The Tycoon and the Texan

by Phyliss Miranda

  Nick’s voice broke into her musing. “You haven’t had much opportunity for a social life since you came to Los Angeles, have you?”

  “Not really. Shortly after we moved to LA, my folks’ health turned bad. Caring for them left me with little time for myself, much less a social life.” Her words hung heavy as she thought back to the lonely hours spent tending her parents. Of their missing her graduation from high school, then later when she had to decline dinner invitations until one day the invitations stopped coming. “Other than foundation functions, I’ve been pretty much a social misfit. An evening reading a good novel and drinking a glass of iced tea is a social event to me.”

  Nick stared ahead making no comment.

  “After Daddy died, I was Mother’s primary caretaker until she got bad enough for a nurse. After she passed away, I stayed too wrapped up, clinging to her memory, for any fun.”

  “What got you through the hard times?” he asked in a tender voice.

  A knot lodged in her throat, trapping her tears. She dug in the shadows of her heart for the answer. One she wasn’t sure she was ready to share. “My personal knight in shining armor.”

  She felt silly saying the words out loud and quickly changed the subject. “There’s the Tadpole Cafe.”

  “Looks like our best choice. At least three other people think so.” Nick nodded toward the quaint diner’s near-empty parking lot.

  After the only waitress in sight gave them a brusque greeting, she waved them toward a clean table by the window.

  Digging under her blouse and adjusting her bra strap, the burly woman sauntered in their direction and slapped down fish-shaped menus. “Today’s specials are on the board. Don’t suggest the meatloaf, but the tuna salad’s okay. Cookie fixed it day before yesterday, so it’s still fresh. I’ll be back for drinks in a jiff.” She strolled away touching her tongue to her pencil tip before jotting on a pad.

  Nick alternated between checking out the menu and the blackboard. “Think I’ll pass on the tuna. Everything is fried, all greasy.”

  McCall lowered her voice. “That’s why a place like this is called a greasy spoon.”

  The waitress meandered back. “Whatcha decide on?”

  “Hamburger, extra cheese, lots of onions, both sides of the bun grilled, fries, crisp please, and a chocolate malt, extra syrup and lots of whipped cream. And, a slice of coconut cream pie.” McCall handed the woman her menu and shot a satisfied smile at her dining partner. “And a diet Coke, please.”

  “Chef salad, no cheese or croutons, cut the bacon, no egg, with oil and vinegar dressing on the side, and a bottle of water. Penta if you have it.” Nick glanced at the frowning waitress. “Please.”

  The waitress jabbed her hands on ample hips. “Where did your spaceship land?”

  “Make the salad dry and I’ll have milk. You do have cow’s milk, don’t you?” His smile faded a bit when it met the waitress’s scowl.

  “No cow’s milk, mister. We milk whales up here.”

  “And no pie for me,” Nick said to the lunch-counter Gestapo, who roamed off, licking her pencil only to make a return trip with two glasses of water.

  It appeared McCall and Nick were dead set on getting run out of town without getting any answers about Agnes. So far, on their first visit, McCall had managed to tick off the whole police force, both of them. Now, Nick had succeeded in ruffling the feathers of the only person who stood between them and starvation.

  Tired of flipping through the song selections on the table jukebox, McCall broke the tension. “Have you ever truly been in love?”

  “Once,” he said tersely then but quickly added, “Twice.”

  “What happened with the woman you were engaged to?”

  “I figured office gossip had made its rounds.”

  “Not really. What made you decide she was the one for you?”

  “McCall, any of my, I mean our, prior relationships aren’t important now.” His jaw clenched, and he unfolded his napkin. “Why talk about what can’t be changed?”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry into your personal life.” She studied the vase of plastic flowers.

  “No, it isn’t that. Everyone has a past and that’s why it’s called a past . . . over and done with. Like last night. Forgotten.” He offered her a smile. “Everybody has them.”

  Before she could respond, they were distracted by a heated exchange between the waitress and the cook over whether to make a double cheeseburger or a hamburger with extra cheese.

