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“But that Nashville lowlife faked his injuries in our store and those lawyers not only went along with the deception, they fought tooth and nail to get that huge settlement.”
“Hon, lawyers are supposed to trust their clients and they don’t get paid if they don’t win.”
How her brother could be so forgiving was a mystery. He’d suffered the most during the dragged out proceedings of the personal injury claim. But he’d given his anger to God and forgiven the people who’d made false claims. Today, he was happily married and about to adopt his wife’s precious little son.
“So you’ve told me a hundred times,” she continued, “but I’m not ready to offer wholesale absolution. In my book the entire legal community is guilty of being money hungry until proven otherwise.”
“Well, reserve judgment and give this fellow the benefit of the doubt, Warden. Westbrook Partners is the most respected law firm in England. Their influence on the investor could make or break our deal.”
“Okay, okay, I hear you. I won’t let the family down.”
“Hey, Casey?”
“Yes, Guy?”
“The last thing any of us worries about is you letting the family down. Dad hired you to replace me because you’ve trained for the opportunity and everybody knows you’ve earned it, because you keep reminding us. Call me tomorrow.”
“I will. Thanks, bro.”
“Now go leave your mark on Hearth and Home.”
She closed her cell phone and smiled. Guy’s reminder of her number-one personal goal was just the thought to get her through the afternoon.
“Yeah, I hear you and I’ll do my best to follow your advice, but I’m keeping a close eye on this limey legal eagle, just in case.”
Barrett’s clothes were sticking to his skin. Even though he’d shed his jacket and tie and rolled up his sleeves, he’d still perspired through his undershirt. His trousers were streaked with whitish dust and his button-down looked and smelled as though he’d worn it to shear sheep.
He was hot, he was uncomfortable and he was beginning to feel the effects of two sleepless nights and jet lag. Add the unaccustomed seasoning of his gluttonous lunch and he was closing in on a sensory meltdown. Still, as much as he wanted to check into the famed Galvez Hotel, take a cool shower and fall across a king-size mattress, he wanted to make progress on this assignment more. Once he had details and a starting point, he could begin organizing his thoughts. He would treat the exercise like the writing of a graduate school research paper. The kind of work he loved. And the reward would be returning to London with a mission successfully accomplished.
Finally.
But right now he had to take his sticky, rumpled self to, of all unappealing places, a construction trailer to observe a woman in dirty work boots giving orders to her hired help. Two hours earlier she’d excused herself and left him in the company of her man Cooper for a tour of the site. While it had been an enlightening use of his time, Barrett’s gut told him the gangly old guy was a decoy. In fact, he had the distinct feeling the aging foreman was stalling for his employer. As he aimed disgusting spittle into a paper cup, Cooper was forthcoming enough on matters related to construction but questions beyond that were deflected with shrugs and feigned ignorance. The old boy was about as ignorant as a Scotland Yard detective. Years of Oxford-trained cross-examination skills were essentially wasted on this Cooper fellow.
At the end of the tour Barrett was given directions to the meeting place. He parked his luxury sedan alongside several ostentatious pickup trucks and entered a building that was nicely, if temporarily, constructed.
A blast of cool, dry air greeted him as he stepped inside. Barrett noted the professional decor of the interior, dimly and comfortably lit in contrast to the glaring afternoon sun. For a moment he battled the desire to locate and stand beneath the air-conditioning vent directing the chilly breeze down the neck of his unbuttoned dress shirt.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Westbrook.”
A smiling creature crossed the room.
“I’m Casey’s personal assistant, Savannah, and I’ve been warned about your injuries so I won’t offer to shake hands. May I at least get you some tea?”
“That would be lovely. Yes, please. And do call me Barrett.”
“I’ll just be a moment, Barrett. There’s a powder room through there if you’d like to freshen up.”
The curvy brunette in jeans and sneakers gave him a cheeky smile, made a tick mark on the clipboard she carried and turned to leave.
He seized the opportunity to duck into the small room where he washed his battered hands and splashed cool water on his face. As he stood before a large decorative mirror, he reviewed the day’s damage. Dark smudges beneath his eyes, hair askew, clothes limp and wrinkled. He looked as disheveled as he felt. A strong cup of Earl Grey with lemon would help him endure the afternoon. He considered going out to the car for his jacket and tie, but hadn’t the energy.
“When in Rome,” he reminded himself of his best friend Sig’s advice to blend in rather than stand out. So far everybody he’d encountered was in laborer’s attire so there was no need to drag back on the wool jacket that had been so appropriate twenty-four hours ago in fog-dampened London.
