“If we find oil, Gordon won’t need to depend on his land in the way he does now to make a living,” Todd said.
“If we find oil,” Nathan countered.
Trevor studied his son. Was the boy cut out to be a landman after all? Who in the boy’s bloodline was responsible for his respect for land and water? Nathan’s maternal grandfather, of course. Millicent’s old man was a son of a bitch, but he’d had boundless regard for the “blessings of nature,” he liked to say. Nathan had not been one of the blessings of nature he’d held in regard.
“Yes, that’s always the big question,” Trevor said. “How is Neal Gordon to notify us if we have a deal?”
Todd spoke up. “His ranch doesn’t possess a telephone. He’ll use his neighbor’s to call us here at the office.”
“Sloan Singleton’s ranch?” Daniel asked.
Heads turned to him curiously. “Yes, that’s right,” Todd answered. “You know him?”
Daniel answered, “Yeah, I know him.”
“Sloan and his daughter are getting married,” Todd offered. “I’m hoping he’ll be on our team and convince Samantha of the wisdom of drilling. His ranch and the Gordon ranch are smack-dab side by side, so what’s good for the goose is good for the gander, so to speak.”
Trevor noticed his troubleshooter’s secret smirk. “You have something to add on the subject, Daniel?”
“No sir,” Daniel said, straightening up in his chair. “Nothing at all.”
Trevor’s speculation stayed on him a few seconds before he returned to the agenda. At the close of the meeting, he said, “Nathan, I’d like to see you in my office, please.”
The others in the group picked up their reports with covert glances at Nathan that wondered if the boss’s son was in a spot of trouble. With Trevor Waverling, you never knew. The boss’s mild order in the conference room could mask an invitation to lunch or an explosive reprimand in his office. He never favored or dressed anybody down in front of other employees. Nathan could be in for a loyalty lecture. Everybody was ready to sink a drill bit into the rancher’s land except the farm boy from Gainesville, Texas. Todd walked to his office to await the call from Neal Gordon with the hope his boss gave his son the boot he deserved. He and Nathan had begun to part ways. Why be a landman if he wasn’t willing to sacrifice what was on the land for what was under it?
The son of a bitch! Daniel thought to himself of Sloan Singleton as he went off to the draft room. When Billie June had told him about her brother sneaking a desiccated animal head up to his room at the Triple S—Daniel pictured it bone-white, fragile as china, and sharp-edged—he had pondered what could possibly be the reason. Now he knew. Sloan had taken it to get rid of evidence that would interfere with oil exploration on Las Tres Lomas, then turned around and proposed to Miss Gordon after ditching Anne Rutherford. Like Todd had said: What was good for the goose was good for the gander. Samantha Gordon deserved better. Daniel could count on one hand the number of people who’d been kind to him, and one of them was Samantha Gordon. When he was slaving away at Chandler’s, he’d come down with a hacking cough and sore throat, but he couldn’t afford to take off without pay. That week, she’d stopped in to pick up a horse bit he’d repaired, paid her bill, and left, but a half hour later she was back with a box of throat lozenges she’d bought for him at the druggist. “Hope this makes you feel better, Mr. Lane,” she’d said. Very few people ever called him mister, let alone bought him anything outright for nothing he’d done. She’d also stood up for him to Sloan, so Billie June told him, and as far as Daniel knew, she’d never let on to the rancher that he was seeing his sister. What would the little lady think of her fiancé’s proposal now if she were to learn who’d walked off with her artifact? Now that information, backed up by Billie June, would present an opportunity to get even with Mr. High-and-Mighty Big Britches.
But no, he would wait his time to wreak his vengeance against Sloan Singleton. Daniel might have added two allies to his camp, though they didn’t know it. What did Anne Rutherford think of Sloan Singleton now that he’d jilted her? More important, what did her father, Noble Rutherford, have to say of his bank’s onetime chairman of the board of directors? The banker was not the sort of man who’d allow an insult to his daughter to go unavenged. That was a point Daniel Lane would keep in mind.