  As though being accused of being a troublemaker, McCall lowered her eyes and studied the scratches on the much-used table.

  Nick seized his water glass and set it back down without taking a drink. “Her name was Lauren, and she was from old money New Orleans.”

  “Who?” McCall looked up.

  “My near-miss you asked about.” He shot her a brief smile. “Anyway, I had run into her a few times, and now that I think back, she seemed to pop up when I least expected it.”

  “Isn’t that the way love hits a person sometimes?” McCall knew she was referring back to how easily and unexpected her words had flowed when she proclaimed her love for him.

  Nick studied the woman sitting across the table. It wasn’t her fault they had gotten up on the wrong side of the bed. Hell, from separate beds to boot. She was only making small talk and he acted like she had personally sabotaged his broken nuptials. He had no reason to still be angry with her, although it wasn’t every day a man lets a woman blindfold him and douse him with ice water. His words of pasts being pasts for a reason echoed in his head. Everything was cool between him and McCall. Besides, she had said she loved him.

  There was no reason he shouldn’t explain Lauren and his failed relationship to McCall, especially if she was going to be part of his life. He didn’t have to give her all the unpleasant details, just the highlights.

  “It just happened. Something I’m not necessarily proud of. I took her home one evening and gave the old ‘I’m tired of being alone at night’ routine and the next thing I knew she was on the phone telling her mother that I’d proposed.”

  McCall raised a questioning eyebrow. “So, did you?”

  “Not really. But I decided maybe I didn’t want to go home alone anymore, and bought her an engagement ring.”

  A flash of amusement crossed her face. “How did it end?”

  “Long story, but let’s just say, I have one mother and that’s enough.” He wiped off his flatware with his napkin. “Plus, Mother thought Lauren’s IQ and shoe size were about the same. I’m not holding back anything, either. I honestly don’t know what happened. It just did.” He shot her a meek grin. “But, I lived to tell about it.”

  “And the second woman you fell in love with?”

  He never answered. The waitress set a bowl of lettuce topped with a paper-thin slice of tomato in front of him.

  Maybe Nick wasn’t quite ready to discuss the second woman, since he seemingly diverted his attention to McCall’s plate and said, “Didn’t we just agree that pasts are called pasts for a reason?”

  “Does that mean my past is forgiven and I can crawl back into your good graces, Slugger?”

  Nick picked up a fork and stabbed at the greens. “I knew you couldn’t resist me.”

  They bantered back and forth, enjoying the sparring.

  The waitress sauntered by and dropped two cellophane packages of crumbly crackers beside his bowl.

  “Thanks. Ma’am, do you have a minute?”

  “Do I look like I do?” the testy woman answered.

  “I’ll make it worth your time. Know anything about a lady named Agnes who lives up on Harris Grade?”

  “Haven’t been in town long, but nobody lives up there. If they did, it’d be in a cave.” She waddled away and said something to the cook, who let out a belly laugh.

  Before McCall finished drowning her fries with ketchup, the cook rounded the counter, and ambled over to their table. “Hi, they call me Cookie around
these parts. Heard you’re asking about Agnes.”

  “Do you know about her?” McCall almost shouted in glee.

  “About as much as anyone.” He set his coffee mug on the table and wiped his hands on a greasy red apron.

  With smug delight, she smiled at Nick. “I’ve, uh, we’ve been concerned ever since we saw her on the mountain a couple nights ago. Does she live up that way?”

  “You might say she stays in the area.”

  “See, Nick! There was definitely a woman—”

  “The police told us that much.” Nick rolled his eyes.

  McCall glared at Nick with an expression that reeked of pained tolerance.

  “Tell me everything about her.” She slid over to make room for the man to join them.

  “Was it late on a rainy night and around that old couch?” He slipped his stocky frame into the booth next to McCall.

  “Yes. Yes it was,” McCall responded.

  “Figures. Well, there’s a story about ol’ Agnes. She’s been in these parts for years,” the crusty cook began.

  “What would she be doing out on a rainy night?”

  “Well, missy, legend has it that she usually appears around midnight and likes the fog.”

  “How old is Agnes?” McCall inquired.

