“Howdy, neighbor,” she said, smiling her welcome.
“Savannah.” He touched the tip of his Stetson. “Beautiful day, isn’t it?”
“Lovely,” she agreed.
“I’m here to see Richard,” Glen announced, narrowing his gaze on the man who still lounged on the porch.
“He’s practicing his guitar.” She gestured unnecessarily toward Richard. He’d leaned the chair against the side of the house and propped one foot on the porch railing.
“Would you care for a glass of iced tea?” Savannah offered.
His throat was dry; something cold and wet would be appreciated. “That’s mighty kind of you.”
Richard’s sister moved toward the house, then paused at the bottom step and turned. With a slight frown she said, “Is there trouble, Glen? Between you and Richard?”
“Not at all,” he was quick to assure her. He was determined that this would look like nothing more than a friendly conversation between neighbors. And if he just happened to mention Ellie…
Obviously relieved, Savannah disappeared into the house, and Glen approached Richard. The younger man ignored him until Glen pulled at the chair beside his and plunked himself down.
Richard’s fingers paused over the strings. “Howdy, Glen.”
“Howdy.” Although Glen had mulled over what he intended to say, he found that actually speaking his mind was surprisingly difficult. “Do you have a few minutes?”
“Sure.” Richard set the guitar down on the porch, holding it by the neck. “I’ve always got time for a friend.”
Friend. Glen hesitated since he didn’t exactly view Richard that way.
“What can I do for you?” Richard asked companionably.
“Well…” Nope, he wasn’t very good at expressing himself, Glen thought. “I’ve been concerned about Ellie.”
“Really?” Richard asked. “Why?”
“Her father dying and then her mother leaving so soon afterward.”
Richard nodded. “I see what you mean. She seems to be handling it pretty well, though, don’t you think?” He picked up the guitar, laid it across his lap and played a couple of chords.
“That’s the thing about Ellie,” Glen explained, speaking with authority. After all, he knew Ellie far better than Richard did. “She can put on a good front, but there’s a lot of emotion churning beneath the surface.”
Richard chuckled. “You’re right about that! She’s a little fireball just waiting to explode. I’ve always been attracted to passionate women.” His tone insinuated that he’d been close to getting scorched by Ellie a few times—as if he knew her in ways Glen never would.
Glen shifted uncomfortably, angered by the insinuation, but was saved from responding by Savannah, who carried out a tray with two tall glasses of iced tea and a plate of homemade oatmeal cookies.
“Thanks,” Glen said, accepting a glass.
Richard had reached for his, plus a cookie, before Savannah could even put the plate down. “I can never resist my sister’s cookies,” he said and kissed her on the cheek. “No one bakes better cookies than Savannah.”
His sister smiled at his praise, then quietly returned to the kitchen. Glen watched her go and realized that with very little effort, Richard had won over Savannah, too—despite all the grief he’d brought the family. No doubt about it, the guy was an expert when it came to manipulating women. Glen felt all the more uneasy, wondering how to handle the situation. He wanted Richard to keep his distance from Ellie, but he didn’t want to be obvious about it. If he made a point of warning Richard off, the bum would be sure to tell her what he’d said. Probably snicker at him, too.
The best way, he decided, was to state his concerns in a natural straightforward manner. “Ellie told me you took her to Bitter End,” he began, struggling to disguise his anger.
Richard threw back his head and laughed boisterously. “I scared the living daylights out of her, too.”
Glen hadn’t heard about that and was forced to listen to Richard’s story of how he’d blindfolded her, then slipped out of the truck and hidden.
By the time he finished, Glen’s jaw hurt from the effort it took not to yell at the man. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to be taking anyone up to that ghost town,” he said as calmly as he could, realizing anew that he actively disliked Richard Weston. He hadn’t cared for him as a teenager and liked him even less as an adult.
“I couldn’t agree with you more,” Richard said, once his amusement had faded. “It was a mistake to even mention Bitter End. Once I did, she was all over me, wanting to see the place. When I finally said I’d take her, she wasn’t in the town five minutes before she wanted to leave.
