Texas Hustle

by Cynthia D'Alba

  An older man stepped up to the door. The resemblance was uncanny.

  “Please come in,” he said. “Apparently, Katherine has forgotten every manner we ever taught her.”

  Darren held out his hand. “I’m Darren Montgomery.”

  “Paul Randolph.” The man’s handshake was firm and strong. “Come in.”

  He stepped back to allow Darren to enter. Porchia moved to the side, her fingers locked in front of her.

  By now, Darren was confused. Katherine, not Porchia. Randolph, not Summers. A freaking mansion instead of the simple home he’d expected.

  Who was Porchia Summers?

  “Can I get you a cocktail?” Paul asked as he led Darren into a plush living room.

  “Sure,” Darren said. He drew in a breath to ask for a beer but then noticed the other people in the room. He also saw that no one had a beer.

  “I’ll have whatever you’re having,” he said to Porchia’s father.

  “Katherine,” her mother said. “Would you like to do the introductions?”

  “What?” Porchia’s head snapped toward a woman who could only be her mother. “Oh, sure. Darren, this is Dr. Harry Pope, his wife, Sally, and their son, Myron.”

  Darren shook hands with the Popes and realized he’d walked in on a small dinner party.

  “I apologize,” he said. “I meant to surprise Porchia, er, Katherine, and I seem to have intruded on your dinner party. I’ll finish my drink and be on my way.”

  “Oh, no, Darren,” Porchia said. “You’ve come all the way from Texas. You really must stay.”

  “Well, darling,” her mother said. “He said he had to be going. We wouldn’t want to interfere with his evening plans.”

  “I think Katherine is right,” Paul said. “You should stay for dinner. Katherine, could you let Cook know?”

  “Of course.” Porchia leaned in to whisper, “Don’t leave. I’ll be right back.”

  Paul Randolph handed him a chilled martini glass. “To your health,” he said, and lifted the fine crystal to his lips.

  Darren took a swallow and almost gasped. Martini, his ass. Why didn’t they just call the drink Iced Gin and be done with it?

  The fine crystal he held felt fragile in his thick, rough hands. And he knew enough about glassware to realize the thinner the rim, the more expensive the glass. He could only imagine the cost of this single glass.

  “So, Mr. Montgomery,” Porchia’s mother said. “What is it that you do?”

  He turned toward Mrs. Randolph. “I’m a rancher, ma’am.”

  “How nice,” she said with a tight smile, and Darren knew he’d been insulted. Oh, not by words, but certainly by tone.

  “Well, cowboy,” Myron Pope said. “Hope you remembered to knock the cow manure off your boots.”

  June Randolph chuckled behind her martini stemware. The other woman, Mrs. Pope, openly chuckled.

  “You are so clever, honey,” she said to her son.

  Porchia walked in and looked around at the other adults, then squinted her eyes. “What did I miss?”

  “Oh, Myron was making a little joke. He’s just so quick witted,” her mother said.

  A joke at Darren’s expense, but to say that would only reflect poorly on him, not on the overgrown momma’s boy.

  “Dinner’s ready,” Porchia said.

  “I really shouldn’t stay,” Darren said.

  Porchia linked her arm through his. “Oh, but you must.” The twinkle in her eye made him a little nervous. “You must get to know my parents and their friends.”

  He allowed her to escort him into a formal dining room set for seven. Two at each end, three on one side and two on the other. She made straight for the side of the table with two place settings.

  “Katherine,” her mother said, halting their progress. “Wouldn’t you and…your friend like to sit with Myron? I’m sure you’d have much more to talk with him about than I would.”

  “Oh, no, but thank you, Mother.”

  She practically dragged him around the table to the side away from Myron.

  Darren pulled her chair back for her to sit before he took his seat.

  Cook entered and served the soup course. It was a watery, beef-based broth. In Darren’s opinion, it wasn’t much of a soup, but when in Rome… He lifted his spoon and sipped.