  “Let’s see.” The old man rubbed his chin. “I don’t know if we’re talking people years or ghost years. Got any idea if there’s any difference?” He laughed a full gut-tugging roar.

  “A difference?” McCall’s eyebrow arched. “I don’t understand the comparison.” She took a big drink of her malt.

  He stopped laughing, and looked squarely at the woman sitting beside him. “Agnes is a ghost.”

  Chocolate froth spewed like an unleashed water hydrant.

  Nick covered his mouth, obviously hiding his amusement, and grabbed for napkins.

  “Yes, ma’am. Folklore has it that she lost a child in an accident when her wagon went over the cliff. She’s been up there looking for the little one ever since.”

  “See, Nick. See, I saw a, uh, ghost.” McCall dabbed the gooey mess from her lips before wiping up the table top with her napkin.

  Cookie drained his coffee. “Truth of the matter, I’ve heard it’s just a story cooked up by the police to keep teenagers off that dangerous stretch of road, but try to explain that to someone who’s actually seen ol’ Agnes.” He stood. “Got to get back to slingin’ that hash.” He tottered off toward the grill.

  “Thanks,” Nick said to the man’s back and tossed down a tip probably bigger than the whole town’s literacy program. “The Dartmouth jet is fueled and waiting for us in Santa Barbara. It’s heading for Texas. Surely, I can’t get in as much trouble there.”

  McCall raised an eyebrow. “Don’t bet the ranch on it.”

  “The ranch?” A surprised expression overtook his features.

  “You’ve heard me say it before. It’s a Texas saying. One of those Texas things.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  The following morning, the Dartmouth jet flew out of Santa Barbara. The stress of the last few days finally closed in on them. The couple spent most of their time on the plane catching up with the news, then grabbed a couple catnaps.

  When the Lear landed at TAC Air in Amarillo, Texas, they were immediately shuttled off the plane and into a waiting car, where they began the last leg of their trip to McCall’s granny’s.

  Following McCall’s directions, they passed the exit to Kasota Springs and veered off I-40 about three miles down the interstate before heading the rental car north. To the west, a breathtaking ocher and crimson sunset lay parallel with the road.

  Lowering the window, Nick enjoyed the earthy, musky scent of freshly plowed fields.

  Rainwater puddled on the road. A field of wind turbines were silhouetted on the horizon, and in the distance a huge communication tower guarded pastures liberally dotted with pumping oil wells.

  “How much farther do we have to go?” He glanced down at the dead GPS unit out of habit.

  “The main house is up apiece. We’ll drop down into the valley first.”

  “Who does this sweet piece of property belong to?”

  “It’s all Johnson land.”

  “So we’ve been on her land for a while?” He frowned.

  “Yeah, it started right where we turned off I-40. Granny’s mother was a LeDoux, and they were among the original homesteaders who turned their six hundred and forty acres into a good-sized spread.”

  Nick studied the land that seemed to go on forever. He had expected to find McCall’s grandmother struggling to hold on to a few overgrown acres of mesquite and sagebrush and owning a couple plugs destined for the cannery.

  A good-sized spread, indeed! He couldn’t help but wonder what McCall considered a serious operation. Recovering from nothing short of sheer shock, he remarked, “We’ve passed a number of gates that have a 7Bar11 on them.”

  “That’s our brand. The official ranch name is Jacks Bluff, and belonged to Granny’s side of the family. The first gate leads to the east camp. The foreman and his family live there. But there’s plenty of room up at the main house.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want to call and let her know you’re coming and bringing a guest?”

  “I’d rather surprise her.”

  “I don’t know much about Texas customs, but in my family, showing up without an invitation—”

  “In Texas, it’s called hospitality. They’ll put an extra potato in the pot, and another handful of flour in the gravy. One suggestion—”

  “If it’ll keep me out of trouble, shoot,” Nick said with a trace of laughter.

  “Just don’t ask how many sections she has or how many head of cattle she runs. If you do, you might as well ask for her bank balance.”

  Nick kept his gaze on the pavement, trying to decide whether McCall was kidding or serious. But the businessman in him screamed she was serious, very serious.

