by Karen Young
He stayed down, knowing Ty was right. “I’ve got a lot on my mind,” he told Ty, throwing an arm over his face.
“Then it’s a good thing I’m here,” Ty said, as he went about collecting towels and equipment. “You know how women tell everything to those hairdresser guys—so to speak—and when they leave the beauty shop, they’re not only beautified, but they’re rejuvenated? How about you think of me as your hairdresser and tell Daddy.”
Eyes closed, Buck could only smile. Luring Ty away from his job in Memphis was the best idea he’d had since deciding to come to Tallulah. Better than being a fine physical therapist, he made Buck laugh. “Which is it, beautician or daddy-confessor?”
“Whichever.” Ty shrugged. “You got trouble, I got time.”
“Will Wainwright is retiring at Belle Pointe and Pearce is busy campaigning,” Buck said, eyes still closed. “My mother wants me to manage the crews this season.” He thought better of sharing his troubles with Anne.
With his back to Buck, Ty stood before an open cabinet to ask, “Did you forget how it’s done?”
Buck gave a short laugh. “No. And I never met a cotton seed that I didn’t want to plant. But I got over it.”
“What does Pearce being busy campaigning have to do with anything? He doesn’t manage Belle Pointe. Miz Victoria does.”
“Not without Will.” Buck was more alert now, noticing something about the way Ty stood at the cabinet, too still. Tense. Keeping his knee straight as ordered, he raised himself on one elbow. “Not being around during planting season for a number of years, I’m out of touch, but I could pick it up. That’s not what worries me. Besides, I’d have folks like your daddy to see that I didn’t screw up.”
“Not my daddy, you wouldn’t,” Ty said, closing the cabinet with a snap. Turning, he met Buck’s eyes. “Did you forget he doesn’t work at Belle Pointe anymore?”
“Are you serious?” There wasn’t a piece of equipment in use at Belle Pointe, no matter how sophisticated, that Oscar Pittman couldn’t operate. “Where does he work now?” Buck asked, thinking he must have found a better job. He wasn’t old enough to retire.
“He’s a greeter at Wal-Mart.”
“You’re kidding me. Why?” Buck stared in amazement. Nothing short of a catastrophic injury would have forced Oscar to leave Belle Pointe. “Did he have an accident on the job?”
“No accident,” Ty said shortly. “Unless you’d call a runin with Pearce an accident.”
“What the hell are you saying, Ty?”
“Maybe you oughta ask Pearce, not me. I’m not exactly unbiased here.”
“I’ll ask Pearce, damn right, but later. I’m asking you now. What happened?”
“It was picking season last year. Pearce was working the crews long hours, which is nothing unusual. They go in at daylight, they’re sometimes there after dark. Lights on those big combines are good as daylight now.” He leaned against a contraption designed for torture. “Two things were happening. The price of cotton was falling in the market and it didn’t look like Belle Pointe’s yield was going to be graded top-notch.”
Buck’s frown grew darker. “Which is something I warned my mother about a few years ago,” he muttered. “Smart planters are cooperating with scientists to develop new seeds, new ways to—” He stopped. “Never mind that. What happened?”
Ty gave him a hard look. “Are you telling me you don’t know?”
Buck shrugged. “I haven’t paid much attention to the goings-on at Belle Pointe since I left over fifteen years ago, Ty. Just tell me what happened.”
“Shit happened,” Ty said dryly. “To bump up the profit line for the year, Pearce stopped paying the men overtime. Come in at daylight, work fourteen, sixteen, eighteen hours for regular pay, they were told. My daddy didn’t like it, so next thing, they all walked out, shut the place down and—”
“And Oscar was blamed,” Buck guessed.
“You got it. Fired him outright the next day and told the rest of them that unless they got their black asses to work they’d be fired, too, that field hands were a dime a dozen in the Delta and he could pick up the phone and have every man-jack of them replaced.”
“I’m guessing it worked,” Buck said.
“Yeah, it worked. Put down the uprising pretty efficiently and my daddy was the only person not invited back to work as usual.”
Buck raked a hand through his sweat-soaked hair. “Jesus, Ty, I never knew a thing about this. You should have called me.”
