It was two in the afternoon and he knew his father would be heading home from the office soon. Since handing the reins of Blakemore Oil over to Connard, Bobby Ray, his father, seldom worked a whole day. Twice this year, they had been to Dallas to visit him and Odessa. The second time they came back, his mother, Lucy, had brought along the cook, Ralph. Odessa’s cooking was improving, but his parents were not going to take any chances on being hungry from pushing food around on the plates of Odessa’s very healthy meals. To her credit, the food was seasoned so much better, but there was still some panache missing. He had lost a few pounds, so he didn’t complain.
“Saxie, is that you?” Grandma Patsy asked as she made her way down the hall. Saxton dropped his overnight bag and he moved quickly to embrace his grandmother. He enveloped her in his arms and lifted her from the floor.
“Oh, Saxie, be careful. You know I just turned 80. You will mess around and snap one of my damned hips!” she told him.
“I would never hurt you, Grammy,” he said as he sat her down. He kissed her leathery cheek. “Besides, you’re tougher than I am and I ain’t even close to breaking a tough bird like you.”
Lucille Blakemore came into the kitchen, a highball in one hand and a feather duster in the other. Saxton didn’t know which one to look at first, his mother drinking in the middle of the afternoon or his mother with a cleaning apparatus in her hand. Lucy, as everyone called her, did not partake in any activity that remotely suggested anything domestic.
“Are you cleaning something, Mama?” he asked.
“In this lifetime, darling, no I am not,” she told her eldest son as she pulled him into her arms. “What are you doing home? Is everything all right?”
She looked around him and so did Grandma Patsy. They were looking for Odessa. He grinned at them both. “She’s at home. Everything is just fine. Can’t a guy come home to see his two favorite girls?” He disengaged from his mother’s arms and headed straight for the fridge.
Lucy sipped at her drink. “Saxton, you ain’t fooling nobody. You came all the way to Houston to get a decent damned meal!”
She was looking at her mother over the rim of the highball glass, whispering to Patsy, “Lord knows that girl is as sweet and loving as the day is long, Mama, but she can’t cook worth a flip.”
Patsy’s grey head wobbled to and fro. “Is that why you took the cook the last time you went?”
“Yes, and thank the Lord. I was not going to spend one more day eating a sautéed bean sprout, crunchy baked leaves of grass or a tofu anything,” Lucy exclaimed.
Saxton pulled his head from the fridge with a rib covered in Bobby Ray’s sauce shoved in his mouth. “Those were kale chips and I have never been healthier, Mama.”
“Well goody-goody gum drops for you and your grass shitting colon, but I would swim to Hell and back for a piece of fried chicken, some duck fat potatoes, and anything slathered in whipped cream,” Lucy said as she teetered into the dining room. Saxton and Patsy followed behind her, trying to see what she was doing with the feather duster.
The dining room was buzzing as the staff was pulling out silver to polish, counting place settings, and prepping for Thanksgiving next week. Lucy turned suddenly, looking at Saxton. “I just had the most brilliant idea!”
Patsy was mumbling under her breath, “I don’t know how, with as much as you drink …”
“I heard that, Mama,” she said as she turned her back to her mother, ignoring the jibe. “Wouldn’t it be wonderful if you and Odessa came home for Thanksgiving? We could give her a baby shower here next week.” Her eyes and mouth were wide like she had just found a real life use for algebra.
The look on Saxton’s face spit on her enthusiasm like a drunk man peeing on your leg in the subway. Lucy’s mouth was downturned as she waved one of the young housekeepers over and handed her the glass to refill. “And why can’t you come to Thanksgiving this year, Saxton?”
He was feeling bad about it because she was right – he had not been home for the holidays in almost five years. “We were planning to have some friends over for dinner this year, Mama … and then there are her parents….”
“And what about your damn parents? She is carrying my grandchild, too, you know,” Lucy said with some resentment in her words. As her fresh drink arrived so did a fresher idea. “Why don’t we send one of our planes up and pick up her, the parents, and whoever else you were planning to invite to your house. We will just invite them here. Lord knows we have enough room.”
