A Little Town in Texas

by Bethany Campbell

  Kitt. One room away. But more than a wall of beams and plaster separated them. Brian Fabian, in all his power and complexity, his generosity and meanness, stood between them like a colossus.

  Mel threw back the sheet, rose and paced to the window. Looking out, he saw the streetlights in a blur of haze. The rain had stopped. Puddles shimmered dimly in the streets. In the distance, lightning glared, then faded.

  If Mel could convince Fabian to yield on the water and the dam, Kitt might think him a hero. If he couldn’t do it, what would she think? That he had never tried, that he was a liar or a weakling?

  He raked his fingers through his hair. After she heard about the meeting with the minor landowners, she’d be set against him again. And he had much, much more to do that she wouldn’t like.

  He had to show her that he wasn’t evil simply because he worked for a man who sometimes seemed evil. Fabian was a flawed and driven being, but a strangely vulnerable one, sometimes like an aging child in pain.

  Mel needed to prove to Kitt that he cared for her with an intensity that transcended their differences. He stared out the window, pensively, his gaze going from building to building.

  And suddenly, he knew.

  His heartbeat speeded, and he grabbed the phone. He dialed DeJames again. DeJames was groggy and disbelieving. “What do you want now? It’s three o’clock in the morning here. What is your problem?”

  Mel gripped the phone more tightly. “It’s only midnight in California. Get me Sheila MacCauley.”

  “Sheila MacCauley? You’re crazy, man.”

  “Like a fox,” said Mel.

  KITT GOT UP EARLY the next day and went to the park for a run. Again the sky was gray, the humidity high, the air still. By the morning light she could see how much damage the storm had done. Lightning had struck down two big pines, and a dogwood tree had been uprooted. The autumn foliage, stripped and sodden, lay on the beaten grass.

  Kitt ran past the shelter house where Mel had held her in his arms. She kept her head down, so she wouldn’t have to look at it. She tried not to think of the feel of his arms around her or of his promise to come for her in New York. She wondered for perhaps the thousandth time about the water rights.

  She jogged back to the hotel, showered, changed and went to the Longhorn. Like yesterday morning, she could sense tension as soon as she walked in the door.

  But today the tension was different. It was anticipatory, excited and righteous. None of the major landowners, like the Gibsons or the McKinneys, were in sight. In a corner booth old Horace Westerhaus was holding forth.

  “Fabian’s people are right, dammit! We’re living in the dark ages. Gillespie County’s got an Economic Development Commission. Do we? No. It’s time for folks like us drag this county kicking and screaming into the twenty-first century.”

  “Look!” Gloria Wall said, pointing at Kitt. “It’s the reporter. Well, she calls herself a reporter.” She gave Kitt a challenging stare. “Why weren’t you at that meeting last night? Why weren’t you covering that news?”

  “Because it was a private meeting, and I wasn’t asked,” Kitt retorted. “I don’t know what was said.”

  Ralph Wall leaned across the table and shook his index finger at her. “I’ll tell you what was said. Fabian’s interested in buying our land. But he won’t buy while he’s being sued.”

  Gloria nodded indignantly. “He’d pay almost twice the market price. But we can’t get it because of the lawsuits. We’re being robbed.”

  Kitt was more astonished than before. “You mean as long as people like the McKinneys hold out, he won’t buy?”

  “That’s exactly what we mean,” Ralph snapped.

  “So the clock is ticking, and we’re losing money,” fumed Gloria.

  “The big landowners are holding the small ones hostage,” said Horace. “I’m writing an editorial about it—a masterpiece of fiery rhetoric.”

  “But a few days ago you were on the other side,” Kitt protested.

  “Consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds,” Horace said pompously. “I am not afraid to admit I can have a change of heart.”

  Kitt thought he was a hypocrite, but she wasn’t going to argue with him. “This is all fascinating,” she said, “but I have to find Nora.”

  “We want to tell you our side of the story,” Gloria said, trying to lay her hand on Kitt’s arm.

  “Later,” Kitt said, dodging her. She zigzagged between tables and made her way to the kitchen. Nora stood by the counter, looking stricken.

  “Good grief,” Kitt said, “what’s happening? You look like a deer caught in the headlights.”

