Showdown

by Tilly Bagshawe

  “Okay, okay, but when?” she whispered. “When are you going to be there? Oh, Dyl, just imagine! They’ll probably throw you a party and write articles about you in The New Yorker, and—”

  He laughed. “Let’s not get carried away. And I don’t know for sure when it would be. Probably not till the summer. But it’s pretty cool, though, right?”

  “Pretty cool?” Summer felt her eyes welling up with tears. She’d been so emotional lately it was scary. “It’s incredible. And once they get used to the idea of you being an artist, Mom and Dad’ll be thrilled for you too. I know they will.”

  Dylan wished he could share her confidence.

  “I hope so,” he said. “I really do.”

  Just then, the doorbell rang. They both raced to answer it first, pushing and elbowing each other out of the way like a couple of kids. Dylan was the winner, pulling open the door to reveal a diminutive female figure so swaddled in coats and scarves and fur that at first he didn’t recognize her.

  “Merry Christmas!” said the bundle. “Surprised to see me, sweet cakes?”

  “Diana?” Only as the layers peeled off did he at last recognize Bobby’s mother. “Is that really you?”

  “It is!” She beamed at him disarmingly. “And don’t look so shocked, Dylan. I can’t have changed that much since the old boy’s funeral.”

  “Sure you have,” said Dylan. He adored Bobby’s mother. As kids, he and his sisters had always considered her wildly exotic and bohemian, and she was scarcely less so now. “You look younger than ever.”

  “Flattery, my dear, will get you everywhere.” Diana grinned, hugging him. “Now where’s that reprobate son of mine?”

  Up at the deserted stables, Bobby sat on a hay bale with his head in his hands, staring down at his boots despondently.

  He had to cheer up. Moping around like this wasn’t any good. It wasn’t going to help Highwood, or get rid of Todd Cranborn, or bring Milly back.

  He was jolted out of his reverie by the sounds of two cars pulling up outside the barn—Town Cars, if the smooth, deep rumble of the engines was anything to go by. Sure enough, when he stuck his head around the door, two sleek black Lincolns had parked just a few feet down the hill, like a gleaming pair of black panthers. Their suited occupants were already picking their way over the bumpy ground in his direction.

  “Mr. Cameron?” asked the first suit, extending a black-gloved hand in Bobby’s direction.

  “That’s me,” he said. Though he towered over them in his cowboy boots, something about the three men in front of him felt menacing. “Who’s asking?”

  “I’m Paul Reeves, and these are my colleagues, Charlie Hill and Ted Burrows. We’re from Comarco.”

  Bobby’s eyes narrowed and his heart began pounding. “Comarco oil?” he asked, unnecessarily. There was only one Comarco, a Texas conglomerate so giant that even the most backwoodsy hick had heard of it.

  “Exactly,” said the suit. “We’re here at the invitation of your partner, Mr. Cranborn.” Reaching into the inside pocket of his long cashmere coat, he pulled out a bundle of folded legal paperwork. “He’s asked us to look into your oil reserves. See how we can best utilize the natural resources.”

  “All right, Mr. Reeves,” said Bobby with a thin smile. Taking the papers from him, he made a brief show of examining them before ripping them, slowly and deliberately, into small pieces and throwing them to the wind. “Let’s get one thing straight. Highwood is my property. My family’s property. And it’ll be a cold day in hell before I let you, or anyone, dig her up for oil.”

  The suit looked unperturbed. “That’s a little childish, isn’t it?” he said with a smile that was almost a sneer. “Ripping that up doesn’t change the legal position one iota. Ted, here, is a lawyer. He can explain everything to you. But, in layman’s terms, the oil beneath your land does not necessarily belong to you.”

  “I’m well aware of that,” snapped Bobby. He knew he shouldn’t lose his cool, but it was impossible, watching the scene he’d dreaded and dreamed about for so many months playing out in front of him word for word. “But this is still private property. You need permission to access it, which I deny.”

  He took a step toward his opponent, who instinctively took a step back, almost losing his footing on the muddy slope as he did so.

