Where There's Smoke

by Sandra Brown

  He was silent for a moment and stared at his hands. “At my trial, he broke down and cried, made his apologies to God and man and swore he’d never raise a hand to his wife again. My lawyer advised me to tell the jury that I didn’t remember the attack, that I’d gone temporarily wacko, that I was too enraged to realize what I was doing.

  “But, seeing as how I’d sworn on the Bible to tell the truth, I told them in all honesty that I wished I’d killed the son of a bitch. Any man who beats a defenseless woman like that needs killing, I said, and I meant it.” He shrugged resignedly. “So he walked, and I went to the pen.”

  After another silence, Janellen’s chair creaked slightly as she got up and moved to a tall metal filing cabinet. From it she withdrew several forms. “I’ll need you to fill these out, please.”

  He remained seated and looked up at her. “You mean I’m hired?”

  “Yes, you’re hired.” She quoted him a starting salary that flabbergasted him.

  “And after hearing your story,” she said, “I’m willing to waive the probationary period. It was a silly idea anyway.”

  “Not so silly, Miss Tackett. You can’t be too careful these days.”

  His smile seemed to fluster her. She hesitated a moment, then leaned down to lay the forms on the desk in front of him. “These are tax and insurance forms. A nuisance, I’m afraid, but necessary.”

  “I don’t mind the paperwork if it means a job.”

  As she talked him through the forms, Bowie tried to concentrate on them, but it was tough to do with her standing so close. She smelled good. Not overwhelmingly perfumed like the whores he’d gone to following his release.

  She smelled clean, like soap and bedsheets that had dried in the sunshine. Her hands were slender and delicate and pale. They entranced him as she sorted through the documents and pointed out the dotted lines on which he signed his name.

  From the corner of his eye, he could see her in profile. She wasn’t beautiful, but she wasn’t downright ugly, either. Her skin was smooth and fair, practically translucent. There was no wiliness in her expression, not like some women who you could tell were calculating their next move on you. Instead she seemed to be straightforward and honest and kind, qualities he’d rarely run across. He liked listening to her voice, too. It was as soft and soothing as he imagined a mother’s lullaby would be.

  And her eyes… Hell, those eyes could have dropped a man at fifty paces if she’d chosen to use them that way.

  He didn’t know why Muley, or any other man, would refer to her as a “stick of a woman.” Of course, even in profile, it was obvious that she wasn’t fleshed out and curvy. She was slender-hipped, narrow-waisted, and small-breasted. Just the same, he took several surreptitious glances at those buttons she had a habit of fiddling with and discovered, to his chagrin, that he wouldn’t mind fiddling with them himself. He knew from experience that small-breasted women sometimes had the most sensitive nipples.

  Mentally, he yanked himself away from his erotic thoughts. What the hell was the matter with him, thinking about Miss Janellen’s nipples? She was a prim and proper lady. If she could read his mind, she’d probably call the law on him.

  “Thank you, Miss Tackett, I think I can handle it from here,” he said gruffly and hunched over the desk, blocking his view of her.

  When he had completed all the forms, he pushed them across the desk and stood up. “There you go. When do you want me to start?”

  “Tomorrow if you can.”

  “Tomorrow’s fine. Who’ll I report to?”

  She gave him the name of his supervisor. “He’s been with us a long time and knows how we like things done.”

  “Does he know I served time?”

  “I thought it fair to tell him, but he’s not the kind to hold it against you. You’ll like him. He’ll meet you here in the morning and drive you to all the wells you’re responsible for. He’ll probably run your route with you for several days. You’ll have use of a company truck, of course. I assume you have a driver’s license?”

  “Just got it renewed.”

  “How can we get in touch with you?”

  “That could be a problem. I haven’t got a permanent address yet. Hap’s been letting me sleep in his back room, but I can’t do that indefinitely.”

  She opened her desk drawer and withdrew a large business checkbook. “Find a place to live and have a telephone installed so that we can reach you at any time. We never know when an emergency will arise. If the phone company requires a deposit, have them call me.” She wrote out the check, tore it from the book, and handed it to him.