  “I feel like one,” Nora said. “Gloria Wall practically attacked me. She called Ken one of J.T.’s ‘henchmen.’ I don’t want to go back out there. I might smack her upside the head with a skillet.”

  “Make it a cast-iron one,” said Kitt.

  Nora managed to smile.

  Kitt said, “And Mel Belyle made this proposition?”

  “It’s a fiendish thing to do,” Nora said angrily. “I heard two Austin TV stations are sending crews here to interview—people. I bet Gloria Wall can’t wait to be on the six o’clock news. And have you seen the papers?”

  When Kitt shook her head, Nora snatched up a fat stack of newspapers. “Every major Texas paper has an ad—with Fabian’s stats about how much bloody money Bluebonnet Meadows will make for us. Every single one.”

  She thrust them at Kitt. Kitt stared at a headline on the Fort Worth front page: “Billionaire Wants to Enrich Claro County: Ranchers Object.”

  “Take them,” Nora said. “I can’t stand to look at them any longer. I feel like closing the place for the day. It makes me sick to listen to people run down J.T. and the others. For years J.T.’s been the most respected man in the county. Now, all of a sudden, he’s the enemy.”

  Nora paused. “And yet…” she said, her brow furrowing “…and yet…”

  Kitt said, “And yet, you understand that people like the Walls see this as the only chance they may ever have to strike it rich.”

  Nora nodded sadly. “Minnie Wallenhaupt has four acres. She’s a widow and could use the money. And she’ll never get a higher offer. Ever.”

  Kitt understood. A chance indeed to grab the brass ring, to claim the prize. The carousel on the courthouse lawn was turning into a fitting symbol of Crystal Creek. The town was turning into a merry-go-round, whirling with dizzying madness.

  KITT SPENT part of the day watching a media circus parade into Crystal Creek. Two television news crews came from Austin, and one from San Antonio. Radio people showed up as well, and newspaper journalists from all over the state.

  At three o’clock, Mel Belyle was to hold a short news conference in one of the hotel’s two meeting rooms. Kitt wasn’t invited, and she would have loved to crash it. But she could not.

  At three she was due to meet in Austin with an engineer who was an expert on water resources. She hoped he could clarify the legal tangle over the water on Fabian’s land. When she returned to Crystal Creek, after five, a light rain started to fall. Kitt hoped another cloudburst wasn’t about to drench the county.

  At the hotel, she was surprised to see Hugo standing outside Mel’s door. He was dressed in a different uniform and had a badge that announced “Security Officer.”

  “Why, Hugo,” Kitt said. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m off-duty,” the big man answered with a blush. “I’m moonlighting. As a security guard.”

  “For Mel Belyle?”

  “To keep away the press. I’m not supposed to let anybody near this door. For any reason.”

  Kitt gave him a questioning look. “Does that include me?”

  Hugo looked sheepish. “I’m afraid so, Kitt. Sorry.”

  Kitt positively itched to talk to Mel. Her interview with the Austin engineer hadn’t been encouraging. He said the case was so complex it could go to the state supreme court—and beyond. It could stretch out for months o
r even years unless one side or the other yielded.

  Kitt sighed. “All right, Hugo. I’m not going ask you to do anything that would get you in trouble.”

  She went into her own room. She tried phoning Mel, but she could hear no ringing next door. He must have unplugged his phone, the coward. She resisted the urge to pound on the wall that separated her from Mel and to shout for him to come out and fight like a man.

  Instead she switched on the television. She was just in time for the local news from Austin, and she saw a clip of Mel’s earlier press conference. He sounded polished, brilliant and disgustingly sincere.

  And she had to admit that he looked handsome and sexy as hell standing at that podium. The camera loved his features, the strong cheekbones, the straight nose, the perfect and masculine shape of his mouth.

  She remembered the feel of that mouth upon her own, and an erotic tickle ran through her body. Her stomach fluttered and her heartbeat speeded.

  Those lips can also lie, distort and manipulate, she told herself sternly. Those blue eyes are deceptive. You don’t notice how they’re always alert, always watching, searching out other peoples’ weaknesses.