  “I understand that,” he said. “But your partner, Mr. Cranborn—”

  “Fuck Cranborn,” roared Bobby. “And fuck you.” He was now nose to nose with the suit, who was looking a lot less smug all of a sudden. “Get the hell off of my property before I do something I won’t regret for a minute.”

  “Bobby?” Wyatt had heard the raised voices and came running up the hill, followed by Dylan and . . . was that his mom behind them? “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing,” snarled Bobby, looking menacingly at the three Comarco agents. “These guys were just leavin’. Weren’t you, fellas?”

  Climbing back into the safety of their Town Cars, Reeves wound down his window and spoke to Wyatt as he turned the key in the ignition.

  “If you’ve got any sense, you’ll talk to him,” he said, nodding toward Bobby. “We have a legal right of access. We’ll fight him through the courts for it if we need to. But those kind of legal battles aren’t cheap. And our pockets are a lot deeper than yours.”

  That wouldn’t be hard, thought Wyatt as he watched them drive off. He knew teenagers with more disposable income than Bobby had handy right now.

  He reached out and tried to put a comforting hand on Bobby’s arm, but he shrugged it off.

  “Just leave me alone, Wyatt,” he said, fighting back tears. He should have punched that Comarco fucker’s lights out while he’d had the chance. “All of you. Leave me alone.”

  The church service on Christmas morning was unspeakably awkward. Bobby was there in body—with his world collapsing around his ears, maintaining the old Highwood traditions seemed more important than ever—but his mind was obviously elsewhere.

  He completely ignored Diana, which she seemed not to mind, although all the McDonalds were in agonies about it.

  “He’s had a lot on his mind recently,” Maggie explained lamely. “I’m sure it’s not personal.”

  “Of course, it’s personal,” said Diana. “He’s pissed at me for not being around more and for showing up unannounced. But that’s okay. We’ve always been different like that. I’m more of a free spirit. And he’s sooo much like his father, though he’ll never admit it.”

  She was right about one thing: Bobby was annoyed about her turning up unannounced. It was all too reminiscent of his horrible early childhood: the “spontaneous” changes of plan that had uprooted and unsettled his existence and ripped away his security more times than he cared to remember.

  “It’s Christmas, Mom, for God’s sake,” he hissed at her before they went into lunch, once she’d finally challenged him about what was wrong. “People make plans. You can’t just show up and expect to get fed and looked after at the drop of a hat. It’s not fair to Maggie and Wyatt. Not to mention me.”

  It was a relief when, after Maggie’s delicious lunch, he was finally able to sneak off to the ranch office and be alone. He wanted a chance to look through the legal files again. He and Wyatt had already gotten together a veritable library of information on the Wyoming cases, what tactics had worked and what hadn’t, as well as reams of information on the complicated California state law on land disputes.

  But after an hour spent chin deep in reports, he’d gotten precisely nowhere and was actually pleased when Summer knocked on the door, bearing a plate with a hefty slab of pecan pie on it and a mug of mulled wine.

  “Figured you could use some brain food,” she said, setting them down on the desk. She’d changed into the new cream, low-cut sweater that Tara’d given her this morning that showed just the barest hint of bronzed cleavage. Without thinking, Bobby caught himself admiring it, looking hastily away when she caught the direction of his gaze.

  �
��It suits you,” he said. “That sweater.”

  “Thanks.” She wished a simple glance and a compliment from him wouldn’t fill her with so much hope and desire. But she’d learned her lesson from last time. If anyone made a move on anyone now, it would have to be him. She wasn’t about to make a fool of herself a second time.

  “Any joy?” She glanced at the stack of papers in front of him.

  “Uh-uh.” He shook his head. “I have no idea what to do. If there’s a way out of this, I don’t see it.”

  “Come on,” she said firmly. “That’s not the Bobby Cameron I know. Where’s your fighting spirit? We’ll take them to court, of course. Get an interim injunction against them while we get our case together.”

  “You make it sound so easy,” he said.

  “Well, it’s not rocket science.” She shrugged, with all the confidence of a future Harvard Law student. “Todd defrauded you. He tricked you into signing away half the ranch.”

