousin in Santa Fe. See if the climate helps her arthritis.”
Cal turned, his face troubled. “Daddy, I can’t imagine life without Lettie Mae here. What are you gonna do?”
“I’ll find a replacement,” J.T. almost snapped. In truth, he didn’t know what he would do. When Lettie Mae went, it would be as if the best years of his life had taken formal leave of him.
“Well,” Cal said with conviction, “what we gotta do is give her a party. Biggest damn party in the history of Crystal Creek.”
While I go up into the attic and hang myself, J.T. thought morosely.
Maybe Cynthia was right. The ranch, the changes in Crystal Creek, the battle with Fabian that could drag on for years—maybe he should retire and try to get his life back.
But if he retired, what would become of the Double C? Tyler was consumed by the business of the winery. Lynn, J.T.’s grown daughter, only cared about raising racehorses, not cattle, and her husband wasn’t a rancher. He was a dentist, for God’s sake.
As for Cal, he had bigger enterprises than a ranch, and he still had his same old footloose streak. He’d been checking out investments all over Australia, and soon he’d head for South America. No. Cal was not one to be tied down to a piece of land.
Cal said, “Let’s put the gals in charge of the party. That’ll give ’em something to worry about besides this damn Bluebonnet Meadows. Lord, what a name. Why didn’t they just call it Cutesie-ville?”
“I don’t care what they call it,” J.T. said grumpily. “I just wish it’d disappear. Hole in the Wall was good ranch land once. I was just getting used to it being a dude ranch.”
Cal shook his head and smiled. “It was a dude ranch for ten years. You don’t adjust to change real fast, do you, Daddy?”
J.T. scowled at him. “No, I don’t. And now I hear this Fabian’s sending Belyle’s own brother down here. Shelby Belyle told Lynn. Plus Nora says we’ll have a reporter on our hands. Not local. Big-time.”
Cal leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. “A reporter could be an advantage to us. Exclusive is a national magazine. It could stir up national sympathy.”
“Sympathy? That and a dollar’ll buy you a cup of coffee,” J.T. said. “But don’t try it without the dollar.”
“The pen is mightier than sword,” Cal observed.
“Fabian isn’t using a sword,” J.T. retorted. “He’s using Uzis and flame-throwers and stealth bombers.”
Cal raised an eyebrow. “How good is this lawyer that’s coming?”
“Mel Belyle? I hear he’s good. Very good. And motivated. He’s got a score to settle.”
Cal uncrossed his arms, hooked his thumbs in his belt and strolled to the fireplace. “How about the other one? The lawyer that deserted Fabian? And married the local girl?”
J.T.’s forehead furrowed. “Nick? He’s good, too. And he’s on our side. But he can’t do much. Fabian’s got him hog-tied.”
“Exclusivity clause?” Cal asked. “Confidentiality clause? Corporate secrets, that kind of bull dooky?”
J.T. gave his son a long, scrutinizing look. It always surprised him when Cal said something knowledgeable about business or law. J.T. sometimes felt that Cal’s wealth was a strange illusion, and that his younger son was still a rambling kid, without a serious thought in his head.
“Yeah,” he admitted. “That kind of bull dooky.”
Nick Belyle had revealed company secrets, and it had cost him. He lost his pension, his company stock, and he would probably never work at the corporate level again.
Nick was hardly poor—he could easily live on his savings and his own investments for years. He could also open a private practice, which he intended to do, right here in Crystal Creek.
What Nick could not do for one full year was get involved in any sort of business that ran counter to Fabian’s. That included the Claro County Citizens’ Organization. Nick wanted to help—but he couldn’t even give free advice. If he did, Fabian could have him fined and disbarred.
“So Martin Avery’s handling most of the legal eagle stuff right now?” Cal asked.
“Some of it,” J.T. said. “With the help of some Dallas lawyers. But Martin’s tired. He says this case is out of his league. He said—he said that he wanted your advice. That maybe you knew some high-powered people—but not too high-powered. I’m not made of money.”
