by Modean Moon
Wilson's second drink arrived after a discreet signal from Nick to the waiter. By then the man was comfortable enough to turn his attention to Dani. He refilled her wineglass and gave her the benefit of his practiced smile.
"I haven't seen you around. Have you been in Tulsa long?"
"Not quite five years," she said, willing herself to show no reaction to his visual examination of her. After all, she had assessed him. But his scrutiny was almost a physical assault, and she chafed with the desire to wipe away his egotistical assurance with a scathing retort.
Nick draped his arm over her shoulder, and Wilson's eyes showed that he had noted the act of casual possessiveness. A rueful smile lifted the corners of his mouth for a split second before he returned his attention to Nick.
Why, he thinks I'm Nick's mistress, Dani realized angrily, but as Nick's fingers traced lazy circles on her arm, her anger dissipated and she began to wonder how it would be if she really were what Wilson thought she was. She turned to face Nick and found him looking at her, green lights again dancing in the depths of his eyes and a contented smile magically enhancing his already striking features.
"I think it's time we get down to business," Nick said slowly, "before we forget why we're here."
"You've reconsidered the title opinion then," Wilson asked complacently, "in light of what we discussed yesterday?"
"Yes, I have," Nick told him. "And I'm now even more firmly convinced that the Anderson and Simmons leases aren't worth the paper they're written on."
"They own the minerals," Wilson said, "and neither one has been leased for the last five years."
"And they also both have previous leases to Mid-South, which are still held by production in the adjoining section."
Dani watched quietly as the two men discussed this portion of the conflict. Nick was on familiar territory and could have countered much more strenuous argument than the hackneyed and half-hearted one Wilson put forth before finally letting Nick convince him that the leases were invalid. It seemed to her that Wilson had expected to lose this part and that he was not really upset by it.
Wilson ordered another drink and again filled her wineglass. "So," he said, leaning back in his chair with a sigh. "Even if the Anderson and Simmons interests are held by production, that doesn't affect the leases on the balance."
"Which will expire in three months unless drilling is started before then," Nick reminded him. "Dani, do you have Sam's copy of our proposal?"
Silently she fished the envelope from her purse and handed it to Nick, who passed it across the table. Wilson unfolded the single sheet of paper it contained and scanned it quickly. When he looked up from it, the wariness was again in his eyes, along with a bitterness Dani thought must have come from an unanticipated defeat.
"You intend to hold my feet to the fire on this, don't you?" Wilson asked in a clipped, strained voice.
"Not at all," Nick told him. "It seems to me that this is a logical solution to our problem. If you can arrange for Mid-South to farm out their interest in these leases to me, I'll pick up the entire package."
"Which means that I absorb any additional cost. You know they're going to want an override."
"The override—" Dani interjected.
"An override," Wilson snapped at her impatiently. "An overriding royalty interest. A percentage of the gross income of the well. Taken off the top, along with the landowner's royalty interest payment, before the operator of the well pays any expenses or takes his share."
Dani did not try to hide the chill in her voice. "I speak the language, Mr. Wilson. What I started to say is that the override you have retained will be more than sufficient to cover any demanded by Mid-South."
"And if they decide not to farm their interest out to me," Nick went on smoothly, "if they can be persuaded to participate in the drilling of the well, with me as operator, I'll take the valid leases, but only those."
"And if I can't arrange either of those alternatives, you're going to leave me holding the bag, is that it?" Wilson said tersely.
"I wouldn't have put it that way." A deadly calm crept into Nick's voice. "You know very well that if I'm not able to drill within six weeks, I'll lose the rig I have contracted, and I won't be able to line up another one before your leases expire."
Dani flinched inwardly at the venom in Wilson's voice. "I think you've just decided you paid too much for these leases and you've latched onto the first excuse you could find to welch on our agreement."
Nick's hand clenched on Dani's arm, and she could feel the anger running through his body. She raised her hand and clasped his, holding it against her arm, while with her other hand she gripped the slender stem of the wineglass.
"I think," she said softly, "and I've waited all evening for you to say something that would change my mind—I think you approached Nick with this package, knowing there was no way he could ever drill it. I think you knew from the beginning that Mid-South held those leases by production. And I think you're aware of a few more problems that we've not yet discussed."
Wilson swiveled around in his chair to examine the source of this unexpected attack. "Just who the hell are you, lady?"
Nick loosened his grip on her arm but left his hand resting in hers. "I told you, Wilson. You just didn't listen. This is my lawyer, the person who first opened up this can of worms. Dani—D. J. Simms."
The man's eyes registered shock for only a moment before he regained his composure and said evenly, "Those are pretty harsh accusations. Just how do you propose to back them up?"
Dani continued in a low voice. "You don't know about the top leases, of course?" He raised his hand as if to deny any knowledge, but she went on. "Leases that take effect the day yours expire, covering all of the good interests you've offered Nick."
"That's not in the abstracts," he said too quickly.
"No. They were only filed in the County Clerk's office the day before yesterday."
"Then how am I supposed to know about them? There is a lot of leasing activity in the area. I'm not surprised that someone has done it, but you can't hold me responsible for it."