“Surprising how much of that town’s still standing,” Richard said next, helping himself to a second cookie.
Glen figured if he didn’t take one soon, Richard would devour the entire plateful before he’d even had a taste. Deliberately he reached for a cookie, then another. He took a bite; they were as good as Richard claimed.
“How’d you find the town?” Glen asked.
“Since you, Cal and Grady didn’t see fit to include me when we were kids, I didn’t have any choice but to seek it out on my own.”
“But why now?”
“Why not?” He shrugged as if it was of little consequence. “I’ve got plenty of time to kill while I wait to hear on my next job. I work for an investment company.”
“I didn’t realize that.”
“I don’t tell a lot of people,” he said. “Most recently I was working with a smaller institution, specializing in loans and investments. Unfortunately, as you’re probably aware, the larger institutions are swallowing up the smaller ones, and I was forced to take a short vacation while the company reorganizes. It seemed as good a time as any to visit my family.”
“Investments? Really?” Richard certainly possessed the polished look of a professional. And he knew how to talk the talk. Glen was a bit confused, though; he’d been under the impression that Richard had a different sort of job—sales or something. Oh, well, he supposed it didn’t matter.
“Yup.” Richard ran the guitar pick over the strings and laughed easily. “I bet you didn’t know I’d made quite a name for myself, did you?”
Glen sobered when he realized how smoothly Richard had diverted him from the subject of Bitter End, but he wasn’t going to allow the other man to get away with it for long.
“You won’t be taking Ellie back to the ghost town, will you?” Glen asked in a tone that told Richard he was in for a fight if he did.
“Not likely!”
“Good.” Then, in case he might consider showing the town to others, Glen added, “Or anyone else?”
“Hardly.” Richard’s response was immediate; but Glen noted the way his hand stilled momentarily over the guitar. “I wouldn’t have taken Ellie, but like I said, once I mentioned it she was all over me, wanting to see the place. It was either drive her there myself or let her go looking for it on her own.”
That much was true, Glen conceded.
“Do you and Ellie have something going…romantically?” Richard surprised him with the directness of the question.
Glen hesitated, unsure how to respond. Before he allowed himself to confess what he’d denied to everyone, including himself, he shook his head. “We’re just friends.”
“That’s what I thought.” Richard sounded smug and satisfied.
“Any particular reason you’re asking?”
“Yeah. I’m interested in her myself, and I don’t want to step on your toes if I can help it.”
Glen frowned. “Like I said earlier, this is a bad time for Ellie.”
“She needs someone like me,” Richard said, bending over the guitar and tightening a couple of strings. “What I’d like to see her do is sell that business and get on with her life. Her daddy stuck her with that feed store, but there’s no need for her to hold on to it.”
Glen shook his head. Ellie loved the store with the
same intensity her father had. She recognized her contribution to the community and took pride in meeting the needs of the local ranchers. The feed store had become the unofficial gathering place in town, and that was because Ellie, like her father, made folks feel welcome.
Everyone dropped in at Frasier Feed, to visit, catch up on local news and gossip, swap stories. The large bulletin board out front offered free advertising space for anyone with something to trade or sell. The pop machine was there, too, with a couple of chairs for those who wanted to take a load off their feet.
Ellie sell out? Never. Apparently Richard didn’t know her as well as he thought.
“She’s interested in me, too, you know,” Richard added.
This definitely came as a surprise to Glen. She’d admitted the two of them had kissed, but in the same breath had told him she preferred his kiss over Richard’s. At least, that was what he thought she’d said. The last part of their conversation had been lost on him. They’d snapped at each other, gotten annoyed with each other and instantly regretted it. Glen had come to mend fences with her, not destroy them, and he’d turned back to ask her about the dance. He’d made it clear that he looked forward to spending the evening with her.
She’d told him basically the same thing. They’d meet there. He’d wait for her.