  She picked up the phone again and called Gideon Hammer. It was after hours, but if she knew Gideon, he would still be there. She was right.

  “I’m sorry to call so late,” she told him. “Have you had time to check those figures Fabian gave out about Bluebonnet Meadows?”

  “I was about to phone you,” Gideon said, sounding tired. “I got lucky. There’s a convention of economists in town. I found a professor from Baylor who got interested in Bluebonnet Meadows when the story first broke. He’s made some projections.”

  Kitt’s heartbeat skittered in anxiety. It would be wonderful to prove Fabian’s statistics were a pack of lies. “So what’s his opinion?”

  “That Fabian’s projections are fairly accurate. Once that development is up and running, my God, the money’ll roll in.”

  She clenched her fist in frustration. “New jobs?”

  “Plenty,” Gideon said. “There’s going to be a demand for more services of every kind—cops, nurses, teachers—”

  Teachers. Nora.

  “—oh, yeah. Claro County will definitely be more prosperous.”

  Kitt said, “But what about the environment? He claims he’s not making a negative impact on the environment, but that can’t be true. Have you checked those statements?”

  “Sorry, Kitt. I was lucky to get what I have so soon. The environmental questions? At this point I can’t tell you anything.”

  She thanked him and hung up. She sat on the edge of the bed feeling oddly dejected. Fabian had told the truth about the money. Crystal Creek and the rest of the county would be richer, much richer. Shouldn’t that be good? Shouldn’t she be glad?

  She’d skipped lunch, so went downstairs to get a candy bar and a can of cola from the machine. When she came back upstairs, Hugo still stood by Mel’s door. She put her fists on her hips. “Is he still hiding in there?”

  Hugo laughed at her combative stance. “Nope. He went out the back way. I’m supposed to stay here, just in case.”

  “Where’d he go?”

  “He didn’t say. No place fancy. He had on jeans and running shoes and one of them windbreaker things.”

  Hmmm, though Kitt. Maybe he’d gone out to Bluebonnet Meadows again. The engineer in Austin had told her troubling things about Fabian’s water scheme and the temporary dam. “An accident waiting to happen” was how he’d described it. “But the ironic thing,” he’d said, “is it’d do most damage to his own land.”

  It’d serve him right, she thought. She made a bit of small talk with Hugo, then went into her room. Just as she finished her candy bar, the phone rang. It was Nora, and she sounded distraught.

  “Nora!” Kitt said in alarm. “What’s wrong?”

  “I—I don’t even know how to say it,” Nora stammered. “When I got home this afternoon, I got a call. It was from a—a Realtor. A man from Austin. He was here, in Crystal Creek.”

  Something deep inside Kitt cringed. Somehow she knew what Nora was going to say. “He—he asked me if I’d sell the Longhorn,” Nora said. “He had a buyer. He told me what the offer was, Kitt—it’s a fortune. It’s twice what it’s worth. I—I don’t know what to do.”

  “Do?” Kitt said. “Grab it. Good Lord, Nora, get rid of the place. Get your life back.”

  Kitt paused, suddenly worried that she might stir up domestic trouble. “What’s Ken say? Doesn’t he want you to sell it?”

  “That’s not it. He does. He actually said it hurt him to see me working there—I never knew he thought that. He was too proud to say it—damn.”

  “Then what’s the problem?” Kitt asked, puzzled.

  “I don’t know who’s made the offer,” Nora said, a catch in her voice. “The real estate agent would only say it’s a company—Hometown Restaurants. I’ve got forty-eight hours to answer. He said he’ll give me an extension if I need it.”

  “You think it’s one of Fabian’s companies,” Kitt guessed.

  “That’s what I’m afraid of. But Kitt, why would he pick on me? Is it just another way he’s trying to demoralize the town? By changing the Longhorn? By closing it? Why on earth would he want it?”

  “I don’t know,” Kitt said from between her teeth. “But I intend to find out. I’m going to buttonhole Mel Belyle and shake the truth out of him.”

  “Is he there? At the hotel?” Nora asked.

  “No. But I think I know where to find him,” Kitt said.