Patsy started to sputter. “You are inviting all of them here?”
Lucy was having no part of her mother’s antics today. It was a 10,000 square foot house that was empty most of the time. Besides she was just on her second drink and it wasn’t even five o’clock yet. “Good Lord, Mama, stop being ridiculous. The girl’s family is just black, it’s not like they are a bunch of Episcopalians.”
“Ralph,” Lucy yelled into the intercom. The cook came out of the pantry. “We are going to have a Thanksgiving feast. I need the largest bird you can get your hands on, I want a suckling pig, and I want some lamb roasted on a spit …” she stopped and looked at Saxton. “How many people are we talking here, sweetheart?”
Saxton didn’t know. He started to think it out loud.
Big Sarge.
Dora.
Kevin, Jr.
Agent Roget.
Ryanne.
He wasn’t sure if Kevin, Jr. was going to bring Mary Jean.
Odessa had invited Victorío and Antoinette.
Of course me and Odessa, which makes …
“I would say add ten, Mama,” he said.
She threw back her drink, sat the glass on the table and clapped her hands three times. “Okay, everyone, we have a slight change. We are now serving twenty for Thanksgiving dinner, which means we also have twenty heads to feed brunch and breakfast the next morning.”
Saxton watched in amazement as she started calling out orders to the small staff to open the extra guest rooms and get fresh linens on the beds. She looked at Patsy. “Mama, let’s make a list of all the people we want to have over for the shower. This is my first grandchild and I want the good shit for that baby, so leave those old cheap, dusty women from the missionary society out of this one.”
Lucy stopped mid-stride and turned to look at her son. “Saxton, why are you home? You never did say.”
He gave her a barbecue-sauce-covered kiss. “Because I missed you.”
“That’s sweet, honey. Mama missed you, too,” she said as she went back to issuing orders.
It was amazing. When Lucy Blakemore had something to accomplish, a drink never touched her lips. It was another reason why he had considered moving back, so she would have someone to fuss over besides her mother, who spent more time fussing over her. Either way, it was going to be an interesting couple of days as all of those different types of people all sauntered through the front doors of the Busy B Ranch for dinner with the Blakemores.
Chapter 9. How did you get my number…?
The office for Blakemore Imports & Collectibles was clean. All of the inventory was sorted, shelved, and categorized. It took another two hours, but orders were matched with products that were sitting, ready to be boxed, labeled, and shipped. Her sister needed an assistant, especially with the baby arriving in less than three months.
A wave of sadness struck Ryanne as she took a seat in the chair behind the desk. The add-on room to the house wasn’t fancy. It was kind of a storage unit converted to an office. Nothing about her sister’s home was elaborate; she lived a normal, uncluttered life, in rooms filled with splashes of color. Based on the calculations in her head, along with the packing slips she had seen, her sister was easily pulling an extra thirty grand a year from this side business. More melancholy kicked her in the gut as she realized that she would not have a job after next week. There was no way she was going back to Corpus Christie and she sure as hell wasn’t going to work in the same building as that man.
&n
bsp; Several other issues started knocking her about as she sat staring at the wall. Who hired Dwight to seduce and marry me so he could keep an eye on Saxton and Odessa? The tears, which were clogging her tear ducts for the past two days, were pinching on her nerves. I will not cry over him. I refuse. I may cry over losing my bogus artificial life, but I will get another one. On Monday, she had decided, she would call her boss to resign. In the meantime, she had to start over. Her phone vibrated on the desk. She didn’t recognize the number.
“Hello,” she said into the line.
“Hey there, my lovely smart lady. I figured since I didn’t hear from you last night, that I would touch base with you this morning,” Eddie said into the line.
This was odd. She didn’t remember giving him her number or her name for that matter. “How did you get my number?”
Eddie laughed into the phone. “I sent myself a text of the photo we took together. Besides, I had your number from the second I spotted you in the store.”
