by Deeanne Gist
“Of course, but only briefly.”
“I’ll give you a letter to take with you, then. Now, what about your daughter’s husband, Archie? He’s Darius’s right-hand man.”
Mrs. Lockhart frowned. “Archie is not anyone’s ‘right-hand man.’ He is an employee of Morgan Oil. No more. No less.”
“I didn’t mean to imply Archie would be involved in anything untoward.”
“I should think not. Nevertheless, I don’t wish to jeopardize his job, nor put his loyalties to the test. So you can be assured I will be very discreet.” She stood. “Now, I need you to go so I can begin my research.”
“Mrs. Lockhart, I’m not sure that romance novels—”
She handed him his hat. “You may pick me up tomorrow morning and carry my bag to the train station for me. By that time, I will have several options for you to consider.”
He stood with indecision. What other choice did he have? He could go to Beaumont himself and confront Darius, but that would solve nothing. His brother would go to great lengths to protect this coveted connection with Norris Tubbs, just like Tony would go to great lengths to protect his sister.
But Darius had the upper hand. He was Anna’s legal guardian and had the ability to keep Tony from getting anywhere near her or Mother until it was too late. Darius would also have Tubbs’ power and support behind him.
But he would never suspect Mrs. Lockhart. Tony doubted Darius even knew who she was. If he got wind of it, though …
Tony gave her arm a gentle squeeze. “You must be very careful. Darius isn’t evil, but he’s greedy. If you were found out, no telling what he’d do. At the very least, Archie would lose his job.”
She nodded. “I’ll be careful.”
“You won’t do anything without discussing it with me first?”
“Of course not.”
“All right, then.” He settled his hat on his head. “I’ll come by for you first thing tomorrow morning.”
With Mr. Baker in town, Essie had to forgo Tony’s bicycle training. Instead, she and Papa had Baker, Uncle Melvin, Aunt Verdie, and Preacher Wortham over for supper. Papa had wanted Tony to join them, now that he was officially courting her, but she’d insisted that Tony train instead, even if she wasn’t there with him. But what she really wanted was an opportunity to speak with Mr. Baker without Tony present.
Slicing an apple pie at the sideboard, she served up six plates while Aunt Verdie placed them on the table. The sheriff’s wife was a handsome woman, her blond hair highlighted with silver. Having never had children, she had the hourglass figure that every woman in town coveted—a tiny, tiny waist with extremely generous proportions both above and below.
“My crew should get here within a couple of days,” Mr. Baker said, “and then we’ll be able to get started.”
“I’ll take you through the fields tomorrow, then,” Papa replied. “We’ve started drilling outside the city limits now.”
“That’s what Tony was sayin’. ”
Essie slid back into her chair. “Have you known Mr. Bryant for long?”
Mr. Baker looked at her with confusion, before his expression cleared. “Oh, you mean Tony? Well, I guess that depends on what you’d call ‘long.’ I’ve been in Beaumont off and on for a couple of years.”
“Off and on?”
“Yes, ma’am. My brother and I have been drillin’ water wells all over the state, but our families are in Beaumont and so we always return there between jobs. That’s how I got to know Tony.”
“I see.” She scooped up a bite of pie with her fork. “You know his family, then?”
“Oh, I know who they are, but I don’t know them personal-like the way I do him.”
She frowned. How could he know Tony and not his family? That didn’t make a bit of sense. Not in a small town like Beaumont. But she couldn’t think of a graceful way to ask such a question.
“I’m surprised Morgan Oil didn’t hire you to drill for them, what with you right there and all,” Uncle Melvin said.
“Well, I reckon we were so busy with our water business that we didn’t really think about drillin’ fer oil until here recently when we heard they was using rotaries up in Pennsylvania—and very successfully, I might add. But once we got wind of it, we went straight to Tony.”
“And did Mr. Bryant contract your services?” the preacher asked.
“No, sir. Before any firm plans were made, Mr. Morgan passed.