  As she promised, the road dropped into a valley, something he didn’t think existed in the flatlands of the Texas Panhandle. A rambling two-story ranch house, sprawled beneath century-old cottonwood trees, came into view. A century of majestic grandeur provided the backdrop for the imposing manor.

  “McCall, is this your grandmother’s house?”

  She nodded.

  “It makes the Triple J look like a cottage. When was it built?”

  “Late eighteen-hundreds.”

  “And an oil well practically in the front yard?”

  “Technically, it’s a derrick. It was Granny’s first gusher after Paw-Pa died, and she said they could take all the oil they wanted, but had to replace the rig when they were finished. The well’s abandoned, but the derrick is a reminder of her humble beginnings.”

  Nick pulled to the side of the road and turned to McCall. “Then your family is wealthy?” There was a chilly edge of irony in his voice.

  “Well, it depends how you measure wealth.”

  He narrowed his eyes, and his back went ramrod straight, before he shot her a sideways glance of utter disbelief. He didn’t respond, silently challenging her to explain.

  She cast her eyes downward and remained silent for what seemed an eternity. “Some people might think of us as, uh, comfortable.” Her lower lip quivered as she returned his glower. “Daddy was an only child. Actually, he had an older sister who died, making him an only child. I’m one too, so technically, I guess you could say I’m—”

  “You can’t even say it, can you, McCall?”

  “Yes, if it makes you feel better. Wealthy! Wealthy! Wealthy! Yes! But it isn’t mine.”

  “You barely mentioned ponies and that your grandfather was a livestock contractor, but you didn’t say he was also an oil baron and rancher.”

  “It wasn’t important. And Granny was actually the contractor.”

  “Important, hell!” Nick let out a long, audible breath. “And all of this time, I thought you were just a poor displaced Texan.”

  “A d
isplaced Texan, yeah. But not exactly a poor one.”

  “Then you lied to me?” His tone had suddenly turned chilly.

  “No. I never said I was poor. You presumed it. Nick, no matter how it appears, I wasn’t born with a silver spoon in my mouth.”

  “Just an oil well!” He accentuated the annoyance he felt with her. “And you live in a rat hole, drive a rattletrap, and drink Mad Dog by choice?”

  “I happen to like Mad Dog, my car gets me where I need to go, and I love my little house, thank you. It wouldn’t hurt if you’d watch your pennies, either.”

  “Don’t make this about me.” He seethed with mounting anger.

  “I’m perfectly happy with the way I live. Just because I’m thrifty doesn’t mean I eat at soup kitchens.” McCall tossed her hair over her shoulders and boldly met his eyes. “I’m a Johnson and proud of it. We were raised to be independent and work for what we have. We don’t wait around to inherit the spoils, and don’t ask for help from anyone. We take care of our own.”

  “Is that why you didn’t ask for financial help when your mother was sick?” The sharp edge to his voice dulled.

  “Nick, I was her only child, and I had a responsibility to take care of her. I’d never . . .” His question had broken through her fragile control. She rigidly held her tears in check. “I could have never put her in a home. As long as I had my job and she had my father’s social security we managed. I made it without asking anyone for a penny.”

  Heaviness sunk in Nick’s chest, realizing that her memories tore away at her total being. “Then you lived a frugal lifestyle because your father was a proud man?”

  “Daddy earned his master’s from Texas A&M, and held a senior position at the petroleum plant, but never forgot he came up through the ranks. He knew someday he’d inherit all this, but was happy to be his own person and didn’t ask anything from his parents.” McCall said the words proudly. “His worst vices, as I confided in you, were gambling and the horses.”

  Nick imposed an iron control and studied her for a moment, hoping for more of an explanation.

  “Please don’t look at me like that.” She lowered her eyes as though to say that she had no intention of permitting herself to fall under his spell. “If I had acted like I had money, nobody would have taken me seriously. But even if they had believed me, I could never play the part. It’s just not me. It would be like flashing a neon sign, begging some gigolo to try to take advantage of me.” She took a deep breath and looked up.