Ryanne leaned back in the chair and crossed her legs. “And what do you believe you have dialed up, Eddie Casanova?”
His smile could almost be felt through the phone. “Eddie Casanova? I like that. I may change it to my new stage name.”
They both were quiet. He spoke first. “I’m on the move a great deal in my line of work. Of course there are women who flock to me, and when I started, I will admit I partook of the offerings. After a few years of that, it gets boring.”
“And what does that supposed to mean to me, Eddie?”
“Oh come on. You’re smarter than that. What do you think I want from you?” he asked with some firmness in his voice.
“I honestly don’t know. You are implying that you don’t want random sex, yet meeting me was random,” she told him.
“Nothing in this life is ever random, my sweet lady. We enter this life naked and scared and we hope to find another soul to share this existence, so that when we leave this plane, we are not naked and alone,” he told her.
Ryanne found herself smiling. “So in other words, you want to get naked and not be as scared as a small babe because every night you find yourself alone… And what am I to do about this loneliness that you pack up to travel with along this plane?”
“It is my hope that you stave it off,” he said softly. “I’m not asking for much. Dinner, some intelligent conversation, a few embraces to wish me luck before I take to the stage. A few kisses when I come off of my set … rub my ego, tell me I was great….”
She was laughing. “You sure aren’t asking for much are you?”
“I am now asking for your name,” Eddie said in the line.
“Ryanne,” she paused. “Ryanne Trodat,” she completed the sentence. She was also going to file for an annulment or something next week as well. The name Dobbins she no longer wanted associated with her name.
Eddie liked how well this was going. “Well, Ryanne, I am headed to Austin for a gig tonight, then on to San Antonio, a quick pop in Corpus Christie to handle an issue that has been causing me some grief, then I am in Houston for three days.”
She said nothing.
“Ryanne,” he called her.
“Yes, Eddie,” she responded softly.
“Meet me in Houston on Tuesday?” he asked her.
“I’ll think about it,” she told him.
Eddie held the phone as he looked out the window of the small waiting area at the airstrip. “There is something else I want you to think about as well.” He sat the phone down and picked up his guitar. He strummed a few chords and sang a soft melody. “I am really good with my hands and fingers, Ryanne.”
“Oh my,” she said in the line.
“I will see you on Tuesday,” Eddie said as he hung up the phone.
Eduardo was pleasantly surprised when he spotted Odessa’s sister in the store. He had not expected her to be an attractive woman with intelligence radiating through her eyes. Ryanne had a lovely figure, a warm smile, and a quick wit. She was not anything like Dwight had painted her to be. His intention had been to kill her, but he found himself liking the woman, and something about her sadness bothered him. I am the cause of it, sending the wrong man to be her lover.
Dwight had called her a cold fish in bed. There was nothing cold about her. In fact, she was quite the opposite. Maybe what he had said to her had far more truth in it that he wanted to admit. The mother of his children was a cold woman, not only to him, but to his four boys. The first five years of their marriage had been a test of his patience, and he wanted nothing more to do with her after she intentionally caused the birth defects in their youngest son. A woman like that he had no use for.
He didn’t mind being a widower. He also had no qualms about being a widow maker. “Seňor,” his pilot called to him, “we are fueled and ready to head to Corpus Christie. You may board when you are ready.”
He was more than ready. Dwight had lied to him about Ryanne. Eduardo was also wondering what else his informant had lied about.
Mariana was seated on the plane when he boarded. “Is everything okay, Seňor?”
“No. My toe still hurts like hell and now I have to go and personally kill someone else,” he said as he plopped down in the seat and removed his boot. “I swear, with the exception of you, you just can’t get good help these days!”
Odessa walked into the office as Ryanne ended the call. “Was that your attorney, Ryanne?”
“No,” was all she said.
As Odessa’s eyes scanned the room, a giant smile came over her face. “Wow! Thank you so much. I tell you, Ryanne, these last two months it seems like all I do is eat, sleep, and poop. I am so behind, and I could really use some help.”