  Three hundred dollars, made out to him, just like that! He didn’t know whether to be elated or affronted. “I don’t take charity.”

  “Not charity, Mr. Cato. An advance. I’ll take fifty dollars out of your first six paychecks. Will that be satisfactory?”

  He wasn’t accustomed to kindness and trust and didn’t know how to respond. With Hap it was easy. Generally men didn’t have to express themselves to other men. They seemed to understand one another’s feelings without having to vocalize them. But with a woman it was different, especially when she was looking at you with crystal blue eyes the size of fifty-cent pieces.

  “That’s fine,” he said, hoping he didn’t sound as awkward as he felt.

  “Good.” Coming to her feet, she smiled and extended her hand. Bowie stared at it for a moment and had an insane impulse to wipe his hand on his pants leg before touching hers. He gave it a swift shake and immediately released it. She quickly reclaimed it. There was a second or two of uncomfortable silence, then they both began to speak at once.

  “Unless you—”

  “Until—”

  “You go ahead,” she said.

  “No. Ladies first.”

  “I was just going to say that unless you have any questions, we’ll look forward to your reporting to work tomorrow.”

  “And I was going to say ‘until tomorrow.’ ” He pulled on his hat and moved toward the door. “It’ll feel good to be doing real work again. I sure appreciate the job. Thank you, Miss Tackett.”

  “You’re welcome, Mr. Cato.”

  Halfway through the door, he halted and turned back. “Do you call all the men who work for you by their last names?”

  The question seemed to catch her off guard. Rather than speak, she shook her head rapidly.

  “Then call me Bowie, okay?”

  She swallowed visibly. “Okay.”

  “And it’s Boo-ie, like Jim Bowie and Bowie knife. Not Bowie like David, the rock star.”

  “Of course.”

  Feeling dumb for bringing it up—what the hell difference would it make to her how he pronounced his name?—he touched the brim of his hat and made tracks.

  Chapter Ten

  “Is the roast too dry, Key?”

  Janellen’s question roused him from his deep brooding. He sat up straighter, looked across the dinner table at her, and smiled. “Delicious as always. I’m just not very hungry tonight.”

  “That’s what happens when you fill up on whiskey,” Jody interjected.

  “I had one drink before dinner. And so did you.”

  “But I’ll stop with one. You’ll go out and get drunk tonight, like you do every night.”

  “How do you know what I’ll be doing tonight? Or any other night? Furthermore, what do you care?”

  “Please,” Janellen exclaimed, covering her ears. “Stop shouting at each other. Can’t we have one meal together without an argument?”

  Knowing his sister’s anxiety was deeply felt, Key said, “I’m sorry, Janellen. You’ve served a great meal. I didn’t mean to spoil it.”

  “I don’t care about the meal. I care about the two of you. Mama, your face is as red as a beet. Did you take your medication today?”

  “Yes I did, thank you kindly. I’m not a child, you know.”

  “Sometimes you act like one when it comes to taking medicine,” Janellen gently chastised. “And sho
uting across the dinner table is something you never allowed us kids to do.”

  Jody pushed aside her plate and lit a cigarette. “Your father didn’t allow arguments at the dinner table. He said it spoiled his digestion.”

  Janellen brightened at the mention of their father. She had only foggy memories of him. “Do you remember that, Key?”

  “He laid down the law about such things,” he replied, smiling for his sister. “Sometimes you remind me of him, you know.”

  “You’re kidding?” A blush of pleasure crept up her slender throat and over her face. She was pathetically easy to please. “Really?”

  “Really. You’ve got his eyes. Doesn’t she, Jody?”

  “I suppose.”

  She wouldn’t even agree with him on an obvious and insignificant point, but he refused to let it bother him. “All three of us kids inherited the Tackett blues. I used to hate it when people said to Clark and me, ‘You boys have the prettiest eyes. Just like your daddy’s.’ ”

  “Why did you hate it?” Janellen asked.

  “I don’t know. Made me feel like a sissy, I guess. Being told that anything attached to him is ‘pretty’ isn’t what a little boy wants to hear.”