Cal nodded, his expression serious. J.T. had another surge of an emotion he couldn’t identify—or didn’t want to. It didn’t seem fitting that a man as learned and careful as Martin should turn for advice to Cal.
Tyler had always joked that Cal had spent his formative years getting bucked off horses and landing on his head. There’d been times in Cal’s wild years that J.T. could only agree.
“I want to meet Nick Belyle,” Cal said. “Soon. Could you arrange it?”
“He wants to meet you, too,” J.T. said, with the same unpleasant feeling. “He’d come over tonight if you’re willing.”
“I’m willing,” said Cal. “In the meantime I’m going to talk to your better half and mine about Lettie’s shindig.” He paused, then gave his father a level look. “You told Tyler about Lettie Mae—that she’s leaving?”
J.T. muttered yes. He had told Tyler first because it seemed only fitting. After all, Tyler was the elder and he still lived on the Double C. He saw Lettie Mae nearly every day.
Cal said, “How’d he take it?”
“Hard,” J.T. said, suddenly feeling bone-weary. Tyler took everything hard; it was his nature.
“Maybe I should talk to him,” Cal said.
“He doesn’t want to talk,” J.T. said. “He’s out in the vineyard, and he’s not answering his cell phone.”
Cal’s normally playful eyes looked troubled. “Are he and Ruth getting along all—”
J.T. cut him off. “What goes on between them is their business. I don’t interfere.” Neither should you, was the unspoken message.
Cal’s expression didn’t change. “It’s okay to ask Ruth about a party?”
“I suppose,” J.T. said without enthusiasm. “And ask your sister. Don’t leave her out.”
“I wouldn’t leave Lynn out,” Cal said. “You know that.”
“And another thing,” J.T. said. “I want Lettie Mae to have a nice send-off. But don’t go wild. We’ll split the expense four ways—you, me, Tyler, Lynn. This is not some big show for you to put on, understand?”
Cal stood a bit straighter and looked him in the eye. For a moment, he didn’t speak. Then he said, “I understand.”
And his unspoken message was, I understand better than you think, Daddy. He turned and left the study.
CRONIN HAD TOLD KITT she didn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of getting Fabian’s Crystal Creek man to talk to her. Yet here that man was, ready and eager to tell her about himself. Delightful.
For once, Kitt didn’t allow herself to dwell on journalistic ethics. After all, Mel Belyle had pursued her, not the other way around.
And, Kitt rationalized, she hadn’t exactly lied to him. He’d jumped to a conclusion, and she’d helped keep him jumping. He thought he was making a conquest. He didn’t know he was becoming one.
She decided to pry slowly, not to stir his suspicions. “What kind of a name is Melburn?” she asked, just a hint of teasing in her voice.
“My uncle was named Melburn,” he said, “My grandfather spent time in Australia when he was in the navy. He named him for the city.”
Kitt looked again at his card and frowned. “Melbourne? It’s spelled differently.”
“My family wasn’t known for its spelling skills.” He gave her a self-deprecating smile.
She smiled back. “What were they known for?”
“Ah,” he said, as the waiter set down a pitcher of cola and two glasses. “Refreshment. May I?” He offered to pour her drink.
“Please,” she said. “You were saying about your family?”
He filled her glass as he spoke. “What were we known for? Nothing special, I guess.” As he filled his own glass, his Rolex glinted in the restaurant’s dim light.
She said, “You seem to have done all right for yourself.”
“I was lucky,” he said. He lifted his drink in a toast. “Here’s to getting to know each other better.”
She clicked her glass against his. “Much better.”
He grinned. It was a charming grin, and he used it like a weapon of seduction. Don full mind and body armor, she warned herself.
He said, “I can’t believe it. A story editor for Uptown Girls. You know who my favorite character is? Fleur. The one with red hair like yours. I bet she’s based on you.”
