Titans

by Leila Meacham

  Chapter Seventeen

  Nathan heard the click of a typewriter as they entered the back passageway leading to offices beyond. The coachman was staying with the Concord. “How are you going to explain me?” Nathan asked.

  “I’m the boss. I don’t have to explain,” Trevor said, “but I’ll say simply that you’re someone I’ve taken under my wing.”

  “A country bumpkin like myself? For a city man like yourself, that seems unlikely. For what purpose, will you say?”

  “I won’t. My people will figure it out soon enough from your looks if you stay. And if you stay, you won’t look like a country bumpkin.”

  “This… job I assume you have in mind for me if I accept it… won’t I be a thorn in the side of someone else you were priming for it?”

  Trevor stopped and stared at him. “My God, but you’re quick. Yes, there are a couple of employees vying for the position I’d like you to take eventually, but here’s the difference. They’re not blood kin. You are. The one and only who qualifies as an heir and might one day take over the throne after me.”

  They had arrived at a set of double doors, having passed a small office next to it with SECRETARY printed on the door. It was open, and a young woman glanced up from her work with a flash of surprise at Nathan. Another set of slightly larger offices appeared to be farther up the corridor, leading to a room that looked to be a reception area.

  “I get that having no heir may be a problem for your company, but how is it you think I’m the answer to it? You’ve known of my existence all along. Why now am I all of a sudden in demand as your successor?”

  Trevor sighed. “That’s what I want to discuss with you. It’s the reason I’ve asked you to come.” He pushed open the doors. “Make yourself at home. I’ll tell my secretary to bring us some coffee.”

  He was gone long enough for Nathan to take in the plush environment of his father’s workplace. Rich woods, supple leather, thick carpets, velvet draperies, the telephone on his desk spoke of a prominent and prosperous company. Why would Trevor Waverling want to share it with a son he didn’t know nor probably care to, a son who came with a BASTARD sign hanging about his neck? There was still time for him to beget and groom a legitimate heir. Nathan was standing at the large window admiring the fine view of the Trinity River framed by weeping willows and shady cypresses when his father walked in.

  “I go fishing down there sometimes,” Trevor said. “There’s a small dock hidden by the trees.”

  Nathan turned, keeping his face impassive. “Nice place,” he said. “Why am I here?”

  Trevor gestured toward a chair before his desk and took his seat behind it. “You asked me to spread my cards on the table, Nathan, and I will. I’ll hold nothing back.”

  I’ll be the judge of that, Nathan thought. He suspected his father was a good one for holding things back. “I’m all ears,” he said.

  Trevor tapped a finger to his lips as if trying to decide where to begin. “I suppose I should start at a time when no clouds darkened the horizon of Waverling Tools,” he said finally. “My brother and I worked for our father, who had us learn everything from A to Z about the company. Originally, we manufactured digging machinery, farm implements mostly, then we expanded to drilling equipment like cable tool bits and rigs to drill for water and salt. Profits were good. Work was steady, especially after the T&P came to town. The Waverling men were all on deck to move the ship forward into new waters in a city that was leading Texas into the new century. And then my father died unexpectedly. One night at supper he choked on a chicken bone and died before our eyes. There hasn’t been a chicken served in the house since.”

  A knock on the door announced his secretary bringing in a coffee tray. “Put it there, Jeanne,” Trevor said. “I’ll pour for us.”

  Nathan caught the surreptitious glance of the young woman before she deposited the tray and left. He had the feeling the yokel Mr. Waverling had invited into his office would be a topic of discussion over the girl’s noontime sandwich with her bookkeeper co-worker who occupied the office across the hall. Her door had been open as well. Trevor took the time to pour them each a cup of coffee, and when Nathan shook his head to sugar and cream, he continued.

  “My father was one never to leave anything to chance. He was assiduous about dotting every i, crossing every t. He made sure the firm’s contracts were legally flawless and that his business papers were always in perfect order.” Trevor paused and a shadow crossed his face. “Except the one document that mattered the most upon his death.”