"McCauley is the name of the person who took the leases," Dani told him. "S. J. McCauley." She waited for his response, and when none came, she continued. "McCauley has been busy leasing in that county for about six months. Not all of the leases taken have been assigned to someone else, but most of them have been—to Mid-South."
"Who slipped up and put those leases of record, Mr. Wilson? Did someone in your organization become frightened and advance your schedule without telling you about it, or were you so sure that Nick would accept the good leases you became careless?"
"I haven't the slightest idea what you're getting at. Even if McCauley is working for Mid-South, what's that got to do with me?"
"You don't know S. J. McCauley?" Nick asked.
"No. I never heard of the man."
"Woman." Dani felt the ice in her voice. "Sarah Jane McCauley. I believe that is your mother's maiden name."
Wilson sat very still, visibly paler in the dim light of the room. A vein jumped in his throat as he glared at Dani.
Nick broke the silence. "Under the terms of our contract I have to leave the money in escrow for the balance of the thirty days. If you want it, you know how to get it. We have nothing else to discuss." He turned to Dani in pointed dismissal of the man across the table.
"Why?" Dani asked after Wilson left. "Why would he try something like that? It doesn't make any sense."
"Greed is a funny thing. People have done a lot worse for the kind of money we had at stake."
"But, Nick, you would have found put eventually, and Mid-South would have known. Even the money involved is not enough to warrant his risking whatever professional reputation he has for the sake of one paycheck."
"He was probably counting on my not wanting to advertise the fact that someone had played me for a fool," Nick said with a trace of bitterness in his voice.
"That's more important to y
ou than the money, isn't it?" she prompted, knowing the answer even as she asked the question.
"Yes," he admitted. "But since I'm now safe on both counts, we don't have to worry about that anymore." The look in his eyes softened as he smiled at her "Thank you, counselor."
Curiously uncomfortable, Dani tried to shift his attention away from her. "What will you do now?"
He grinned at her. "Find another drilling prospect and go after it, of course."
"In western Oklahoma?"
"Probably," he said. "I still want to play out there."
She had wondered since the day she had been given the file why he had chosen the western part of the state, and now the combination of unaccustomed wine and the appearance of closeness that had existed between her and the man, Nick Sanders, unlocked questions she would never have dared to ask the client, Nick Sanders. She spoke carefully, knowing she was dangerously close to prying into areas that were really none of her business.
"I don't understand what drives a person time after time to expend the kind of energy and money that are needed to sink a hole in the ground, never knowing if there is going to be oil there. I know that if there is oil, it's financially rewarding."
"That's an understatement, isn't it?" she said, chuckling. "But you don't need the money." She gestured indecisively toward the other two of the Brady Center towers. "And yet you keep on, spending yourself and risking fortunes, in a series of calculated risks." She found herself hopelessly searching for words to continue.
"It's a game, Dani," Nick told her. "For me, anyway. If I want to build an apartment complex, I go through a series of steps. If I want to build a Brady Center, I go through the same series of steps. Sometimes there are surprises, but more often there aren't. The result is that I wind up with an apartment complex or a Brady Center."
"If I want to drill an oil well, I have a different series of steps to follow. I cover my back. I protect myself by having the best geology, the best engineering, the best drilling, and"—he nodded toward her—"the best legal advice I can get, but I never know what's going to be at the bottom of the hole. And if there is oil there, I'm never sure if I'm going to be able to get it out."
"It's a game," he repeated. "The money is just a way of keeping score."
"And you play the game very well," Dani said with some understanding.
"Yes, I do."
"But why did you suddenly decide to change games?" she asked. "What prompted you to learn a still different set of steps, to go all the way across the state, looking for gas, not oil, drilling eight, nine, ten times as deep as you've ever drilled before, taking on a completely different set of problems?"
A smile twitched at his lips and lighted his eyes. "I thought it would be fun."
Fun. The word mocked her. How many times had Rob gently chastised her for leading him into something because she thought it would be fun. She had convinced him that going to law school together would be fun. She had convinced him that painting the bathroom would be fun.
No! Not now! she screamed inwardly as she averted her head and stared without seeing over the lights of Tulsa. She pulled her protective armor around her, blanking all thought from her mind, refusing to remember.
"Dani?" She felt Nick's fingers on her cheek, turning her toward him. She read his puzzlement in the set of his mouth, which conflicted with the gentleness of his question. "Is the thought of doing something just for the fun of it so abhorrent to you?"
She could not maintain eye contact with him and not tell him how abhorrent it had become. She shrugged slightly and reached for her wineglass. "No," she said after she had taken a sip of the wine. "I was lost in another thought for a moment."
Nick continued to watch her, an air of indecision hovering around him, for a time that seemed to her to stretch on for minutes although she knew it could only have been seconds. Finally the stern set of his mouth softened.
"Dance with me?"
Her refusal was automatic, aided by years of rejecting any type of personal contact. "I don't—"
"Don't tell me you don't dance either?" he teased.