And now, well, the new boss is still sorting out which end is up.”
“Tony knows the Morgans quite well, then?” Essie asked.
Color rushed to Mr. Baker’s cheeks. “I’d say that’s a safe assumption, ma’am.”
“Oh?”
He swallowed. “Yes, ma’am. He, uh, he worked for them.” He glanced at Papa, then back at her. “You did know that, didn’t you?”
“Oh yes, of course,” she replied. “He said he ordered their equipment and such.”
Mr. Baker visibly relaxed. “That’s right. That’s why I went to him about the rotary drill.”
“And what about you? Do you know the Morgans?”
“No, ma’am. Just …” His voice tapered off.
“Just … ?” she prompted.
“Just from a distance, ma’am.”
She dabbed her mouth with her napkin. “Mr. Bryant seemed upset about Miss Morgan’s betrothal to Mr., um, Tubbs, I believe?”
Mr. Baker’s eyes darted in two different directions. “Did he?”
“He certainly did. Were he and Miss Morgan close?”
With a large, stubby finger, the driller pushed the last bite of dessert onto his fork. “They went to school together, I believe.”
Before she could continue her line of questioning, Aunt Verdie interrupted.
“The pie was delicious, dear,” she said. “Every bit as good as your mother’s.”
The others at the table echoed her sentiments and Essie smiled her thanks.
Papa pulled his napkin from his neck. “Mr. Baker? Preacher? Melvin? Would you care to join me for a cigar?”
The driller shoved back his chair. “I’d be much obliged, sir.” He turned to Essie. “The meal was mighty fine, ma’am. Mighty fine.”
Thanking him, she stood and gathered their plates while the men retreated to the front porch. She realized many of her questions about Tony and his relationship to the Morgans could have been answered if her father had simply thought to ask Tony when he first brought up the idea of courting her.
But Papa had relegated that discussion to her and now it seemed a bit late to start inquiring about it. Or maybe it wasn’t. Now that they were officially courting, it was only natural she’d want to know about his family and his past and, certainly, his connection to Morgan Oil.
“You have somethin’ on your mind, Essie-girl?” Aunt Verdie asked.
Essie glanced out the window, trying to judge the time. “I was just thinking about Tony. Perhaps if we hurried with these dishes, I could still catch him before he left the bicycle club.”
Her aunt’s expression softened. “You run on, now, and see to that man of yours. I’ll take care of these dishes.”
“Oh no. I couldn’t.”
“It would be my pleasure.”
Essie shook her head. “No, really. I wouldn’t feel right.”
Without further argument, Aunt Verdie cleared the table, and Essie made short work of the dishes. She was just finishing up when she spotted Ewing and Mr. Baker through the window. They’d come around from the front and moved into the backyard, deep in discussion.
Mr. Baker was clearly distressed. Ewing placed a hand on the man’s shoulder, stopping him. The preacher glanced at the house, frowning, then said something to Mr. Baker. Both men bowed their heads.
Essie slipped into the clubhouse, surprised to see Tony was only on the Indian clubs. He should have finished with those long ago. He juggled them in the air with much more precision than Sharpley ever had.
Pushing aside thoughts of
Anna Morgan, Essie allowed excitement over the upcoming race to fill her. She only wished she had more time to prepare Tony.
She’d been training riders for four years now, ever since she opened the club. She’d originally organized the race to bring in new members, but after reading everything she could get her hands on concerning the art of racing and training, she’d come to covet a winning trophy for Sullivan Oil, for her club, and for her town.
Tony caught the clubs, returned them to their bin, then dropped to the floor for push-ups. She stayed in the shadows, telling herself she just wanted to see if he did all one hundred of them. But she lost count after the first fifteen, distracted by the sight he made aligning himself parallel to the floor.
He lifted his body with quick, powerful movements. Arms flexing, legs stiff, toes together. Light from the sconces splashed onto him, highlighting the sweat glistening on his skin. With a final grunt, he lowered himself to the floor and lay on his stomach, unmoving.
