by Billie Green
"She's here," the other woman called out loudly, and before Rae had time to blink, Mrs. Tease was gone.
Drawing in a steadying breath, Rae moved through the doorway, then stopped abruptly. She had been told of the elder McCallister's collection of first-edition books, but nothing she had heard had prepared her for what she saw now. Every wall was lined with bookshelves. From floor to ceiling, in every direction, there were books. The number was staggering, overwhelming to the uninitiated, which Rae most definitely was.
It took a moment for her to realize that the room contained other things. An antique-horsehair settee and heavy wine-colored drapery. A scattering of plants and an impressive collection of Oriental porcelain.
And last but by no means least, in a wheelchair behind a massive mahogany desk, shouting into a telephone, was the man Rae had come to see.
John Joseph McCallister must have once been a powerful man. His upper body still looked strong, his posture erect, his shoulders broad. Although his hair was snow white—in startling contrast to coal-black eyebrows—there was nothing feeble about Joe McCallister. Even if his voice hadn't filled the room, his presence would have.
"Do you think I give a flying fig for your stupid management screwups? I need that equipment, and by God, I need it yesterday! Now get off your bony ass and ship me my damn bailers!"
He slammed down the receiver and without pausing to draw breath said, "Here's the deal. My cousin's wife passed away, and I don't feel any need to provide for her squirrelly daughters. I'm richer than I was when I made the will, so I can do more
for some of my long-term personnel, but I'm also meaner, so there are a couple of people I want to cut out."
He pulled a manila envelope from a drawer and tossed it across the desk to her. "There it is. Sit down and I'll tell you exactly what I want done."
Short and sweet. This was a man who knew what he wanted and wasn't going to put up with people who wasted his time. Rae could deal with that.
She sat down and went to work.
Little more than an hour later they were wrapping it up. Rae glanced up from her copy of the will. "And you say you want to leave the codicil as it is?"
He turned his head toward her, his gaze growing sharper. "Why? What's wrong with it?"
"The language grows a little ambiguous here." She paused. "It's not very likely, but it could possibly cause Drew trouble later, after you're gone."
"I don't want to hear 'not very likely' and 'possibly.' If the damn thing's wrong, fix it. What in hell do you think you're here for?"
Flipping through the pages of his copy, Joe located the section in question and studied it for several minutes.
"Why didn't I notice that? Why the hell didn't Amos notice it?" He shot a look of grudging admiration her way. "When Tanner told me you were sharp, I thought he was either crazy or working some deal of his own, but I'll be damned if he didn't know what he was talking about."
Rae's brow creased in confusion. Tanner told him she was sharp? Tanner despised her. Why on earth would he help her out by recommending her to Joe McCallister?
Glancing up, she saw that the old man was now leaning back in his chair, staring at the ceiling.
"I want to make sure everything is in order," he murmured, "just in case I kick off anytime soon. There's a damned epidemic of it. People dropping like flies."
He lowered his gaze from the ceiling and caught her watching him. "The boys have worked hard, damned hard, to make this place what it is. I want them taken care of." He moved his head restlessly. "Tanner won't get much. He doesn't expect anything, but he's earned his share. I have to give him that. No matter what he does in his free time, he never misses a day's work. And when he first started, back when he was just a kid, it was backbreaking labor. I had the crazy idea I could work that bad streak out of him." He shook his head. "It didn't happen. He would do every job I set out for him without complaining, do it better than men twice his age, then he'd go out and raise hell just the same as always."
Feeling that some comment was expected of her, Rae said, "He certainly seems different from Drew."
The old man reacted with a gruff bark of laughter. "Night and day. I always said that. Different as night and day. Look in Drew's eyes, and you'll see peace. Look in Tanner's, and you'll see the fires of hell raging. I don't think the boy will ever be at peace."
Then, as though talking about Tanner somehow disturbed him, Joe fell into a brooding silence.
Shifting restlessly in her chair, Rae cleared her throat and said, "Glenna tells me Drew graduated from A&M at the top of his class."