“She’s attending the dance with me,” Richard stated nonchalantly.
“With you?” Glen couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. “The Cattlemen’s Association dance?”
“Yeah. She had some concern about the two of us being there together, though. Neither of us wants to start any talk.”
“Talk?”
“About seeing one another exclusively.”
“I see.” Glen’s hand tensed around the cold glass.
“You going?” Richard asked pointedly. “If I remember correctly, this dance is one of the biggest social events of the summer.”
“I’ll probably be there,” Glen said. And he’d make damn sure Richard kept his paws where they belonged, because the first time he saw Mr. Investment Manager touching Ellie, Glen would be dragging him outside and rearranging his dental work. Even if Ellie did prefer Weston, as it now appeared.
“Who are you taking?” Richard probed.
“I…don’t know yet,” Glen confessed, and then because he didn’t want it to look like he couldn’t get a date, he added, “I was thinking of asking Nell Bishop.”
“Sure,” Richard said with an approving nod. “Ask Nell. I bet she’d be happy to go with you.”
Glen gulped down the rest of his tea and stood. “Glad we had this conversation,” he said, when in reality he was anything but. Only this time his anger was directed at Ellie. She’d played him for a fool. A fool! She’d led him to believe she didn’t have a date. Moreover she’d indicated in no uncertain terms that she’d welcome his company there. Wait for me, she’d said.
What she intended, he now realized, was that he’d arrive and then stand there twiddling his thumbs while she danced her way across the room in Richard Weston’s arms. Well, if that didn’t beat all. The why of it wasn’t too clear, but he figured Ellie was still mad at him and this was her revenge.
“Don’t be a stranger,” Richard said as Glen started toward his truck. “And don’t worry about me taking Ellie up to Bitter End again, either.”
“I won’t.” He wouldn’t worry about a lot of things concerning Ellie, he mused, his anger festering. If it wasn’t for Richard letting slip that she’d agreed to be his date, Glen would have arrived at the dance completely unawares.
Maybe Cal was right. Maybe women couldn’t be trusted.
FRANK HENNESSEY HAD BEEN THE duly elected sheriff of Promise for near twenty years. He knew everyone in town and they knew him. Because he’d been in office for so long, folks were comfortable coming to him with their problems. Minor ones and ones that weren’t so minor. Sometimes he suggested they talk to Wade McMillen, the local preacher, and other times he just listened. Mostly folks felt better after they’d talked. More often than not a solution would present itself, although he’d barely say a word. Then folks would credit him when the answer had been there all along buried deep within themselves.
These days Frank had been hearing a lot about Richard Weston. Not that it surprised him. He knew Richard had absconded with the family inheritance the day Grady and Savannah had lowered their parents into the ground. Many a night he’d sat with Grady while the young man grappled with what to do—whether to press charges or not. In the end he’d decided not to pursue a case against Richard, but it had taken Grady damn near six years of constant struggle to work his way out of the red.
Now Richard was back, and Frank had heard from two or three of the local merchants that he was running up charges and not paying his bills. Frank didn’t like the sound of this. What to do about it had weighed heavily on his mind for a couple of days.
He’d urged Max Jordan from Jordan’s Town and Country outfitters to mention the bill to Grady, but Max didn’t want to carry tales to Richard’s big brother. Besides, he’d sold two vests like the one Richard had bought after he’d worn his about town. Frank would say one thing about the youngest Weston: he was a real clotheshorse. Max said he’d moved some other high-end clothing items because of Richard and was therefore willing to cut the young Weston a little slack.
For the moment, Millie Greenville was amenable about the money Richard owed her, as well. Grady had ended up paying for the flowers Richard had bought for his party; Frank knew that and had his doubts as to whether Grady would ever be repaid. Although Richard was already two months past due in paying her for the flowers he’d ordered since, she’d decided not to press the issue. He’d sent a huge arrangement for John Frasier’s funeral and a number of other small bouquets to women around town. According to Millie, Richard had apologized and given her a plausible excuse; she’d chosen to believe him. But it was a little worrisome having four hundred dollars outstanding at the end of the month, all owed by the same customer.