Chapter Fifty
Have a seat, son, this may take a while,” Trevor said, closing his office door behind him.
“You got something on your mind?” Nathan said.
“Always. Want some coffee?” Without waiting for a reply, Trevor poured two cups from a pot Jeanne had just left and handed one to Nathan. After they’d taken a seat, Trevor said, “So you’re a little reluctant to drill on that patch of the Gordon ranch?”
“It would be a shame if Miss Gordon is right about that dinosaur cemetery.”
Trevor added sugar to his steaming cup. “You know we’re not in the business of taking such considerations into account.”
“I know that. Just stating the obvious.”
“The Gordon girl. Do you remember her?”
“I remember her hair.”
“A pretty daughter like that and an only child… she’s bound to have considerable influence with her father. It’ll be up to you to override her. Do you think you’re capable of that?”
Nathan considered the question over his first sip of coffee. “Can’t say,” he said. “Seems to me the contest will be between how much Mr. Gordon wants to please his daughter and how much he loves his ranch. Ranching’s a lot like farming in that a landowner never stops worrying about his financial survival. You can be rich one year and poor the next.”
“But you won’t let your personal opinions get in the way of the negotiations? That’s what I want to hear from you, Nathan.”
“You have my word that I’ll do my best for Waverling Tools, but I wonder if you’d let me try a compromise first.”
“Tell me what you have in mind.”
The map of the Windy Bluff area was on Trevor’s desk. Nathan moved papers and the coffeepot aside to unroll it on its surface. “If Neal Gordon allows us to drill, I’d like to take another look at the site Todd is proposing,” he said, pointing to the drawing of the rock escarpment. “It will depend on the surveyors’ reports, but there may be a way to set up a rig here”—he indicated a point beyond the site of Todd’s fall from the steer—“far enough east to prevent us from having to invade the area where the skull was found.”
Trevor leaned forward and peered at the spot. “What about the underground spring?”
“It may be compromised.”
“A pity.” Trevor sat back in his chair. “All right, if we get the go-ahead from Mr. Gordon, you have my permission to review the property for an alternate drill site. You’ll need to make a trip to the courthouse in Fort Worth anyway, and you can kill two birds with one stone. Just don’t take Todd with you. You’re likely to get grief from him. Go on your mission alone, come back with your recommendation, then we’ll discuss it with Todd.”
“Well, that’s good, then,” Nathan said. “Is that all?”
“No, it is not. I have a family matter to bring up.”
“A family matter?”
Trevor, astute at judging people, especially someone as patently straightforward as his son, sensed the phrase had thrummed a chord in the boy. Family meant a lot to him. He missed the family not entirely his own in Oklahoma, the house, the farm, the people, the town where he grew up. Occasionally, Trevor could feel his homesickness. Those times aside, the boy had come to care deeply about his new family in Dallas, his sister and grandmother. About his father, Trevor was not so sure. Nathan had grown more comfortable with him, even respected him, despite the question of Jordan’s death hanging between them, but the boy’s heart that held a son’s love for his father belonged to the man who had raised him. Those twenty years were lost to the father who had not.
With a wrench of jealousy, Trevor opened a desk drawer to remove
an envelope yellowed by time. Across the desk, in his usual fashion, Nathan waited patiently to be enlightened. Trevor said, “I want you to read this, Nathan, but before you do, you must promise never to reveal its contents to anyone. You’ll take what’s written in the enclosed letter to your grave, as will I.”
Nathan sat a little straighter. “Is this the family matter you want to bring up?”
“It is. Do I have your word?”
“May I read it before I promise?”
“No.”
“Why do you want me to read it?”
“Because I want you to know the truth. You’re a good one for the truth. All cards on the table, remember? But I choose who sees them.”