She stepped from the shadows.
“Essie,” he said, raising his head. “I didn’t hear you come in.” He pushed himself up and stood, leaving an imprint of moisture the length of his body on the wooden floor.
His dark hair fell in abandon around his face. His chest heaved with each breath, stretching the wet shirt across his shoulders and delineating his muscles in sharp relief.
Arms hanging limp, he rested his weight on his right leg, throwing his hip slightly off to one side. She pulled her gaze and thoughts from their wayward paths, only to be caught short by the intensity of his stare.
“I …” she began. “We … Papa and Mr. Baker … they, uh, they retired to the porch, so I thought I’d come check on you.”
His breathing was the only sound in the quiet of the building.
“I’m glad you did.”
She swallowed. “I thought you’d be almost finished by now.”
“I got a late start.”
“Oh?”
“I stopped by Mrs. Lockhart’s on my way.”
She blinked in confusion. “Mrs. Lockhart’s?”
“Have you seen her backyard, Essie? It’s a mess. I think I might go by and clean it up some while she’s gone.”
“Gone? You went by her house and she was gone?”
“No, not yet. She’s leaving tomorrow for a short visit with her daughter.”
Essie shook her head. “I don’t understand. Why were you at Mrs. Lockhart’s to begin with?”
He shrugged. “I’ve been by to check on her several times since that night I first escorted her to your lecture. She’s rather up in years and has no family in town.”
Essie absorbed that bit of information. Mrs. Lockhart had been such a pillar of the community for so long, it had never occurred to her to think of the elderly woman as fragile or lonely. But she could understand how a newcomer might view her that way.
“Oh,” she said. “Well, that’s very thoughtful of you. And, no, I had assumed her front yard was a reflection of her back.”
“Well, it’s not. But I’ll take care of it.”
She nodded absently, trying to gather her scattered thoughts. “So what all have you done?”
“The first three sets of laps and some of my exercises. I was just fixing to do my last set of laps now.”
“I see,” she took a step back. “Well, go ahead. Don’t let me stop you.”
Nodding, he retrieved the bicycle leaning against the wall, swung into the saddle and began his regimen. The wheels whirred slowly, then picked up momentum with each passing lap. The faster Tony went, the more he crouched down, like a jockey riding a horse.
She soon found herself caught up in his progress, shouting encouragement and urging him to even greater speed. When he completed his final lap and crossed the imaginary finish line, she cheered. It was one of his best runs by far.
Releasing the handlebars, he sat up, a smile wreathing his face.
Clasping his hands together, he shook them in the air like a winner, then continued to glide around the track once more before pulling to a stop beside her.
“Oh, I wish I’d had my stopwatch!” she exclaimed. “You were splendid!”
He sat straddling the bike, his feet planted on either side. “I do better when you’re here watching.” His voice was low, pleased.
“Well, it’s no hardship to watch you, I can tell you that.”
His expression changed immediately. Reaching out, he clasped her hand and drew her close. Her skirts bunched around his leg.
The bike’s crossbar pressed against her hip.
“You smell good. Like cookies,” he said, raising her hand to his mouth.
Shivers raced up her arm. “Cookies?”
“You know, the kind with cloves. Icebox cookies.” He turned her hand over and rubbed his lips against her palm. “They’re my favorite.”
She stared, fascinated with the difference between her white fingers and his tanned ones, while the dark stubble on his cheek caught against her fingernails.
“Unfortunately, I smell like I’ve been training for a bicycle race.”
She felt his smile while watching the skin beside his eyes crinkle, his expression turning rueful. And though he did smell of a man who’d been laboring, she did not find the odor unpleasant. She managed to refrain from saying so, however.
“Would you like to go fishing?” he asked.
“Right now?”
His smile widened. “Tempting, but I was thinking of after church on Sunday.”
She flushed and tried to step away, but he put a hand against her waist, staying her.