“Whatever you need, Odessa. I am glad to lend you a hand,” she said.
“That is great news, because I just got off the phone with Saxton and he wants us all to come to Houston next week for Thanksgiving. I’m going to need your help convincing Mom and Dad,” Odessa said.
“Houston? Next week?” Ryanne repeated.
“Of course, you are coming, as well as Kevin. I think Saxton said he invited Roget, Antoinette, and Victorío,” she said. Odessa wrapped an Artesanía pot in with bubble wrap before she put it in a box with shipping popcorn. “I think it may be a nice change of pace for the holiday, and his folks really like to cook. Lots of good food,” Odessa said.
She stopped talking when Ryanne walked up behind her and enveloped her in her arms. “Thanks, ‘Dessa. Thank you for everything.”
With a quick pat on her sister’s arm, Odessa said, “Anytime you are ready to talk, Ryanne, I’m ready to listen.”
Ryanne only smiled as she thought of Eddie’s words: Nothing in this life is ever random. Next week she would be in Houston. She saved his number in her phone and used the selfie for his profile picture.
Chapter 10. Ms. Blakemore, your appointment has arrived …
Saxton had never cleaned out his closets in his old room at the ranch. Since losing a few pounds, most of the clothes still fit. He pulled out his charcoal grey suit, a white shirt, and a red tie. His father had been very surprised when he came home from work the day before and found Saxton sitting in the kitchen, munching on gingersnaps Patsy had baked earlier for him. They said little as he joined his father for a late evening ride. Even Longshot, his horse was glad to see him. At his request to his parents, he asked that they not tell his sister and brother he was home.
Today, he planned to surprise Belva by showing up at the office and taking her to lunch. He had called ahead and managed to get on her calendar because she was a very busy woman. Belva Blakemore was the philanthropic arm of Blakemore Oil. Last year, she took on the job full time after leaving the University. Her role in the company took care of the foundation, which supplied funds to Texas-based and national charities. Her offices were located on the sixth floor of the ten-story building.
Saxton hated the offices of Blakemore Oil. All the glass and shiny people who plastered on fake smiles as they kisse
d your ass because of the last name of Blakemore. He always resented being the oldest by default. Robert, Jr., was the eldest son, who died suddenly at the age of ten, and their mother was never the same. It was then that she began her afternoon sip fest of mint juleps. The less responsibilities she had, the more she drank. Her oldest son and heir was gone, Saxton became the heir apparent. Technically, the job of CEO of Blakemore Oil belonged to Robert, Jr. Saxton’s role would have been to oversee the ranch, a job that was currently held by his Uncle Dusty, but he opted instead to leave home and make his own name. The name Blakemore carried a great deal of weight in Houston, and it was something he learned at a young age was not always a good thing. People disappeared at the snap of a Blakemore finger and the police looked the other way.
Belva’s husband had disappeared. Saxton knew better than to ask questions. He never asked them of his sister, and she never asked any of him. As he entered the glass building, heads turned and snapped.
“Is that Saxton Blakemore?” one redhead asked.
“Saxton Blakemore just walked into the building in a suit,” said some man with a large cup of coffee.
An older gentleman in a brown suit asked, “Is he finally going to take over the company?”
He could hear them all and he responded to no one. He rode up in the elevator in silence to the sixth floor. More heads turned as he made his way down the halls in his very expensive shiny black shoes and very expensive charcoal grey suit. What he was wearing now probably cost more than the right side of everything in his closet at home in Dallas. I remember when this type of stuff was important to me. What was important to him now was family.
“I have an 11:30 appointment with Ms. Blakemore,” he told the assistant behind the very large wood desk.
She leaned forward with breasts too large for the small top she wore and pressed the button. “Ms. Blakemore, your 11:30 appointment has arrived.”
Her Texas drawl could be heard through her office door as the scent of her overly expensive perfume arrived in the waiting area before she did. “I don’t have an 11:30 appointment, Clara,” she said as she flung open the door.
Dinner With the Blakemores (The Blakemore Files Book 5) Page 4