  Nathan had just taken a swallow of coffee. He gulped it down in surprise. “Oh, no, don’t tell me. His will!”

  Trevor nodded, his tight expression suggesting he still found it hard to believe. “His will. He had one, but in it, he left everything to my mother—the house, money, business, everything. It had been drawn up when they were first married before the children came. Edwin Waverling had never gotten around to revising it.”

  “So your mother controls the purse strings,” Nathan said, thinking how similar Trevor Waverling’s financial trap was to his stepfather’s.

  “That’s right.”

  Puzzled, Nathan shook his head. “What does this family tale have to do with me? How does it explain why you asked me to come?”

  “I’m getting to that, Nathan. Be patient. You wanted to see all my cards, remember?”

  Nathan settled back in his chair with his coffee, and Trevor continued. “My brother and I were disappointed, but nothing particularly changed. Mother put Jordan in control of the company, but he and I had always seen eye to eye on most everything—”

  Nathan held up a hand, interrupting him. “Wait a minute! Why? Why did your mother put your brother in charge over you? Why didn’t she let you share the reins?”

  Trevor contemplated his son over the arrested rim of his coffee cup, well-groomed fingers around the bowl. “I declare, Nathan, but you’re a sharp one,” he said, setting the cup in its saucer without drinking. “I’m going to have to watch myself around you.”

  “All I ask is that you tell me the truth,” Nathan said. “I’ve lived with enough lies to last a lifetime.”

  “Yes, yes, you have,” Trevor agreed. “So here’s the truth, Nathan. At the time of my father’s death, I’d fallen in disfavor with my mother. Jordan had always been her favorite anyway, not that she would have let that get in the way of fair play, but I’d definitely strained her maternal devotion. I’d been through a couple of scandalous divorces from women she didn’t approve of from the start, and then there was Rebecca…” Trevor frowned. “I admit I’m not the father she thinks I should be to my daughter…”

  Nathan watched him carefully. That last hadn’t been easy to admit, and he could see regret in the man’s grimace. “And then Jordan and I came to near blows over the direction of the company,” Trevor said. “He wanted to stick with drilling water wells and salt mines, and I wanted to drill for oil. I foresaw the company converting its resources to that aim, and he was sorely against it. Said we couldn’t afford it, and it was too risky. The horseless carriage would never replace equine power. Mother backed him up. And then he got engaged to a much younger woman, and I could see her popping heirs every nine months, and I would be nudged out of the picture. Mother was set on leaving the company in the hands of an heir who could beget heirs.”

  “Why couldn’t that be you?” Nathan asked.

  “Because I was divorced at the time with no intention of marrying again—not anytime soon, anyway. I was forty-three. By the time I deluded myself into thinking there was another woman out there who would win my heart forever—”

  “In other words, a woman you could stay faithful to,” Nathan said.

  “If you prefer to put it that way,” Trevor yielded the point wryly. “Anyway, by the time I fathered another child, it would have been too late…”

  Trevor’s voice faded away. Some of the vitality drained from his eyes. Nathan judged his father had come to a part of
the story painful to talk about, but uncomfortable or no, he would hear it. He gave him a push. “So did Jordan marry and his wife pop out heirs?”

  “No. He drowned a week before the wedding.”

  Shocked, Nathan suddenly understood why he’d been asked to come. “And that left you in charge of Waverling Tools but without an heir,” he said.

  Trevor met his stare levelly. “And that’s where you come in,” he said. “My mother discovered the private investigator’s report of your existence. At that time she was thoroughly disenchanted with me and was threatening to sell the company. Only my father’s affection for me dissuaded her. When she learned she had a grandson, she sent me to find you with the stipulation that if I did not encourage you to come here and give the company and the family a try, I could kiss my position as heir apparent to Waverling Tools good-bye.”