She recognized the haunting melody of Cole Porter's "Night and Day" drifting across the room and recognized that for some reason she wanted to dance with him, wanted to have his arms around her, wanted to feel her body moving rhythmically with his to the sensual strains of the music.
"No, I won't tell you that. It's just that I haven't danced for… for quite some time. I'm rusty."
"I'll risk it," he said, still teasing. "And I'll try to stay off your toes."
He was a strong leader, and. he was careful of her toes, but Dani managed to stumble once as she held herself rigid in his unfamiliar embrace.
"Relax," he whispered. "No one's judging your performance."
She smiled at him sheepishly, took a deep breath, and willed herself to relax against him as she exhaled.
Why, he can dance, she discovered to her delight as he glided her across the room with only the slightest pressure of his hand on her back. As she moved with the music written for dancing at a time when man and woman danced together, feeling her confidence growing that she could follow him, she let go of her inhibitions and surrendered to the sheer enjoyment of moving with him.
Nick noticed the difference in her and added variation to the basic step. Dani sensed that he was holding back, unsure of her ability. She sighed and leaned her head against his shoulder. There was no need to tell him. For now she was content just to follow his lead.
The band shifted smoothly into a fox trot. Nick led her carefully into that, but she heard his soft laugh when he realized there was no need for caution.
"Rusty, are you?" he murmured against her hair.
"A little." A laugh of sheer delight bubbled from her.
"Let's see just how rusty," he teased as he swung her around in a complicated variation.
She recognized the beginnings of an uptempo jazz number and felt a stab of disappointment. This was where she thought she'd lose him. He was either going to beg off or expect them to do two solos. He didn't. He clasped her more firmly and swirled her across the room in a series of steps that left her slightly breathless. She caught a glimpse of the two of them in the mirrored wall by the bandstand. Can that really be me? she wondered at the sight of the slender woman moving gracefully in Nick's arms. But she had little time to wonder, only to enjoy.
When the music glided into a waltz, she looked up at Nick and found her own appreciation reflected in his eyes.
"No one dances like this anymore," she said to him. "Where did you learn?"
He grinned back at her. "My mother was insistent that her boys have all the social graces, so every Saturday morning for what seemed like years I was dressed in a suit and tie and deposited at the local dance studio where I reluctantly counted steps and bowed to little girls in ruffled white dresses. I hated it at the time. And you? Were you one of those little girls in a ruffled dress?"
"No." She laughed. "I was addicted to old movies on television. I wanted to grow up to be Ginger Rogers."
When the waltz was over, they stood together, arms around each other, facing the band and waiting for the next number. The musicians were aware of them. She could see that in the grins they exchanged as they whispered among themselves, but she was not prepared for the challenge they threw out in the form of a Latin American beat.
"Well, Ginger?" Nick asked, holding his hand out to her.
"A tango?"
He nodded solemnly, but even in this dim light she could see that laughter threatened to overcome him. She slipped her hand into his and gave him an exaggerated smile. "Lead on, Mr. Astaire."
After the last dip they collapsed against each other, shaking with laughter, to applause from other patrons of the club.
The band began playing a jitterbug. "I believe they must be sadists," Nick said in a mock whisper. "Later," he called to them over his shoulder as he led her to their table.
She sank gratefully into her chair and d
rank thirstily from her wineglass. The wine tasted bitter in her mouth. She was slightly dizzy but couldn't tell if it was from the wine or from excitement. "I've had enough of this," she said as she pushed the glass away from her.
Suddenly Nick's presence seemed formidably close.
She was acutely aware of the subtle scent of his aftershave, the remembered feeling of his arms around her and his body against hers.
"It must be getting late," she said and hated the brittle sound of her voice. "I ought to be getting home."
"Oh, no. I finally found a dancing partner to justify all those hours I spent learning. I'm not about to let you get away this early."
His hand rested on hers. Would he notice the scars? How could he help but notice, she realized, and yet he didn't seem to.
A frown creased his forehead. "How long has it been since you danced like this?" he asked her.
How long? "Forever," she whispered. Rob had tried, but not even Rob had had the flair and natural grace of the man seated beside her. Guilt stabbed at her for comparing them. She slipped her hand from Nick's and picked up her wineglass, meaning only to toy with it, but she carried it to her lips and sipped from it while she searched for something to say.
"What is it, Dani?" he asked gently. "Why do you close yourself off that way?"
"I'm afraid our friend Mr. Wilson and I have something in common," she said, grabbing for the first thing that came to mind and realizing as Nick's face darkened into a scowl that she had said something terribly wrong. "I—I just meant," she stammered, "I just meant that I'm a little out of my league."
Nick gazed at her, letting his expression soften, searching her eyes. "I've known you less than a day, but I seriously doubt if there's any situation in which you would be out of your league."
He captured her hand. "You're beautiful, and bright, and," he said as he pulled her to her feet, "you dance like a dream. Come on," he whispered. "Can't you hear the music calling us?"
She was lost in her own sensations. At some point she slid her right hand from his shoulder to the back of his neck. He held her other hand to his chest. The band, as though in tune with their desires, played only slow, romantic melodies. Their bodies melded together and they moved as one across the floor until the music stopped, silenced for the night.