  “I wish that were true,” said Bobby. “But I can’t blame anyone but myself for this mess and that’s God’s honest truth. What hurts most . . .” He cleared his throat, and when he looked up she could see with horror that there were tears in his eyes. “I know this is stupid. But what hurts most right now is the fact that Milly must have known he was planning this. I mean, she lives with the guy, right? She knew he was gonna stab me in the back with these oil guys, and yet she never said a word.”

  “Oh, Bobby.” Forgetting her earlier scruples, Summer sat down on his lap and wrapped her arms around him. In that moment, all she wanted was to comfort him. To let him know that none of them blamed him. That it was okay to make mistakes, okay not to be perfect. And that though Milly might have let him down, she, and everyone else on the ranch, would always be there for him.

  Hugging her back, he suddenly felt acutely aware of the warmth of her body, gift-wrapped in the soft cream wool and pressed so tightly against him. He could smell the shampoo in her hair and the faint lingering scent of some lemony, citrus-based perfume at the base of her neck.

  It was so long—ridiculously long—since he’d had a woman, or even felt aroused. Whether it was Summer’s undeniable sexiness or her compassion or just the pressure and stress of the last few months that simply needed to be released, he found he could no longer hold himself back. Slipping his hand around the back of her neck, he pulled her head down and kissed her, a long, passionate kiss that seemed to go on for minutes.

  “I’m sorry,” he said gruffly, finally pulling away, the desire in his voice strong.

  “Don’t be,” she whispered, her soft, powder-pink lips already parted in anticipation of the next kiss. “I’m not.”

  He leaned in and kissed her again, harder this time, slipping his hands up under her sweater onto her bare back, which she arched in response, kissing him back with all the passion of an unrequited love finally unleashed.

  “Whoa there, kids!” Diana appeared in the doorway. She looked surprisingly shocked.

  Instinctively, Summer leaped up off Bobby’s lap like a surprised rattlesnake and started straightening her hair and clothes.

  “Diana. We didn’t see you there,” she stammered guiltily.

  “So I see.”

  Summer expected her to smile—normally Diana would be the last person to get on her moral high horse about sexual things, and they’d only been kissing, anyway. But she looked resolutely serious.

  “I actually came to talk to Bobby. Would you mind giving us a few minutes?”

  “Sure.” She glanced at Bobby, who was blushing himself but managed to flash her a brief, reassuring smile. “No problem. I’ll, er . . . I’ll go help Mom clear up in the kitchen.”

  Diana waited for her to go, then started pacing nervously up and down the small office like a general considering his battle plans.

  “What do you want, Ma?” asked Bobby. He loved his mother, but he was still pissed at her for imposing herself on the McDonalds the way she had. And, as usual, her timing was terrible.

  “How long has it been going on?”

  “What?” he asked testily.

  “Don’t give me ‘what’!” she snapped. “You and Summer, of course. How long have you been lovers?”

  “Jesus.” He shook his head in disbelief. “Unbelievable. Coming from you, I gotta say, Mom, that takes the cake. You disapprove of my love life? Is that what you’re saying?”

  “How long?” Diana was practically shouting now.

  “Not that it’s any of your goddamned business,” Bobby said, annoyed. “But we’re not ‘lovers,’ as you so quaintly put it. That kiss—what you saw—that was the first time.”

  “Thank God,” said Diana, sinking weakly down into a chair. Her normally rosy face had gone white as a sheet. For the first time, Bobby realized that she actually looked quite ill.

  “What’s wrong, Mom?” he said, his tone softening. “Is something the matter?”

  Diana nodded miserably.

  “There’s something I have to tell you,” she said. “Something I probably should have told you a long time ago.”

  A few minutes later, it was Bobby’s turn to look ill.

  It couldn’t be true.

  It couldn’t.

  “You’re wrong,” he said, shaking his head. He’d felt so sick when she told him, they’d had to move outside into the cool evening air, and he was leaning against the outside wall of the stables now as he spoke to her. “You have to be wrong.”

  Diana came and leaned beside him.