Nathan wondered if this situation wasn’t akin to a priest or lawyer about to hear a confession of guilt but bound by his profession not to reveal it. It was not a burden he wished to carry, but he had come to trust his father enough to believe he wouldn’t put him in that position.
“I promise,” he said.
Trevor carefully pushed the envelope across the desk. Nathan opened it and withdrew a single sheet of a letter whose spiky handwriting he instantly recognized. He had seen it on numerous company documents. He began to read.
Dear brother,
I pray you will prevail upon the family to forgive me for the decision I’ve made to end my life. I can no longer live with the demons and shadows and voices that haunt every moment I’m awake or asleep. I can no longer continue the deception that all is well with me as the demons grow more threatening, the shadows deeper, and the voices louder. I dread the dawn of day and the fall of night. I must find peace. I am going down to the river today, the place I’ve always been the calmest and the happiest, to let it take me to its depths. Like the poet, I feel the lure of the water, and so “I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky, and all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by.” There my ship and star will take me home.
Please explain to my betrothed that she could not have saved me from what I am about to do. Mother will be heartbroken, I know, and Rebecca may subside into that place of darkness she probably inherited from me and remain there always. You, my brother, will feel grief that might never entirely pass, but you have Waverling Tools to comfort you. I know you will run it with devotion and efficiency, far better than I ever could even if I were wholly well. I leave you and the family my total love and devotion,
Jordan Bartholomew Waverling, July, 1887
Floored, Nathan looked up from the letter at his father, eyes stinging. “You never showed this letter to your mother? You’ve deliberately allowed her to suspect that you had a hand in your brother’s death? Why?”
“Because the truth would have destroyed her. No matter how hard Jordan protested that he was beyond help, my mother would have believed she could have saved him from suicide. His fiancée, too. As it is, she’s never married.”
Aghast, Nathan said, “But, by concealing the truth, you sacrificed her feeling for you. You’d let your mother go to her grave thinking the worst of you?” Confused, Nathan laid the letter on the desk as if further touch might damage the evidence of his father’s innocence.
Trevor sipped his coffee. “That’s exactly what I intend. She’d never understand or forgive Jordan for taking himself from her, from Rebecca. My daughter idolized him. Jordan’s suicide would have tarnished Mother’s memory of him. His picture would never have sat on her mantel. The pain would have been too great. Letting her live with her favorite son’s memory unblemished is more important than salvaging the bit of warmth and affection she has for me.”
“But you love her enough to hide this from her, a mother who suspects you of… murder?” Nathan stared at his father, incredulous.
“Yes, I do. I’ve disappointed your grandmother’s expectations more times than I can count, but I’m not keeping that letter from her out of guilt. I simply want her to live out her life with the comfort of her memories. Jordan was the sun in her sky. I’ve been… the dark side of the moon. It’s the least I can do for her.”
Nathan shook his head. Families! They were like seeds. They came from the same packet, but there were always one or two that sprang up in the row different from the rest. “Why does Grandmother believe you had a hand in your brother’s death?” he asked.
Trevor reached for the letter and carefully returned it to its envelope, then placed the envelope in a desk drawer and relocked it. “A hard storm hit the day Jordan drowned. That morning we’d had a terrible argument over a company issue. I told him I’d see him dead first before I let him run Waverling Tools into the ground. Our mother heard us. That afternoon I came in late from the gym, but only Lenora was home. I remembered that Mother had gone to a tea party, and I assumed Jordan was with his fiancée, but where was Rebecca? Lenora had thought she was in her room, but she wasn’t. I went looking for her outside. I had an idea where she might be. She’d gone down to the pier against orders and got caught in the rain. Sure enough, as I got near the river, Rebecca ran toward me crying, ‘Save him, Daddy, save him!’