  She told Nora to stay calm, that she would phone her as soon as she knew anything. She snatched up her fanny pack and went out the door. Hugo was no longer guarding Mel’s door. Another man stood in his place, one she didn’t know. She nodded to him, but didn’t speak.

  She ran down the back stairs, got into her little car and set off to confront Mel. The rain was pounding down harder. A faint flicker of lightning shone in the darkening sky. Kitt didn’t care. She was ready to drive, literally, through hell and high water to find him.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  MEL HAD PARKED at the barricade, then half-walked, half-jogged past the model houses. They stood forlorn in the rain, their windows dark and their yards bare and sodden.

  He paid no attention to the chill or the wet. He wore a blue windbreaker, but didn’t bother to put up its hood. He was too preoccupied.

  He’d finally reached Fabian. And the call had been a failure. Fabian wouldn’t budge about the water rights, and he acidly denied that the dam was a problem.

  Mel had argued like hell. That afternoon he’d had a call from Martinson Engineering, the independent consultant he’d contacted. Enoch Martinson himself had phoned. “We’re concerned,” he’d said. “You could have big trouble on your hands. And soon.”

  Fabian wouldn’t buy it. “The dam will hold. My engineers guaranteed it, so shut up about it.”

  “What if your engineers are wrong?” Mel had challenged.

  “They aren’t. Drop the subject. I’ve got bigger problems. I’m allergic to everything in the world. Why is this happening to me? Who am I, Job?”

  “Look,” Mel had pleaded, “consider it. You’re winning the PR battle on every other front. Concede on the dam and water rights, and you’re a hero. The McKinneys and their pals won’t have a leg to stand on.”

  “I’ve got hives the size of eggs. I’ve got hives because of eggs. And milk and wheat and every kind of meat but goat meat. Am I supposed to live on goat meat for the rest of my life? Goat, for God’s sake.”

  “Make the concession. Be the hero. The peacemaker. You’re doing this for public safety. You want to show you’re a good neighbor. You’re as nice as Mother Teresa. Nicer. Do it and you’ve won. You don’t worry about anybody—including Three Amigos.”

  “Three Amigos—ha! I laugh in their faces.”

  “Don’t say no outright,” Mel countered. “You pay a lot of money for my advice. Promise a
t least to consider it.”

  “I’ll consider considering it if you’ll shut the hell up.”

  Mel had to settle for that. But he’d sent Fabian a terse fax restating his case as strongly as he could. Now, restless, he decided to take another look at Bluebonnet Meadows and see how the dam was holding.

  Immediately Mel saw that the water in the lake was high, all too high. The rising wind tossed its dark waters until they rippled in little white caps against the makeshift wall of dirt and stone. Some of the bigger waves already spilled over the levee’s edge.

  And the water no longer merely trickled through the stones and rubble that formed the dam. It leaked in steady streams. The old creek bed that was meant to be dry was instead dangerously close to full. Hundreds of gallons of water had oozed through the wall, forming an uneasy channel that was swelling up between the two levees.

  Mel stared at it with foreboding. As he stared, the rain began to pelt down harder. He walked to the first dam and stepped out on its uneven surface. The lake was only inches from its top. The dirty wavelets struck at it like an army of foaming claws.

  The stones beneath his feet felt solid, yet the steadiness struck him as illusory, undependable. He sensed a sort of tremor pulsing through the wall, a tiny but ominous vibration.

  From behind him, a voice spoke. “If there’s a flash flood upstream, this stupid dam will never hold. You know that, don’t you?”

  Kitt. Her voice went through him like a blade. He swung round to face her. She stood at the edge of the embankment in her cargo pants and a yellow windbreaker, the hood up. Her running shoes were thick with mud.

  “Another sneak attack,” he accused. His heart beat fast at the sight of her, and he resented the power she could so easily wield over him.

  “I walked out here in plain sight,” she said with a shrug. “It’s not like I covered myself with tumbleweeds and tiptoed up on you.”

  “I had my mind on other things,” he said. “I didn’t think anybody would be knuckleheaded enough to follow me out here. Even you.”

  “Feeling guilty about this miracle of engineering?” she asked tartly. “You should. I talked to a man in Austin today who says Fabian’s flirting with disaster here. Your sister-in-law said the same thing.”