"Glenna? Glenna Baxter?" The old man was suddenly alert again. "She had a smart-ass attitude as a girl, and I can't see how turning into a woman has changed her much. Not that she's not right about Drew. A man couldn't ask for a better son. Even though his mother spoiled him some, I made sure she didn't ruin him. I might have had to drag Tanner out of trouble a few times, but not Drew. No, it was always Tanner. From the very first, he was either working with the men, in here reading my books, or out beating the crap out of somebody. How do you figure somebody like that? The pieces just don't fit."
He let out a slow breath. "He never picked on anyone smaller or weaker, I'll say that for him. In fact, he usually fought men three times his size. But he could never tell me what the fights were about. Oh, he'd say something like the guy was a butt-head and needed hitting, but he couldn't tell me the real reason. Sometimes I think that when Tanner fights, he isn't attacking a person at all. I think he's trying to work out something inside himself, something that even he doesn't understand."
Joe stopped talking and rubbed his face with a hand that trembled slightly. It was the first sign of age Rae had seen in him.
A moment later, however, he managed to shake off whatever was troubling him and gave a short laugh. "I've been rambling, but I'm not going to apologize. Even if I weren't paying for your time, one of the pleasures of being old and rich is that I can say whatever I damn well please and people have to put up with it."
He pushed the wheelchair away from the desk. "It's time for my nap. You've got two days to work out those changes."
And with the quiet whir of an electric motor, John Joseph McCallister was gone.
Rae sat with her head turned toward the door for a moment before slipping her copy of the will into her briefcase and rising to her feet. Only as she moved toward the door did it hit her.
She had won.
Even though Joe hadn't said a word about her handling the rest of his legal affairs, today was a victory. Because working for Joe McCallister, even in a minor way, would be a signal to the town. What two years of hard work hadn't done, an hour with one old man had. Rae was in.
When she stepped out of the study, she paused, uncertain which way to go. She had been too nervous to pay attention when she had followed Mrs. Tease. Had they approached from the right or from the left?
"Maybe I should wet my finger and check for wind direction," she muttered, feeling slightly foolish. And she would feel even more foolish if she had to stand around in the hall until someone came along to rescue her.
She should have unraveled a ball of twine on her way in, she decided, and a smile twitched at her lips at the thought of casting John Joseph McCallister as the Minotaur. She had definitely felt a little sacrificial during the first few minutes of their time together.
"Meditating again, Rae?"
The husky voice sent her whirling around. Tanner stood a few feet down the hall, leaning against the wall as he inspected her neatly dressed figure.
"I should have known," she muttered under her breath. "Hello, Tanner."
Although he had put on a shirt, and had even managed to fasten a couple of the buttons, Tanner still looked out of place. Stained Stetson, scuffed and dusty boots, blue chambray work shirt with a corner tear in the sleeve. Tanner was Ashkelon's manager, but he looked more like a vagrant, hired for a couple days' work.
There had been a spark of something, some unidentifi
able emotion, in his dark eyes when she first turned to him, but now, as she continued to study him, the spark faded, and his lips twisted in a contemptuous smile.
"So how do you like the old wickiup?" he asked, waving a hand at the surroundings. "Are you going to get to see more of it? Staying for dinner, Rae?"
"Apparently I'm more efficient than you thought. I finished too soon and wasn't invited."
Having done the polite-conversation bit, she started to walk away, but she stopped when she heard his lazy voice. "You're going the wrong way."
She counted to ten and turned to walk in the opposite direction. After taking a couple of steps, she stopped again and glanced back. "Why did you recommend me to Mr. McCallister?"
"Don't you know? I did it to annoy you."
"That is the most stupid—Why on earth would it annoy me?"
Tanner's lips stretched in a slow smile as he moved closer. "I learned more than how to run a ranch from Joe. He also taught me some wicked chess moves. You owe me now, Rae. Don't you see the irony? You can't stand the sight of me, but now you're in my debt."
Throwing up a hand, she said, "You have got to be the most incredibly irritating—"
"Did you get a look at Drew's guest on your way in?" he asked abruptly.