  “Your father didn’t mind hearing it,” Jody said crisply. “He loved having people fawn over him. Especially women.”

  Ever guileless and naïve, Janellen said, “You must have been very proud to have such a handsome husband, Mama.”

  Jody rolled the smoldering tip of her cigarette against the rim of the ashtray. “Your father could be very charming.” Her face softened. “The day Clark the Third was born, he brought me six dozen yellow roses. I fussed at him for being so extravagant, but he said it wasn’t every day that a man had a son.”

  “What about when Key was born?”

  Jody’s misty vision cleared. “I didn’t get any flowers that day.”

  After a tense silence, Key said very quietly, “Maybe Daddy knew you wouldn’t like them. That you’d only throw them out.”

  Janellen reacted quickly. “Mama explained why she threw out your flowers, Key. They made her sneeze. She must have been allergic to them.”

  “Yeah, she must have been.”

  He didn’t believe it for a minute. Earlier in the week, vainly looking for a way to make peace with Jody, he’d brought her a bouquet. Janellen had arranged the flowers for him in a vase and placed it on the dresser in Jody’s bedroom while she was out with Maydale.

  The next morning, he’d found the flowers in the garbage can outside the back door. It wasn’t so much that she’d thrown them out that had rankled him, but that she hadn’t even acknowledged them until he presented her with the wilted evidence and asked for an explanation.

  Calmly, coldly, she’d told him the bouquet had given her hay fever. She hadn’t said that they were pretty and that it was a pity she couldn’t enjoy them. She hadn’t thanked him for the gesture.

  Not that he wanted or needed her thanks. He would survive without it. It just made him damn mad that she thought him stupid enough to accept her lame excuse for rebuffing a gift from him. Rather than give her the satisfaction of seeing him hurt and angry, he acted as nonchalant now as he had that morning he’d tossed the bouquet back into the trash can.

  Jody broke another lengthy silence. “How’s the new man doing?”

  Janellen practically dropped her coffee cup. It clattered noisily against the saucer. “He… he’s doing fine. I think he’s going to work out well.”

  “I still haven’t seen his references.”

  “I’m sorry. I keep forgetting to bring them home. But his supervisor reports that he’s doing the job well. He’s never late and is very conscientious. He gets along with the other men. Doesn’t make trouble. I’ve had no complaints.”

  “I still can’t figure why Muley up and quit without giving notice.”

  Janellen had told Key the circumstances of Muley’s severance but had asked him not to tell Jody. Her reaction to a trusted employee turning thief was likely to be volatile and a threat to her high blood pressure. Key had agreed.

  He also knew that Bowie Cato was an ex-con who’d barely had time to lose his prison pallor. Even before Janellen introduced them, Key had seen him at The Palm. Hap had given him the scoop on Cato.

  Key nursed no prejudice against former inmates. He’d spent a few days in an Italian jail himself a few years back. Cato was friendly but not ingratiating. He kept to himself, did his job, and avoided trouble. That could not be said of very many men who didn’t have prison records.

  Jody’s viewpoint on social reform wasn’t exactly liberal. She had a low tolerance for mistakes. She wouldn’t welcome having an ex-con on the payroll, so the less she knew about Cato’s background, the better for everybody. Muley was gone; Janellen had found a qualified replacement. That was the bare-bones story they’d given her. But apparently Jody smelled a rat. This wasn’t the first time she’d broached the subject.

  Key kept his expression impassive and hoped Janellen would do the same. But lying didn’t come easily to her. Under her mother’s incisive stare, she fidgeted with her silverware.

  “Cato isn’t from around here?”

  “No, Mama. He grew up in West Texas.”

  “You don’t know who his people are?”

  “I think they’re deceased.”

  “Is he married?”

  “Single.”

  Jody continued staring at her daughter as she puffed on her cigarette. After what seemed an endless silence, Janellen glanced nervously at Key. “Key’s met him. He thought he was all right.”

  Damn! He didn’t want to get caught in the cross fire. But he went to his sister’s rescue. “He’s a nice guy.”