  “Bobby, honey, I wish I were.”

  She wanted so badly to comfort him, but she didn’t know how. In one fell swoop she’d robbed him of the few shards of truth and certainty he’d clung to all his life, revealing them as smoke and mirrors. No wonder he didn’t want to believe it.

  “I truly wish I were. But you needed to know, before things had a chance to”—she struggled to find the right words—“to go any further between you. What I saw today. That is all that happened, right?”

  “Yes.” He nodded furiously. “Yes. I mean, there’s been some sexual tension between us before.” He felt nauseous now, just talking about it. “But nothing serious. We’re not in love or anything.”

  “Honey, speak for yourself,” said Diana. “I saw the way Summer looked at you just now. You’re blind if you can’t see how crazy in love with you that girl is. It’s a problem.”

  “No, it’s not,” he said. “I mean, she’s not. In love with me. At least, I’m pretty sure she’s not. Oh, God.” He put his head in his hands again. “Is she?”

  “Whether she is or not, it doesn’t matter,” said Diana. “What matters is that Hank was her father. You two can never be together. Never. And she must never know. You have to promise me, Bobby.”

  “Of course I promise. You think I want to hurt her?” he said, tearing at his hair in exasperation. “But how do you know, Mom. I mean, are you sure?”

  “A hundred percent,” said Diana. “I’m sorry, Bobby. But there’s absolutely no doubt.”

  Briefly, she filled him in on the history. Although he only seemed able to process fragments of her words: “Mistake . . . both regretted it . . . Maggie and Wyatt . . . going through some tough times back then . . .” It was enough to paint a horribly vivid picture: Hank betraying his best, his only true friend in the most appalling way imaginable.

  “What I can’t get my head around is Maggie,” Bobby kept repeating.

  “She was depressed,” Diana explained. “And I don’t just mean a bit down. She was clinically depressed after Tara was born. And Wyatt was working crazy long days.”

  “For Dad,” said Bobby bitterly.

  “I think it’s hard for you to appreciate how lonely and isolated Maggie was,” said Diana. “Hank was there. Sometimes it really is as simple as that.”

  “But Summer doesn’t look anything like him,” reasoned Bobby, clutching at straws. “She looks like Tara. And Maggie.”

  “She has a lot of her mother in her,” concede
d Diana. “But she’s the only one of those kids with blond hair. And look at her eyes, Bobby.”

  Bobby felt his stomach give an involuntary lurch. He had looked at her eyes, only minutes ago, although now it felt like hours, even days since their kiss.

  They were hazel. Just like his.

  “Her paternity was never at issue,” said Diana. “Maggie admitted the affair to Wyatt before she even knew she was pregnant. There was no doubt Hank was the father. She and Wyatt, like I say, they were going through a low patch. They hadn’t shared a bed in months.”

  “And what?” said Bobby. “Wyatt just forgave them both?”

  He sounded angry, and he was. True, he hadn’t loved Hank, or even liked him much. But he had at least respected him. As a child, his father had had an authority that seemed almost godlike. And, boy, was he ever self-righteous about other people’s sins and failings, especially Bobby’s.

  Till now, he’d genuinely believed that when his father had judged him, he did it with some degree of moral authority. But to find out Hank had been creeping around behind Wyatt’s back—that he’d fathered two illegitimate children, and done his level best to wash his hands of both of them—it took away every last shred of decency, every good and noble thing that Bobby had ever believed about him.

  “They were supposed to be friends, for God’s sake.”

  “They were friends,” said Diana with a shrug. “I know it might seem strange to you, looking back on it now. But the way Wyatt saw it, Hank and Maggie were both sorry. It was a mistake. And they were the two people he loved most in the world. Plus, of course, there was the child to consider.”

  “Summer.” Bobby’s eyes glazed over. “Wyatt brought her up as his own daughter.”

  “Wyatt’s a good man. As far as he was concerned, she was his own daughter. She still is,” said Diana firmly. “Hank had no interest in being a dad. You should know that better than anyone. You were five at the time and he’d only laid eyes on you twice. Both times under duress, I might add.”