  He’d asked for the truth straight and gotten it. Nathan was surprised only by the depth of hurt he felt. It settled among the others he’d known recently. “So you did know of my existence, and the only reason you showed yourself and asked me to come was to secure your inheritance.”

  “Not just an inheritance, Nathan, but the company my father—your grandfather—built and loved and would twist in his grave if it were ever sold, especially when he would have agreed to the heights I intend to take it. I want you to go with me, Nathan. He would want you to go with me. Believe what you like. I wouldn’t blame you for despising me, but I honestly didn’t think I had the right to claim you when I learned of your birth. Reports indicated you were happy, but then my mother gave me her ultimatum, and I had no choice but to seek you out and declare myself. Whatever you think of me and my motives, you are my son, and someday this place could be yours.”

  Nathan wanted to tell him he could cook in the stew of his own making, but he thought of the fragile woman and spindly little girl in the house on Turtle Creek and the strange but tender connection he felt to them. His grandmother had seemed genuinely glad he’d come.

  “I can’t believe your mother would deny you your rightful inheritance and go against what her husband would have wanted for you,” Nathan said. “Why would she do that?”

  Trevor pushed back from his desk, as if his next confession required space and distance should Nathan decide to lunge at him. He laced his manicured but strong hands together and rested them on his formidable chest. “Because she thinks I’m responsible for her other son’s death,” he said.

  Chapter Eighteen

  A swallow of coffee caught in Nathan’s throat. “Were you?” he choked.

  “Responsible for my brother’s death? Absolutely not!” Trevor declared. “Jordan’s death was an accident, and I mourn him as profoundly as my mother does. There’s hardly an hour of the day I don’t miss him. We weren’t only brothers, we were best friends, confidants, hunting and fishing buddies.”

  Grief lanced through Trevor’s sea-green glare. It would have been hard not to believe the man’s sincerity. “What reason would your mother have to think you’re responsible?” Nathan asked.

  Trevor pulled back to his desk and picked up his cold coffee cup. “That’s not what we’re here today to discuss,” he said. “I’m innocent, whether she believes it or not.”

  “You may not want to discuss it, but I do,” Nathan persisted, refusing to offer mercy. “I’m not working for a man whose mother believes her son killed his brother. Why can’t she believe you’re innocent?”

  “Because of who she thinks I am!” Trevor retorted. “And I’m not about to discuss that today with you except to say I’m to blame for my actions, attitudes, and decisions that would appear to confirm her opinion. But things are not always as they seem, Nathan, not even to a mother. Now if that’s not enough for you, I’ll have Benjy drive you to the house to collect your knapsack, then to the station, and you can go back to the farm and that woman whose maternal love for you wouldn’t fill a thimble. But you need to know that your grandmother is counting on you. I’m not using that as a stick to get you to stay. I’m telling you the way it is. And because of her, I want you to give it at least a try. Forget about me!”

  “And if I come on board, you’ll have a better chance of your mother leaving you all of this, is that it?” Nathan swept an arm to include the office complex and buildings beyond.

  “She’s made it clear that I’m to rescue you, build a father-son relationship, introduce you to the company with hope you’ll want to become a part of it. At least, I’m to try, and if I don’t succeed…”

  “Then you’re cooked,” Nathan said flatly.

  “Unless I can prove to her I didn’t kill my brother, but… as you may have noticed, there’s not a lot of time left for that.”

  Nathan set his coffee cup and saucer on the desk. “You’re in one doozy of a ditch, aren’t you?” he said.

  His comment elicited a small smile. “That’s another succinct way of putting it. So what’s your decision? Benjy and your knapsack, or are you going to stay and let me show you around the place?”

  “I need time to think about it.”

  Trevor got up. “The room is yours. I have to consult with my foreman. I should be gone about a half hour. Will that give you enough time to make your decision?”

  “All I need.”