Then there was the matter of the tab Richard was running at Billy D’s. Apparently Richard had been more than generous about buying other people’s drinks. It wasn’t unusual for him to order a round for his friends and their friends, too, and then tell Billy just to add it to his tab. When Billy mentioned it to Frank, the money owed was close to five hundred dollars. Richard had fed the tavern owner some cockeyed story about being an investment broker, expecting a commission check that was due any day. Again Billy was willing to wait, seeing as Richard always drew a crowd. He was clever and amusing and people seemed to enjoy themselves when he was around.
Frank looked at his watch and eagerly shoved back his chair. “I’ll be over at Dovie’s,” he said to his deputy on his way out the door. Ever since Dovie had opened her Victorian Tea Room, he stopped by each afternoon around four-thirty, after she’d finished serving tea and scones. The store was generally quiet then, and she’d usually offer him something to satisfy his sweet tooth.
Dovie was his friend. His special friend. If it was up to her they’d be married, but Frank wasn’t the marrying kind. He had no interest in giving up his freedom, although if any woman could tempt him to relinquish his bachelor status, it’d be Dovie. They’d been dating more than ten years now, and about once a year she got uppity about the absence of an engagement ring. Frankly he liked their arrangement just the way it was, and if pressed, Dovie, he suspected, would admit she did, too. Twice a week he spent the night at her house—the two best nights of the week. No, he figured, this marriage business was a token protest on her part. The situation was ideal for both of them as it stood; Dovie liked her freedom as much as Frank liked his, and this way they enjoyed the benefits of a steady relationship. Best of both worlds.
Frank entered the antique shop and once again admired how Dovie had artfully arranged five tables in the corner of her compact store. To his relief, the tea room was empty, and he hoped she’d take a few minutes to sit down and chat with him.
&nb
sp; “Afternoon, Dovie,” he said, pulling out a chair at his favorite table. She’d done the shop up all fancy. Real elegant. The tea room, too. All the tablecloths and matching napkins were good linen, and tea was served on a china service with sterling silver.
Frank was impressed by Dovie’s creative style. She’d taken several bulky pieces of heavy antique furniture—dressers and wardrobes and the like—and used them to display her goods. She positioned things attractively: fringed silk scarves dangled from open drawers, as did long jet necklaces of 1920s vintage. Linens and lace doilies, and large hats with feather plumes and nets sat on shelves. Mismatched antique china, porcelain oil lamps, silver candelabra—she had knickknacks everywhere. Pricey ones, too. Dovie didn’t sell junk; she sold treasures. She made sure he understood that. Far be it from him to question such matters.
Frank had never seen a woman more in love with things. Every square inch of the shop was used for display. The ladies in town loved to browse there. Most men were afraid to move a foot inside for fear they’d knock something down and end up paying for it.
Dovie looked up from tallying her receipts to send Frank a welcoming smile. As always, it made his heart beat a little faster. He returned the smile and settled back to wait.
When she was finished, Dovie poured him a cup of coffee and brought it, with a slice of warm apple crisp, to the table. Actually he’d been looking forward to her bread pudding with brandy sauce, but since he never paid for these treats, he could hardly complain.
“You look like you’ve been busy,” he said.
“I have.” She took the chair across from him, removed her shoes and rubbed her tired feet. “Ellie Frasier was in and bought the Gibson-girl dress for the dance. My, she looked lovely. I know it was more than she wanted to spend, but once she tried it on, she was sold. I don’t think I appreciated what a pretty young woman she is,” Dovie said absently.
Frank sneaked a peek at Dovie’s ankle. She had a fine pair of legs. He’d always been taken with her trim ankles, and never had understood why she insisted on wearing long dresses. It was criminal the way she hid those shapely legs of hers.
Heart of Texas Volume One Page 26