“I knew immediately what had happened—or thought I did. Jordan had fallen into the river that by then was raging. He’d either slipped, unusual for a man of his sea legs, or Rebecca had given him cause to lose his footing. She has no sense of danger, a constant worry for us, and may have gotten too close to the edge. In any case, there was no sign of Jordan. I wasn’t even sure if he’d been there. I tried to question Rebecca, but all she kept chanting were those damned lines from her uncle’s favorite poem.”
Trevor closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead wearily, as if his strong, manicured fingers could smooth away the remembered pain of that day. “When my mother came home from her tea party, she found me soaked. I had dried off Rebecca and put her to bed, but I was still wet through and through. Jordan’s body was discovered late the next morning, but the coroner concluded he’d died by accidental drowning the afternoon before. I’ll never forget the way my mother turned and looked at me when we were given the report. By then, I’d found my brother’s letter on my desk at the office and knew the truth, but the possibility of suicide never entered her mind. Suspicion that I had somehow caused Jordan’s death did.”
Nathan felt sick. The same nausea overcame him that he’d felt when he learned the truth of his mother’s feeling for him. Oh, Millicent cares for us, son. It’s just that she cares more for Randolph and Lily. Trevor said quietly, “You know your grandmother to be a wonderful woman, Nathan. If you can still feel love for your mother, who’d sell the farm—your birthright—out from under you for the sake of her other children’s futures, you can understand my love for mine. What I want to hear from you again is that you will never, ever, tell her what you’ve learned here today. It doesn’t matter to me what she believes. It matters to me what you know.”
“I promise,” Nathan said. “Now if you’ll excuse me—” It was all he could manage before he left the room. He was afraid he was about to cry.
Chapter Fifty-One
On Monday after his daughter’s midmorning return to the ranch, Neal listened patiently at his desk in the library to Samantha’s happy recount of the weekend in Fort Worth, during which her mother and bridesmaids ironed out the details of her forthcoming wedding. The date had been set for August fourth, one month after Samantha and Sloan’s announcement of their engagement at the Independence Day party scheduled to celebrate Sloan’s twenty-fourth birthday in two days’ time. Neal would have been caught up in his daughter’s happiness and his own if he did not have information to tell her that was sure to dampen her spirits and threaten their reconstructed harmony. He held little hope that the possibility of her dinosaur field becoming an oil drilling site would be less repellent to her seen through the daze of her euphoria.
Samantha halted her excited flow of the weekend events. “Daddy, you seem distracted,” she said.
“I am, but that doesn’t mean your mother and I are not the happiest parents alive over your comi
ng marriage, honey.”
“What’s wrong? You look as if you’re about to punch a hole in my wedding cake.”
It was an apt description. Neal grunted in appreciation of it. “In a way you’re right,” he said. “I have something to tell you, so take a seat and let’s talk about it. While you were in Fort Worth, I had two visitors. One of them was a young man named Nathan Waverling who says you two met last spring at some sort of science lecture. He’s a landman for Waverling Tools, works for his father.”
“I remember him,” Samantha said as she warily took a seat before his desk. “A tall, muscular boy with an unusual shade of blue eyes. He was with his father. Todd Baker introduced us. What was he doing here?”
“He came with Todd to make an offer to lease some of our land.”
“For what purpose?”
“To drill an oil well.”
A mutinous look came over Samantha’s face. She’d taken the news as Neal expected. “Why would Nathan Waverling think there’s oil on Las Tres Lomas?”
“Todd Baker told him.”
“Todd? How on earth could he possibly…” Samantha paused, and Neal could tell that she was recalling Todd’s ride and fall off her steer, his nosedive into the dirt.
Neal said, “He told me you’d asked him to come out to examine some kind of dried critter’s head and how he concluded there’s a good chance a gusher is under that marine sand around Windy Bluff.”
True to form, Samantha bristled. “That critter’s head is what he and I believe to be the partial skull of a sauropod, a species of dinosaur that might indicate a seabed of the creatures is buried in that location,” she said. “Did Todd mention that?”
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