  When Trevor had left, Nathan refreshed his coffee from the pot and let himself out through an exterior door, cup in hand, to stroll down to the river. He could always think better under an open sky among growing things. A good flowing body of water helped, too. The hour had gone past noon, and the sun was warm through his barn jacket, but the air still held the last breath of a fading winter. He was downwind of the industrial fumes and odors that he’d expect to be pretty stifling during the hot, humid days of summer when the area’s factories were going full blast. The smells would be a mark against his staying. He liked country air that a body wasn’t afraid to breathe.

  There would be plenty of bad air he’d have to inhale if he stayed here, Nathan thought, and he wasn’t thinking only of the manufactured kind. He could almost hear Leon spouting his often-repeated philosophy that applied to the situation he was in now: It’s important for a fella to look at every knot and wormhole in a load of timber before buyin’, or some night his house just might come crashin’ down on his head.

  But in this case, Leon would push him to stay. Lord’amighty, what do you have to lose? he’d say.

  Not anything but time, Nathan granted, and there wasn’t much to gain by going back to Gainesville. He would have said home, but he couldn’t think of the farm that way anymore. He’d given some thought to Leon’s plan to buy Old Man Sawyer’s land for the two of them to farm and decided that wasn’t in the best interest of his stepfather. Leon was the other side of forty-five, too old to break ties with his wife and children and go into debt to start over on a farm that might or might not pay. Nathan couldn’t let him do that for the sake of a boy not even his son.

  So he was virtually homeless, Nathan had come around to thinking, and here in Dallas his real father had offered him a roof over his head and blood kin to boot. He might be flattering himself, but he did share the sense his grandmother needed him, his little sister, too, though he had yet to make up his mind about his father. Nathan had come prepared not to trust or like him, but somehow in the space of the hours he’d been in his company, Trevor Waverling had shaken that mind-set a little. A sad thing about his brother, Jordan. Could Nathan believe him when he said he’d had no hand in his death? And would Nathan’s own life be in jeopardy after a while if he should take to Waverling Tools like a fish to water, impress his grandmother, the holder of the keys to the kingdom, and turn out to be his father’s competitor as heir apparent?

  The sudden idea of being in personal danger from Trevor Waverling briefly unsettled him. The man was easy to fear physically. In his office, Nathan had noticed a couple of photographs on a bookshelf—not necessarily buried but not displayed for the world to see either—of his father in boxing gloves and shorts i
n his younger days. A narrow brass plate attached to the bottom of the frame read MIDDLE-WEIGHT CHAMP / DALLAS AMATEUR BOXING COMPETITION / 1876. Nathan had wondered at his father’s obvious physical fitness, city and desk man that he was. Nathan admonished himself for his concern. He’d been reading too many Nick Carter detective stories of family skullduggery, and he was getting way too much ahead of himself thinking he’d be a contender for the Waverling crown. So far he couldn’t imagine himself working in a stuffy tool-making facility or sitting in an office behind a desk. He wouldn’t be able to draw a good breath. He was an outdoors man.

  Besides, he would go nowhere where Zak wasn’t welcome, and Nathan couldn’t see his German shepherd getting along with his grandmother’s tabby in her fine house of breakable things.

  Nathan found the dock and walked to its edge. It was really a pier, for it extended a good length over what he could see was actually a fork of the Trinity that flowed through Dallas. Where had Jordan Waverling died? Here? Nathan was looking at a wide, long, deep expanse of water. Moored beside the pier, a sizable boat bobbed in the gentle swells under a covered slip, paddles anchored within the hull. Was that boat the setting for the accident—or the crime? His grandmother had said the mystery of her son’s death was another story for a private moment. Away from her surviving son’s ears, Nathan had the feeling that if he stayed, his grandmother would treat him to many private moments of family history. He did not know if he cared to listen.

  But where else could he go for the time being? Nathan looked out upon the water, finished his coffee, and reached his decision. Zak would make or break the deal. If they’d accommodate his dog, arrange it so he and Zak could be together, he’d stay. If not, he’d go home, get Zak, and be on the road to California.