She lowered her gaze. “Yes, thank you. I’d love to go fishing.”
Closing his eyes, he planted a kiss onto her palm. “Sunday it is, then.”
Pulling her hand away, she pressed it against her stomach— whether to capture the kiss and keep it close or to calm the jitters inside, she didn’t know.
She took a step back. “It’s late. I suggest we call it a night.
Why don’t I start putting out the lights while you take care of the bike?”
He nodded and she turned, making her way to the far wall, all the while disconcerted to know that he stayed right where he was, watching her.
It wasn’t until much later that night when she was home and tucked safely in bed that she realized she’d totally forgotten to ask him about his family and the Morgans.
Rolling over, she bunched up her pillow. No need to fret. There would be time enough for that while they were fishing.
chapter NINETEEN
ESSIE COULDN’T remember the last time building a rig had caused such a stir. Every boomer in the patch kept one eye on his job and the other on the Bakers’ marvel.
Two days after M.C.’s arrival, his brother, C.E., descended on Corsicana with their crew of rig builders. Essie watched them with fascination. A tougher, stronger, meaner group of men would be hard to find.
Whiteselle’s Lumber Yard delivered pre-sawed roughs, and M.C.’s crew attacked them like ants on a picnic lunch. They worked at a fast and furious pace, putting every other able-bodied man to shame.
Skillful, ambidextrous, and exceedingly strong, they laid down a derrick floor, then began to nail together the rig’s legs. Dirt clouds churned so thick around the crew that she had to squint sometimes just to see.
When Essie made an appearance, the Sullivan Oil hands invariably stopped their work, but there was no stopping M.C. Baker’s crew. They paid her no mind at all. She wasn’t even sure they realized she was there.
As the derrick went up, the men raised their timbers with a pulley they called a “gin pole.” Muscles bulged, sharp commands abounded, and a good deal of hazing occurred without anyone missing a step.
Essie watched one sweat-soaked man as he steadied a three-by-twelve-inch board in a corner of the derrick, then sank in a spike with three quick blows. Instead of a hammer, he used a long-handled hatchet with a round, serrated head opposed to the blade, hammering spike after spike with f
irst his right hand, then his left.
Tony stood below him, then pointed up and shouted something, but she couldn’t make out his words. In conjunction with M.C.’s arrival, Papa had pulled Tony from his roustabouting and promoted him to tool pusher for the rotary rigs, while Moss would remain tool pusher for the cable rigs.
Tony knew his tools backwards and forwards, but she didn’t think he came close to deserving such a high position. He was, after all, a very recent employee, and they had several other men who had worked longer and were more deserving—if not, perhaps, as qualified.
She also didn’t want people thinking the job had been given to him because of his relationship with her, though she worried that might have indeed factored into Papa’s decision. And until she could find out exactly what had happened to him at Morgan Oil and what his connection to Anna Morgan was, she was determined to maintain an employer–employee relationship with him while in the patch. It wouldn’t be easy, though.
The rig builder shouted something down to Tony, who, in response, threw back his head and laughed. The two shared a smile before Tony turned away from the derrick and caught sight of her.
His face registering surprise, then panic.
He quickly glanced around to see if anyone was near her, then bore down on her, scowling. “What are you doing here?”
“I beg your pardon?” she said.
“You heard me.” He snatched his hat off belatedly, pinching the crown between his fingers. “What are you doing here?”
His vehemence shocked her.
“I’m here to watch the construction of our new rig, Mr. Bryant. Was there something you needed?”
He shooed her with his hat. “I need you to leave. This is no place for a woman, and you are distracting the boys.”
“Nothing seems to distract these boys. And even if I were, I own the company. Which means I can go wherever I please—and without having to explain myself.”
“Lower your voice,” he said. He grasped her elbow and propelled her toward the edge of the field where she’d left her bicycle. “I don’t want you challenging me in front of the men.”
She tugged against his hold. “Let go. I want to watch the rig builders.”