Blinking at the sudden change of subject, she studied his face. And then she understood. This was what Tanner had been referring to earlier, the thing that was supposed to show Rae why she didn't stand a chance with Drew.
Refusing to be drawn into another of his games, she said, "Good-bye, Tanner," and walked away. He gave a soft laugh. "Run, run, little mouse." An instant later he caught up with her, grasped her arm, and forcibly changed her direction.
"What—Will you let go!" she said in a tight whisper, glancing around nervously.
"Gonna hit me, sweetness?" he asked, laughing. "Go ahead, I'd like it."
As he pulled her after him, down the hall and up the narrow back stairs, Rae had to either go along with him or go limp and sit on the floor. And she was pretty sure her already bruised dignity wouldn't survive the latter.
On the second floor he walked her into a small sitting room and finally stopped before a window. "I wanted you to see the view from up here," he said calmly.
As an explanation for his actions, it fell short, but rather than argue the point, Rae looked out the window.
Directly below them was the swimming pool. On the surrounding patio were clusters of potted greenery and tables capped with yellow-striped umbrellas. Bright sunlight hit the water, making the pool look like a bowl full of blue diamonds. Resting on one of the tables was a tray of drinks.
It was all very pretty, very pleasant, and although Rae didn't know what she was supposed to be looking at, the pool had given her some idea of where she was. She would be able to find her way out now.
But then, at the instant she made the decision to leave, at the very moment she began to turn away, Rae saw what Tanner had brought her here to see.
Drew was in the pool. And he wasn't alone.
Leaning closer to the window, Rae watched as a woman with long blond hair rose from the water. Her skin was colored gold from the sun, and she wore—
Sweet Pete, Rae thought, nearly choking. Were thong bikinis legal in Welch County?
Here was the definition of voluptuous. And it had little to do with the fact that most of the woman's body was exposed. It was an attitude, her expression, the way she held herself when she walked.
Exhaling a slow breath, Rae shot a look at the man beside her. "Okay, you've had your fun," she said. "She's beautiful and sophisticated, and I'm neither."
She paused and glanced down at her hands, fiddling unnecessarily with the latch on her briefcase. "I've never seen her before ... but, well, if Drew likes her, I'm sure she's a very nice person."
A short, husky shout of laughter brought her head up. "Nice?" Tanner said, incredulous. "Nice? What a dull little word, definitely not to be used in conjunction with the woman down there. But even if she were nice, you can bet that's not what Drew sees in her. And it's not her looks or upper-crust exclusivity. When Drew looks at Lynda, he sees hot, Rae. Capital H-O-T, hot."
With a small troubled frown, Rae shook her head. "No . . . no, you're wrong. Drew isn't like that."
"For Pete's sake, go out and buy a clue." His voice had grown suddenly harsh. "All men are 'like that.' Ants and elephants. Bunny rabbits and Gila monsters. If it's male, it notices hot."
Reluctantly she turned her attention back to the scene below. Hot? What kind of description was that? Then, as Rae watched, the blonde gave Drew a look—just one little look—and an instant later he was out of the pool and at her side.
How did she do it?
Hot, Rae told herself in a grudging, gloomy admission. Lynda was hot.
"Lynda knows how to get a man's attention." At some point, while Rae was caught up in her moody musings, Tanner had moved closer,, and now his words were a husky whisper against her ear. "She's had a lot of practice. Not like you, my wholesome friend. Look down there, Rae. Take a real good look. That's the kind of woman Drew brings home and takes on his little trips to Las Vegas. Does she look wholesome to you?"
When she tried to move away from him, he held her in place with an arm at her waist, making her catch her breath in a silent gasp. The heat from his palm seemed to burn right through her suit all the way to her flesh. How could a human hand generate such heat?
The fire in his touch and the stroke of his breath on her ear made it difficult to concentrate. And perhaps that was why Tanner's next words seemed to come, not from him, but from somewhere inside her own head.