Back in the reception area he stepped close to a wall of framed photos that seemed to chronicle the growth of the company. Interspersed with aerial shots of the huge stores were smiling faces of employees at various gatherings. Casey’s eyes flashed at him from several of the pictures as she stood arm in arm with people who resembled her too much to be anything but family members. They appeared to be a large and cheerful lot.
“Barrett, if you’d like to join them, the other men are waiting for Casey in the conference room.” The assistant motioned toward the double doors at the end of the reception area.
“Super,” he agreed.
She went before him and pulled one of the doors wide. It was immediately clear his lack of more professional attire was a blunder. Three men were grouped together at the far side of the room, impeccably dressed in summer-weight suits and gleaming leather cowboy boots. Three wide-brimmed straw hats hung behind them on a rack made of some deceased animal’s antlers.
“Gentlemen, this is Barrett Westbrook of Westbrook Partners, Esquire.” Savannah made the introductions. “Barrett, may I present Doc Mosley, George Duncan and Manny Fernandez. Keep an eye on your wallet around these three. They’re known as the Cowboy Cartel and they’ll make a partner out of you quicker than you can sing ‘The Eyes of Texas.’”
“Well done, little lady.” The man identified as George winked at Savannah, a woman less than half his age. “Nice to meet ya, Westbrook. Put ’er there.” He thrust out a tanned and weathered hand.
Barrett extended his palm upward but before he could explain his injuries George had him locked in a grip that nearly induced tears. Doc stepped forward next and clasped with equal fervor. By the time Manny ended his bone-crushing assault, Barrett’s hand was numb. He gently flexed his fingers and slipped his right hand into his trouser pocket, determined not to check for bleeding.
“Would you like lemon in your tea, Barrett?” Savannah stood at a sideboard with her back to the men.
“Yes, please. And milk if you have it.”
Her dark head turned as she lifted a glass filled with ice and amber liquid. “It’s cold tea and it’s already sweet. I hope that’s okay since it’s the only way to drink it here in Texas.”
“Yes, of course. Even better after such a warm day.”
“Yeah, doggie.” Doc slapped a beefy hand on Barrett’s shoulder. “You can’t ask for nicer weather than this. Bet the water’s eighty in the bay today.”
Barrett’s concern for his hand abated. “Eighty degrees Fahrenheit?” That was a Roman bath compared to the ocean temperature back home. He had to find a marina where he could rent a sailboat. Suddenly a short stay in Texas held some appeal.
“Marine report said eighty-one.” Manny nodded.
“Perfect for specks. You fish, Westbrook?”
“Not since I was a youngster on holiday with the family. My grandpa fancied a bit of wading with a surf rod. I myself am partial to a sail over an outboard motor.”
“How ’bout joining us anyway?” Manny extended the invitation. “We’re making a run out to Trinity Bay. I’ll put you on a mess of trout. What do ya say?”
Barrett glanced toward Casey’s assistant who waved away his question before he voiced it.
“Casey’s booked solid in the morning. She can’t possibly see you before lunch anyway. Go enjoy yourself.”
Barrett would much rather skim over the waves than dangle a hook beneath them but it would be inhospitable to reject the kind invitation. Besides, he might discover something of value from these chaps.
“If you’re sure it’s not an imposition, I accept.” Barrett nodded. “It’s very generous of you to offer.”
Doc began to make a sound that Barrett could only surmise was laughter. The man displayed all of his teeth and tossed his head, not unlike a braying donkey. The odd sound was infectious and Barrett felt a smile pulling at his mouth though he had no earthly idea why.
“What does your friend find so amusing?” he had to ask.
George spoke up. “The idea of Moneybags Manny being generous is something to laugh about all right.”
“Hey, wait a minute now.” Manny pretended to be offended.
“Save it for the company, dubs.” George waved away Manny’s objection. “There’s not a charitable bone in your body, and you know it. You still have ninety cents of the first dollar you ever made and I’ve watched you pinch a penny hard enough to make Lincoln yelp.”
“Westbrook, this old cuss is just inviting you along so he’ll have a chance to outfish somebody for a change.” Doc elbowed Manny in the ribs.
“Well, there may be some truth to that.” Manny’s eyes glinted. “At the very least you’re in for a nice boat ride in the morning.”
Barrett nodded, sensing that more was in store for him than a boat ride.
“I see you gentlemen have been introduced.”
All heads turned toward the soft voice. The lovely creature gliding toward them in a chic navy suit, crisp ivory blouse and snakeskin pumps was a stranger.