  As soon as possible, he was sending a large bouquet of flowers to his mother. Growing up, his family never ate with formal restrictions. However, she’d made sure every one of them knew what spoon, fork or knife to use. That information had come in handy only once in his life…when he’d been an escort for a debutante. Who would have thought he would need the information again?

  “Tell us more about yourself, Mr. Montgomery,” Porchia’s mother said. “Growing up in the wilds of Texas must have been interesting.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said. “I’m sure it would be. However, I wouldn’t know. My family ran a cattle ranch in Florida. My brother and I moved to Texas after college to start our own ranch.”

  He started to tell her to call him Darren, but at the last minute thought, screw her.

  “How industrious of you. Would we know the owners of the ranch your parents worked on?”

  Porchia opened her mouth, but he put his hand on her knee and squeezed.

  “I doubt it, Mrs. Randolph. The ranch was the Double Down. Are you familiar with it?”

  She looked at her husband, who shook his head. “I’m not.” She turned to her friend. “Sally. You and Harry go to Florida often. You ever heard of the Double Down?”

  Sally dabbed her lips with the crisp, white linen napkin. “I’m sorry, June, but Harry and I just don’t have anything to do with Florida industry.”

  “Unless you’re talking your personal support of the clothing stores there,” her husband said.

  That brought chuckles around the table. Darren smiled, but he doubted he’d ever dined with more self-important prigs in his whole life. And what was blowing his mind was how easily Porchia fit into this circle of snobs.

  “Mr. Montgomery.”

  Darren looked across the table at the only other unattached man in the room. Oh, he saw clearly that the two mothers were scheming, and neither they nor the son seemed happy that Darren had shown up to throw a monkey wrench into their match-making plans.

  “Yes? It’s Myron, right?”

  “That’s right. I was just wondering how long you were planning on being in town.”

  Darren sat back in his chair and draped his arm ever so casually on the back of Porchia’s chair. “Well,” he said with a drawl. “I guess that’s up to Po—Katherine. I might be a day. I might be here a week.”

  The scowl on the other man’s face conveyed his displeasure.

  “Katherine has quite a heavy holiday party schedule, don’t you, dear?” her mother said. “I believe our first engagement is tomorrow evening. That reminds me, Katherine. Did you remember to send Jimmy to pick up your evening gown for tomorrow night’s ball?”

  Jimmy? Darren looked at Porchia with an arched eyebrow. “Jimmy?” he mouthed.

  She shook her head. “Yes, Mother. Jimmy picked it up at the same time he got yours. Remember? You were unhappy with the color of my gown.”

  “That’s right.” June looked at Sally. “The young people these days. Katherine’s gown is yellow. I tried to tell her it will never work with her skin tone and white hair, but would she listen to me? Of course not.” She drained the remainder of the martini she’d brought to the table.

  “I think you’ll look lovely tomorrow night,” Myron said. “A little extra blush and I bet you will not look washed out at all. Isn’t that right, Mother?”

  Sally Pope nodded. “I think Myron’s correct,” she said to June. “He has an eye for things like that.”

  The salad course came and went. If his life depended on it, Darren was fairly certain he could not list one vegetable in it other than lettuce, and even that had been purple.

  He turned to Porchia’s fath
er. “Por—Katherine tells me you’re a judge.”

  “That’s correct.”

  “You must have had some interesting cases come before you over the years.”

  “A few,” Paul conceded.

  “Tell him about the case of the woman who stole hams by putting them up her skirt.”

  Paul chuckled. “That was a good one.”

  “And definitely not dinner material,” Porchia’s mother said, her brackets of disapproval reappearing around her mouth. “Myron, tell us about the law practice you’ve joined here in Atlanta. I’m assuming you’re in line for a partnership.”

  Myron began telling his life history, or maybe it was the history of cheese. Darren didn’t know and didn’t care. He wasn’t listening. His mind was churning at a million miles an hour. He sat back and observed the table interactions. He was not sure if he should be amused at how ridiculous these people were or disconcerted that they didn’t realize it.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Porchia’s exchange with her parents and their guests. Her table manners were impeccable. She knew when to smile, when to encourage the speaker to continue, when to ask questions. Her social grooming was evident in every action and word. She was the perfect society hostess. Now he understood how she could so easily fit in with his family. She was a chameleon.