"Drew is a good man. So good, he needs a contrast. In Lynda he senses something that's just a little bit dangerous, just a little wild, and he's drawn to that. You see, sweetness, Drew hasn't learned one of the basic facts of life yet. He doesn't know that cereal boxes sometimes mislead you about the prize inside."
Needing desperately to get away from him, from the callused hand and husky voice, Rae turned and pressed her back against the wall, putting a scant few inches between them.
"You've made your point," she said, struggling to keep her voice calm. "I don't know why you went to so much trouble, but I get the idea."
He moved his shoulders in a careless shrug. "Friends are supposed to help each other out. We're friends ... aren't we, Rae? Somebody had to tell you that you're wasting your dusty little daydreams. You could change your hair, your clothes, and even that blessedly blunt way you talk, but you still wouldn't be hot. Because hot's not on the surface. It's how you handle what's inside you."
His words held her still, the tone and tenor mesmerizing her. After an endless moment she pulled up what strength he hadn't absorbed through his palm and slid sideways, away from him, straightening her jacket in agitation as she moved.
"I don't need you to tell me I could never be like her," she said without looking at him. "I recognize my own limitations."
"Do you? I doubt it. You could be hot. . . hot enough to start a forest fire. All you need is a couple of lessons." He gave a soft laugh. "Want me to teach you, Rae?"
Ignoring him, which she had been trying to do for two years, Rae swung around to leave. But once again, almost against her will, she found herself turning back to him, examining his features with reluctant curiosity.
"Why do you do this?" she asked. "Why are you always trying to get a rise out of me?"
He leaned against the wall and crossed one long leg over the other. "Who knows? Maybe I'm just the kinda guy who, if the buttons are there, I'm gonna push 'em."
Pulling her gaze slowly from the amusement in his dark desperado eyes, Rae walked away quickly. And this time she didn't stop.
But she should have known that Tanner wasn't through with her yet. She hadn't reached the top of the stairs before she heard his voice again.
"Or maybe I'm attracted to my opposite the same as Drew. Maybe for a town oudaw, a good little lady lawyer is the most intriguing thin
g around."
Chapter 3
"The mariachi band is nice."
The words were barely out of Glenna's mouth before the waiters—who seemed to have been hand-picked for peevishness—all stopped what they were doing, yelled, "Ole!" then went back to being surly.
It was Friday night, and Rae and Glenna were trying out a new restaurant, Tres Hermanas, along with most of the rest of Dicton. In an area where watching county workers fill potholes was considered high entertainment, the opening of a new restaurant was like having the circus come to town.
When their waiter brought iced tea and an appetizer plate to the table, he knocked over the salt, splashed tea on the table, then glared at the women, his expression daring them to mention his ineptitude.
Watching him leave, Glenna repeated, "The mariachi band is nice."
"The owner should have done a little research," Rae said, shaking her head. "Dicton is too small to support another Mexican restaurant. Reg Neeland has one for upper-income people, and LaDonna Pugh—"
"—has one for the rest of us," Glenna finished for her. "The owner's from Dallas. And everybody knows that nobody knows beans in Dallas. Not even refried ones."
As she spoke, Glenna picked up something small and round and cheesy from the appetizer tray and took a bite. Instantly her eyes widened in surprise. She dropped the unidentified morsel, swallowed half her tea in one gulp, then sat staring at the tray in wary fascination.
After a moment she glanced up. "The mariachi band is nice."
Since the rest of their meal was no better than the appetizers, the restaurant's fate seemed to be sealed. Barely adequate food, grudging service, and an out-of-town owner. Three strikes, you're out. Reg and LaDonna didn't have to worry about competition.
It was as Rae sat drinking coffee and Glenna ate her dessert—something gooey that smelled of cinnamon—that the latter glanced up and, with fork poised midair, stared beyond Rae toward the door.
"Who is she?"
Glancing around, Rae saw four people enter the restaurant. Drew, Tanner, and two women. She didn't have to ask who Glenna was talking about. The blonde at the front of the group looked as though she had stepped from the pages of a fashion magazine.