“You said it yourself, Buck. You’ve been absent from Belle Pointe too many years. The men stopped expecting help from you a long time ago.”
Buck winced, but let that pass. “You’re saying my mother went along with this all the way?”
Ty’s expression was priceless. “Pearce makes a decision and Miz Victoria disputes it publicly? What planet you been livin’ on, man?” He straightened up suddenly, slapping his thighs briskly. “Hey, I’m supposed to be listening to your troubles and here I am unloading more shit for you to worry about. Let me get the hell out of here before I think of something else.”
“I’m checking into this before the sun sets,” Buck told him. “Anne and I are having dinner at Belle Pointe tomorrow night. I don’t suppose Pearce has changed his overtime policy for this upcoming season, has he?”
“I don’t suppose,” Ty said. He put out a hand to hoist Buck to his feet. “You do those exercises I showed you today, five sets, between now and next session, okay?”
“Yeah, okay.” Reaching absently for a towel, Buck draped it around his neck. “Funny thing, my mother asked me to help her out this season. With Wainwright gone, I’ve made a couple of calls trying to replace him, but this puts a different face on it. When she first mentioned it, I didn’t think there was anything on the planet that would tempt me to do it…until now.”
“I bet you the cost of a new BowFlex that she didn’t clear it with your big brother,” Ty said.
“I bet you’re right.” He rubbed the towel over his face, then looked up at Ty. “Speaking of family, how’re you settling in? Is Lily okay leaving Memphis?”
“She is now that she knows it’s for a good cause.” Ty opened a bottle of water for himself. “Saving your rear just might turn out to be a nice opportunity for me. I’ve been talking to a couple of orthopedic people who’d refer patients if I set up a facility here. Tallulah isn’t big enough for a full physical therapy operation, so patients have to travel to Memphis for treatment.”
“Who’s paying to set up all that expensive equipment?” Buck asked.
“Three guesses,” Ty said with a grin. He screwed the cap back on the bottle. “Here’s the way I look at it. After I’ve whipped you into shape, what’ll you do with all this equipment?”
“Sell it and get some of my money back?”
“Yeah. To me. For about half what you paid for it. Then I’ll move it into this sweet little space I’ve located near the hospital and be open for business.”
“I’ve created a monster,” Buck muttered, holding back a smile. But it would feel good to help Ty set up in business.
Ty began collecting towels. “By the way, where’s your pretty wife? I saw her going into the Spectator offices a couple days ago.” He looked around the lodge, clearly absent of any sign of a woman. “I don’t see anything telling me she’s sleeping here.”
“She’s staying with her daddy.”
“Oh, man, that’s not good.”
“No. It’s another thing weighing on my mind.” He handed Ty the towel. “I don’t know which one will be easier to fix, the situation at Belle Pointe or my marital trouble.”
“Get your priorities straight and they’ll both be fixed,” Ty said.
“How’s that?”
“I’ll leave it to you to figure out.” Ty shrugged into a jacket and scooped up the duffel he used to carry some of his stuff. With his thumb and forefinger crooked like a pistol, he aimed at Buck and said, “I’ll see you next time, my man.”<
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“Yeah.” With the use of his cane, Buck saw Ty to the door and stood watching thoughtfully as he drove away. It was no surprise that Pearce had a mean streak. No one knew Pearce’s dark places better than Buck. But ousting an employee as valuable as Oscar Pittman was stupid as well as mean. Buck leaned back against the door and closed his eyes. If Pearce became a senator, could he be trusted with the power that came with the office?
Eight
“Don’t expect anything like a normal family dinner,” Buck warned Anne on Sunday night, as they headed for Belle Pointe. “My family is not even close to normal.”
“You sound as if I’ve never met them, Buck. I’ll grant you, they’re a bit…unusual, but I think I’ll be able to cope.” In spite of Buck’s dire predictions, she felt a thrill of anticipation as she caught sight of the big house through the trees. Its huge white columns were floodlit, standing tall and stark white against a sky darkening with an approaching storm. She didn’t have to like the Whitakers to be interested in them, she reminded herself as lightning flashed.