  “Hey, Cowboy.”

  Darren looked across the table at Myron.

  “I was asking where you left your luggage? Or do you have a bedroll tied to the back of your saddle?”

  Darren wasn’t positive, but he was fairly certain he could knock a few of this guy’s caps off with one solid punch.

  “Myron,” Porchia scolded. “That wasn’t nice.”

  “Oh, Katherine. Lighten up. Cowboy here knows I was joshing with him, right, Cowboy?”

  Darren hiked an eyebrow and channeled his father. “Were you? I apologize. I stopped listening to you some time back. My grandmother—” He looked at Porchia. “I’m sorry you never got to meet my Grandma Helen.” Looking back at Myron, he continued. “My Grandma Helen taught me never to engage bullies or fools.”

  Red tinged Myron’s cheeks. Probably anger that Darren hadn’t reacted to the intended insult.

  “How dare you impinge my reputation among these excellent people!”

  Darren wiped his mouth on his napkin and set it at the side of his plate. “I’m not sure you know what impinge means. You might want to look it up when you get home.” He stood. “Mr. Randolph. Mrs. Randolph. Thank you for an enlightening evening. I believe I’ll take my leave now.”

  Porchia grabbed his arm. “Don’t go, Darren. Mother, tell him you’d like him to stay.”

  Her mother shrugged. “Mr. Montgomery, you’re welcome to stay for dessert.”

  If Darren had ever heard a less sincere invitation, he couldn’t remember it.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Randolph, but I believe it’s time for me to leave.”

  Paul Randolph stood. “It was nice to meet you. Let me walk you out.”

  Porchia stood. “I’ll walk him to the door.”

  Her father turned his gaze on her and she sat.

  “This way, Mr. Montgomery.”

  Darren followed Paul Randolph, expecting him to head straight for the door. When Paul instead headed for his office, Darren let him take the lead. Apparently, Porchia’s father had something he wanted to say.

  Once they were inside, Paul shut the door. “Would you like a drink?”

  Darren shook his head. “No, thank you. I’m assuming there’s something you’d like to say to me.” He gestured to the closed door.

  Paul poured himself a drink, a scotch if Darren had to guess. Using the hand that held his glass, Paul pointed to a chair. “Have a seat for a minute.”

  Darren sat. Paul took the chair directly across from Darren.

  “I’m not sure what you know about Katherine’s history.”

  “I know it all, sir.”

  Paul arched his eyebrows in surprise. “Ah, well, then you know why she was living with my wife’s mother.”

  Darren crossed his legs and settled in the chair. “I understand that she believes you sent her there because she was an embarrassment to you and your wife. And that you left her living there because it was better for your career.” He shook his head in disgust. “What you did was nothing short of mental child abuse.” He allowed his anger and abhorrence of their handling of the situation to color his voice and his face.

  Paul sipped his drink. “We’ll just have to disagree on that. However, Katherine is back home now. My wife is happy, which makes me happy.”

  “And what about your daughter? Is she happy here, or does that even matter?”

  Darren knew his best course of action would be to stand and walk out before his mouth got him knee-deep in manure.

  “Regardless of what you think of me or my wife, we’ve always wanted what was best for our daughter.”

  “And you think that stuffed shirt at the table is best for your daughter?”

  Paul gave a slight shrug. “You may not like Myron Pope, but he’s an intelligent, up-and-coming attorney. He can provide her the quality of life we want for our daughter.”

  “You think I’m some dirt-poor cowboy from Texas trying to get your daughter’s money.” Darren gave a hoarse chuckle and stood. “Thank you for your hospitality, such that it was. I’ll call a cab from the drive.”

  “Don’t bother. Our driver can take you to your hotel. It’ll save you cab fare.”