  “So’s Santy Claus. That doesn’t mean he knows an oil well from his asshole.”

  Janellen flinched at her mother’s crude phraseology. “Bowie knows a lot about oil, Mama. He’s worked in the business since he was a boy.”

  As long as he’d already been drawn into it, Key furthered his sister’s cause. “Cato is doing his job. Janellen likes him and so do the other men. What more could you want?” He knew, of course, what his mother wanted: Jody wanted to be young, healthy, and strong; she wanted to be at the controls of Tackett Oil and Gas and resented Janellen’s hiring an employee without consulting her. If she’d hired a reincarnation of H. L. Hunt, Jody wouldn’t have liked him.

  “He’s been on the payroll for… what, Janellen, two weeks?”

  “That’s right.”

  “And he hasn’t caused a single mishap,” he continued. “So it looks to me like Janellen made a sound business decision.”

  Jody turned to him, her contempt at full throttle. “Like your opinion counts for something where Tackett Oil is concerned.”

  “I wasn’t speaking as an expert on the oil business,” Key returned evenly. “Just as a guy who shook hands with another guy. Cato looked me straight in the eye, like he didn’t have anything to hide. I met him at the end of the day. He was sweaty and his clothes were dirty, which indicated to me that he’d been working his ass off outdoors in the heat.”

  Jody sent a plume of cigarette smoke toward the ceiling. “Sounds as though you could learn a lesson or two about the work ethic from this Cato fellow. It wouldn’t hurt you to sweat a little, get dirty, do some work around here.”

  “Key’s been working, Mama. He fixed the latch on the gate.”

  “That’s tinkering. I’m talking about sweat-of-the-brow, damned hard work.”

  “On your oil wells, you mean.” Despite his best intentions to hold his temper, Key’s voice was rising.

  “It wouldn’t kill you, would it?”

  “No. It wouldn’t kill me, but it isn’t my gig. It’s yours.”

  “Ah, that’s why you never wanted to be part of the business. Because I was there first? You didn’t want to play second banana to a woman.”

  Key, shaking his head, laughed ruefully. “No, Jody. I never wanted to be a part of the business
because I’m not interested in it.”

  “Why not?”

  Jody never accepted a simple answer at face value. He didn’t remember a time when he hadn’t been required to justify, explain, and account for his opinions, especially if they differed from hers. It was no wonder to him that his daddy had turned to other women. With Jody, everything was a contest to see who could best whom. It wouldn’t take long for a man to grow tired of that.

  Forcing himself to remain calm, he said, “Maybe if we were still drilling for oil, if there was a challenge involved, I’d consider going into the business.”

  “You crave excitement, is that it?”

  “Routine holds no appeal for me.”

  “Then you should have lived during the boom. It attracted your kind of people. East Texas was crawling with gamblers and con artists and crooks and whores. All living on a wing and a prayer. Taking high-stakes risks. Saying to hell with tomorrow, let the devil take it.

  “That’s the life for you, isn’t it? You’re not happy unless you’re walking a tightrope with crocodiles on both sides ready to eat you if you fall. Just like your father, you thrive on adventure.”

  Key was clenching his teeth so tightly that his jaw ached. “Think whatever you want, Jody.” Then, leaning forward, he stabbed the table with his index finger to emphasize each word. “But I never did and never will want to baby-sit a bunch of stinking oil wells.”

  “Key,” Janellen groaned miserably.

  She could barely be heard over Jody’s chair scraping back. Her face was florid. “Those stinking oil wells allowed you to live high on the hog all your life! They provided food for your belly, clothes for your back, bought you new cars, and paid your way through college!”

  Key rose, too. “For which I’m grateful. But am I supposed to become an oilman just to pay you back for upholding your responsibilities as a parent? If you and Daddy had been plumbers, would I be obligated to shovel shit the rest of my life? It was never expected of Clark to go into the oil business, so why me?”

  “Clark had other plans for his life.”

  “How do you know? Did you ever ask him his ambitions? Or did he only follow your plans for his life?”