Buck’s reply was drowned in a mighty crash of thunder that rocked the SUV. He leaned forward over the wheel to inspect the sky. “Hey, this is perfect. A classic Delta gully washer to welcome us.”
She flinched as another fierce flash lit up the world and the heavens suddenly opened with a vengeance. “Oh, my,” she murmured, a little awed.
“I’m trying to tell myself the weather isn’t a sign of worse to come,” Buck muttered as the wipers swished back and forth furiously. “We arrive in a rainstorm, which could only be topped if it’s followed by a tornado. With hail. Which, at this time of year, is entirely possible.”
She gave him an exasperated look. “If the thought of an evening with your family is so awful, tell me why we’re here.”
He stopped the SUV before they reached the house and looked at her. “You want the truth? An evening with my family is bad, but I’m willing to tough it out for a chance just to be with you.”
She considered that for a beat or two, then reached over with a playful smile and patted his shoulder. “Okay, grumpy. What if I promise to hold your hand all night and run interference for you? Oops, that was a football metaphor, wasn’t it?”
One eyebrow shot up as he caught her hand and brought it up to his mouth. “Watch it, lady,” he told her, smiling lazily. “We’re stuck out here and I can think of several interesting things to do while it’s raining. And talking about my family ain’t one of ’em.”
His mouth was warm and her palm tingled. “Then we’d better not wait. Frankly, I’m dying to go inside the lion’s den and get a firsthand look at Whitaker family dynamics. Hopefully, all your relations are here tonight, otherwise, I’ll be disappointed.”
He gave a humorless grunt, but she could tell his mood had improved. At another wicked flash of lightning, he put the SUV into gear and pulled up to the front door.
Looking worried, Anne said, “If this doesn’t let up, I may miss my chance to see anything because we won’t be able to get out of the car.”
He reached into the pocket behind her seat and produced an umbrella. “Here, use this. The driveway curves close to the porch steps. I’ll pull up so you can get out.”
“You’re not suggesting I go in without you?”
“Would you?”
“Buck—”
Eyes teasing, he held up a finger. “You’d miss an evening with the Addams family?” he said.
“Judging by your behavior tonight, I’m already married to Lurch.”
He laughed. “Just wait for me on the porch and we’ll go in together.”
Before she could do it for herself, he released her seat belt, then handed her the umbrella. “It springs open when you—”
“I know how to open an umbrella, Buck.” She took it and allowed him to reach across her lap to spring the door handle. Then, before she could avoid it, he kissed her, a quick, firm claim of her mouth that made her heart jump. Next, within a heartbeat, he had the door open and if she didn’t want to get soaked, she had to pop the umbrella and make a dash for the porch. With the taste of him lingering…
Because Buck and Anne were delayed by the storm, Victoria extended the cocktail hour, which allowed Anne her chance to watch Whitaker family dynamics at play. Buck was wet from a mad dash to the door after parking the car, but even as he attempted to dry himself off, his mother pounced, peppering him with questions. Anne had to admire his skill in fending her off.
After a few minutes, she drifted away from Buck and his mother and was instantly corralled by Pearce’s wife. Tucking her hand inside Anne’s elbow, Claire steered her toward the baby grand piano in the room. With its top raised, it was a nice shield from the rest of the group. Claire watched as Anne took a sip of cabernet. “You want a refill of that?”
Anne glanced at what remained of her second glass of wine. “No. Thanks. I shouldn’t have any more before dinner.”
“I find it’s the best way to cope.” Claire raised her glass and took a hefty drink, letting her gaze drift around the room. “These family occasions can be devilish.”
Anne followed her gaze. “I’ll admit to being fascinated myself.”
Claire’s glance rested briefly on Buck standing beside his mother, his gaze fixed on the floor. “I bet fascination isn’t what Buck’s feeling right now.”
Anne agreed, feeling a pang of sympathy for him, but thought better about commenting. “Tell me how it feels to be caught up in a political campaign, Claire,” she said, searching for a topic of conversation. It struck her that her sister-in-law’s classic blond beauty was a perfect complement to her husband’s dark, somewhat wicked good looks. Anne thought they would photograph well as Senator and Mrs. Whitaker. “Are you looking forward to the day when you’ll be Mrs. Senator Whitaker?”