  Darren almost blurted out that not only could he afford cab fare, he could probably buy the entire cab company with the financial gift his parents had given him and his siblings from the sale of the Florida ranch. In the end, he decided it simply wasn’t worth the effort and hitched a ride with the Randolph’s driver.

  He checked into the airport Hilton more than a little disappointed. He’d had higher hopes for this trip. He hadn’t expected to find Porchia living in a mansion. Nor had he expected to crash her family’s dinner party.

  Once he’d changed his return flight to tomorrow, he stripped to his boxers and ordered a bucket of beer from room service. The knock on his door came sooner than he’d expected. Throwing on a robe, he opened the door to let the hotel staff in with his beer.

  But it wasn’t the hotel staff.

  Porchia stood in the hallway, her hair hanging limply around her face. “Can I come in?”

  He hesitated and then stepped back. She entered and shut the door.

  Darren turned and walked back to where he’d been stretched out on the bed. “What can I do for you, Princess?”

  “I’m so sorry for how you were treated. It was unforgivable.”

  He gestured to the only chair in the room. “Sit.”

  She did.

  “I came to Atlanta to find Porchia Summers. I needed to see her. I needed to tell her that I love her.”

  “Oh, Darren—”

  He held up his hand. “I didn’t find her. I found Katherine Randolph. I don’t know Katherine. I don’t think I want to know Katherine. What I know for sure is that I’m not in love with Katherine. Porchia, yes. Katherine, no.”

  “I’m still the same person.”

  “No, you’re not. Porchia Summers would have never let a man speak to her like you did that jackass Myron. She would never have let dinner guests behave so rudely to another guest without comment. Porchia has a spine. She has respect for herself and others. I respect Porchia. Katherine is a boorish woman who lets others walk on her. I do not like or respect her.”

  “But what can I do?” she cried. “I came home to make amends with my parents. This is the only family I have. Without them, I’m alone in the world.”

  “You have me. You have my family. We all love Porchia. You would never have been alone. Come home.”

  “I don’t know.” She stood and paced. “You’re asking me to give up my parents, to walk away and never see them again.”

  “No, I’m not. I would never ask you to do anythi
ng like that. But I can’t love Katherine. You are the only one who can decide if you’re Katherine or Porchia. And until you know who you are and what you want, I think it’d be better if we went our separate ways.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Porchia left the hotel with Darren’s words ringing in her head. Who was she? Was she Porchia Summers, the Texas baker who struggled some months to pay all her bills? Her parents didn’t seem to like that woman very much.

  Or was she Katherine Randolph? Daughter of Judge Paul Randolph and his wife? Heiress to the Randolph fortune? Society snob in the making?

  She went home and slept on it. In the morning, when she woke, she knew beyond a doubt who she was and what her future held.

  Dressing quickly, she raced out early to reach Darren. She had to explain her epiphany. But he was already gone when she arrived. He’d taken the first flight out of Atlanta.

  That evening, she had a long talk with her parents. She explained how much she’d missed them over the years. How much she loved them and needed them in her life. Their lifestyle in Atlanta was perfect…for them, but not for her. She hoped with all her heart that they would forgive her, but she had to go back to Texas.

  “I’m more Porchia Summers than I am Katherine Randolph,” she explained. “I love my life in Texas. I’m happy there. I have friends. I have to go home.”

  Her mother cried.

  Her father actually smiled and kissed her cheek. “I suspected as much,” he said. “The young man. He’s your future?”

  “I certainly hope so.”

  “Then I wish you happiness and love,” he said, shocking her. “Be sure we get invited to the wedding.”

  At the mention of wedding, her mother wailed louder. It was all Porchia could do not to roll her eyes.

  “Invited? Heck, Father. You’ll be paying for it.”

  His laugh was rusty, as though he didn’t use it enough. She hoped he practiced it more.

  “I’m going upstairs to pack.” She hugged both of them, her mother clinging on to Porchia for a long time. “I’ll be back,” she told her parents. “Not to stay,” she clarified. “But for visits. And I’ll call. And you’ll call. And you’ll come to visit.” She smiled. “It’s not like here at all.”