Or was she?
“That’s a fact, Miss Casey,” George answered for the group. “And you left us alone just long enough for Manny to scare up a fishin’ trip.”
“Imagine my surprise.” When the dark-haired beauty smiled, turning azure-blue eyes on Barrett, he was no longer uncertain of the newcomer’s identity. Casey Hardy definitely responded well to a good scrubbing. She was stunning.
“Barrett, we’re pleased you could join us today. Shall we get right to work?”
She took her seat at the head of the small conference table. The men flanked her on both sides and Savannah sat at her right, tapping on a laptop keyboard.
While Casey and her contractors conducted business, Barrett listened and sipped tea sweet enough to make his teeth ache. To Casey’s credit, the meeting was to the point and efficient. She was clearly in charge, insisting on corrective action when a quality concern was brought to her attention. The men showed the young woman sincere respect and when the meeting adjourned each packed his attaché case with a list of directives from Casey Hardy.
“Where you stayin’, Westbrook?” Manny was organizing the next morning’s trip and it now seemed Doc and George would accompany them. “We’ll pick you up. Four a.m. okay?”
Barrett did the math. His body clock was set seven hours ahead and he had no intention of being around long enough for that to change.
“I shall be ready and waiting at the front door of the Galvez.”
“Nice old place.” Doc nodded his approval. “But if you’re going to be here more than a few days we need to break you out of there and set you up in one of our condo units on Tiki Island.”
“Oh, that won’t be necessary.” Barrett was adamant.
“Suit yourself.” The men left their contact cards, donned the matching cowboy hats and stepped out into the humidity.
Casey stood and gathered her notes.
“I realize it’s been a long day for you, Barrett, but if you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to hear your objectives for this visit.”
Before he could answer, a phone began to ring in the next room.
“I’ll get that, Savannah.” Casey tucked pages into a leather binder. “Will you join me in my office, please?” The phone rang again and she dashed from the conference room, evidently certain he would comply.
“Better hurry, she won’t wait on you to catch up.”
“That’s the second time I’ve been told that today.”
Savannah grinned. “Welcome to the orbit of Casey Hardy. She spins fast and you’re either pulled in by her gravity or slung out into space. Either way, it’s a wild ride.”
Barrett stepped into the office with Casey’s name-plate on the door. She was already on her cell phone, a small pair of tortoiseshell glasses low on her nose as she referred to a spreadsheet before her. She gave him an apologetic smile and held up her index finger, indicating she’d only be a minute.
Unlike the well-appointed and spacious conference room, this work area was small. The desk and credenza were piled high with files. A desktop as well as a laptop were booted up within arm’s reach, appointment reminders flashing on both monitors.
“Organized clutter,” he noted, and couldn’t help wondering if that was the way her mind operated.
A whiteboard covered with brightly colored Post-it notes hung at eye level to the left of the desk. He was delighted to find the handwritten words were quotes. Being a fan of a well-turned phrase, he’d always had an appreciation for words of wisdom that stood the test of time. Right in the middle of the board was a phrase that caught his attention and almost took his breath.
Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.
Chapter Three
Casey replaced the handset without a sound and returned her attention to the strikingly handsome man in her office. Rumpled and wrinkled and with a lock of hair drooping over his forehead, he was dangerously appealing. His shirt gaped open at the throat, revealing a flash of tanned chest that matched the sun on his face. An outdoorsman.
Probably a golfer. She’d always wondered at the intelligence of those who wasted their time and money chasing a dimpled ball with a metal club and called it sport. Yep, she’d bet he was a golfer.
He stared at her Post-its.
“My moments of Zen,” she explained.
“Zen?”
“You know, contemplation and meditation.”
He grinned at something he read, his profile alight with humor, deep with character. Her insides squirmed in the most delightful way.
“Is that why you collect them?”
“Not really, but it’s one of the nice benefits of the effort.”
He read out loud. “‘A mountain lion roared with pride after he’d eaten a longhorn steer. He made so much noise that a hunter shot him. Moral—when you’re full of bull, keep your mouth shut.’” He turned puzzled eyes to her. “I don’t quite get that one.”
“Hang around Texas for a while and you will.”
“In that case you’d better explain it to me now, as I have no intention of being here long enough to decipher colloquialisms.”
He won’t be around long. Hot dog!
Her heart thumped with relief. Then, just as quickly, it wilted with regret.
He won’t be around long. What a shame.
“So, your visit will be a short one?”
“That depends upon you, actually.”