“Not particularly.”
Anne studied her cool profile. “A life in politics isn’t appealing to you?”
“Not as Mrs. Senator Whitaker, no.” Her gaze settled on Pearce across the room. “You want to hear something funny? Once I thought about marrying Jack Breedlove,” she murmured. “Now, here he is in a dead heat with Pearce for the same political position. Isn’t that a hoot?”
Anne coughed on a sip of wine. “Buck mentioned you and Jack had once been sweethearts, but that was in high school, wasn’t it?”
She nodded. “About a million years ago.”
“Sometimes those first loves can seem so sweet,” Anne said. Secretly, she was appalled at Claire’s indiscretion. Pearce’s opposition would have a field day.
Claire turned to look at her. “Do you speak from experience?”
“About first loves?” Again, Anne’s gaze strayed to Buck. “I guess so. Would you believe it? Buck was the first man I ever really loved. I never even had a steady boyfriend in high school. And when I was in college, between my course load and new experiences, I just never fell for anybody…until I met Buck.”
Claire studied Anne’s face thoughtfully over the rim of her wineglass. “So if he’s the love of your life, why am I picking up on some marital stress? Buck’s staying at the lodge, you’re at your daddy’s house. And nobody’s talking.” Then seeing the look on Anne’s face, she hurriedly added, “None of my business, of course, but you’re a lucky woman. Buck is a man in a million. Take it from me, you got the pick of the litter.” She tossed back more wine and let her gaze drift to Pearce again. “He’s nothing like Pearce.”
More family discord. What was it about these people that there was so much discontent floating about, Anne wondered. Buck’s whole outlook on family was sour and Paige never missed an opportunity to say something nasty. What was it that kept a family so screwed up when they seemed to have so many advantages?
“Speaking of my dear husband, has he made a pitch to you to stump for him on the campaign trail yet?” Claire asked.
“I think I’m safe. I hardly think I have the same clout as Buck.”
“Well, that’s where you’re w
rong,” Claire said, patting her pocket for her cigarettes. “At least, half wrong. You won’t have as much clout as Buck, but you’re a pretty woman and a journalist to boot, therefore, an asset. Of course, Pearce will assume you’re willing and, because you’re family, all your write-ups will be positive. Read that as biased in his favor.”
“It’s not always an advantage having a journalist in the family. Let’s see what he thinks after he reads the piece coming out in next week’s Spectator.”
“He managed to get the Spectator to endorse him?” Claire looked astonished.
“It’s not an endorsement. It’s a feature article. In fact, I’ve interviewed both Pearce and Jack Breedlove.”
Claire paused, the cigarette unlit in her hand. “How was he?”
“Pearce or Jack?”
“Jack, for God’s sake. I haven’t seen him in—” She stopped, her smile as sharp as a blade. “I shouldn’t be talking about Jack, should I?”
“Probably not. But to answer your question,” Anne said, “I was impressed. Jack is a very charming man, decisive and confident.”
“Pearce is charming, decisive and confident,” Claire said in a dark voice, “but the difference is that on Jack it’s sexy, and on Pearce, it’s…not.”
“Maybe we’d better have some of those hors d’oeuvres,” Anne suggested.
With a dry laugh, Claire said, “Meaning I’m drunk, otherwise I wouldn’t say stuff like that?” Deciding against a cigarette, she signaled Miriam, Belle Pointe’s longtime housekeeper, for more wine. “No, sugar, I’m not drunk, just depressed.”
Miriam refilled Claire’s wineglass, while Anne refused. “I spent some time with Paige this week at the Spectator,” Anne said. “She’s creative and very precocious, but I’m sure you know that.”
“Creative and precocious.” Claire looked away toward a window, her gaze resting on the storm raging outside. “Is that a tactful way of expressing shock and awe?”
“Because of her Goth look? Not at all, although it is rather dramatic. No, I meant she’s quick and funny and unique.”
Claire leaned against the piano. “At least you recognized her outfit as a look. Dressed like that, she could be practicing to become the town coroner or at best angling to be public relations director at Knopf’s Funeral Home.”
