Nora

by Diana Palmer

  “But what shall we do?” she asked miserably. “We cannot just let Pike come in and take our oil well!”

  He ran a gentle hand over her chestnut hair, loving its silkiness. It distracted him. “We are not totally without options,” he said.

  Mick came running up with the men as the sheriff went out of sight. “What is it?” Mick asked. “It’s an injunction, isn’t it?” he demanded, reddening. “That Pike fellow! I saw him meeting with that city lawyer several times and would have mentioned it, but I figured it was your own business he was conducting, so I kept my mouth shut. More fool, me!”

  Cal grinned at him. “Not your fault, Mick. And don’t look as if the world has ended. We haven’t even fired the first salvo yet!”

  “That lawyer is smart. He’s from Chicago, you know,” he said. “I heard talk of him in town. They say he has no peer in a court of law.”

  “Oh, I think he may have one or two,” Cal replied. There was a twinkle in his eyes that escaped description. Nora wondered what it meant, but he clammed up and said no more about it just then.

  The next morning he went to town and sent a wire through the local Western Union office to Latigo.

  Chapter Nineteen

  CAL TOOK NORA INTO TOWN two days later to meet the train. He asked her to dress nicely, in one of her neat blue suits with a lacy blouse and her Paris hat. He didn’t tell her why, and all her urgings wouldn’t produce one single statement as to what his plans were. He was the most secretive and exasperating man she had ever known. She told him so, frequently, to no effect.

  Three men got off the train, to be warmly greeted by Cal. He tugged Nora up to meet them, his eyes beaming with pride as he introduced her.

  The eldest had dark eyes and silver hair. Brant Culhane shook her hand warmly and he expressed his regrets that his wife, Enid, hadn’t been able to make the trip with him. Perhaps Cal would bring Nora to meet her, he added with a pointed look at his son.

  The oldest son looked so much like Cal that Nora was taken aback.

  “Why, you look just like Cal!” she exclaimed when they shook hands.

  He shook his head. “He looks like me,” he corrected, and his silver-gray eyes, lighter than Cal’s, danced as they met his brother’s.

  “We used to play king of the mountain as boys,” Cal drawled. “He usually won. That’s how he got the nickname. King,” he added when she looked puzzled.

  “Why, you named your horse—” she began.

  “And this is Alan,” he interrupted her, although King had already caught on and was chuckling silently.

  Alan stepped forward and brought her hand to his lips, kissing it with exquisite courtesy. “It is a pleasure to meet my lovely sister-in-law at last,” he said, with a glare at Cal. “One would have thought that the introductions would take place before the wedding, wouldn’t one?”

  Nora recalled why Cal hadn’t wanted her to meet his family, and she looked wounded.

  He pulled her close. “It’s a long story,” he told the others. “I’ll tell you all about it when I get the chance. Right now, my plate is full.”

  “Not for long.” Brant turned and motioned to two well-dressed, dignified men carrying valises. “Mr. Brooks and Mr. Dunn,” he introduced. “They’re from New York. They handle all our family business,” he added when Nora looked puzzled.

  Cal shook hands with them. Mr. Brooks was short and dark and had an intelligent face. Mr. Dunn was a startling contrast; he was tall and elegant-looking, with pale blue eyes and wavy dark hair. When he looked at Nora, she felt a chill right down to her toes. He was polite enough as he tipped his hat, but he had a look that she hoped never to have to sustain across a courtroom. She’d never seen a man who looked less like an attorney, and when he spoke, his cultured voice had a few lingering traces of a Texas drawl.

  Watching the men talk as she stood on the sidelines, Nora began to feel undercurrents. What family business? Why would Cal’s father need a firm of New York attorneys? For the first time, she noticed the way his father and brother were dressed, and it dawned on her that they were no rustic hayseeds. These were powerful, wealthy men. Was Cal some sort of black sheep, was he an outcast, forced to work for wages on a ranch? She must get the truth out of him. There had been one too many secrets between them already.

  “There’s an excellent hotel in town,” Cal was telling the men. “And it serves meals that rival Mother’s.”

  “Nobody cooks like your mother,” Brant said with a wistful smile.

  “Nora’s on her way to such proficiency in the kitchen,” Cal remarked as he drew his wife close against his side.

  She smiled at the other men. “What he means is that my biscuits no longer bounce when they’re dropped,” she said.

  They laughed, but without malice. “When you meet Enid, get her to tell you about the first turkey she prepared for me when we were newly married,” Brant suggested to Nora. “It’ll make you feel less self-conscious about your early days in the kitchen.”

  Nora smiled. “That would be nice,” she said, but inside she was wondering and worrying if Cal still was ashamed of her. He wanted her and he professed to love her, but there was still the fact that he had never suggested taking her home to his family—especially to meet his mother. It was the one thing that kept her happiness with him from being complete.

  There were meetings with his family and the lawyers for the rest of the week. The court case was set for the following Monday, and Cal spent most of the weekend at the hotel. Nora cooked meals that were ignored or forgotten. She felt neglected herself, although she knew it was for the sake of their future. She couldn’t help but wonder if it was all business, or if Cal was keeping her away from his family for some reason of his own.

  ACTUALLY, HE WAS. He didn’t want them to let anything slip about his life before he met her. He still had that obstacle to clear once the threat of Pike was out of the way.

  “She’s very pretty,” Brant remarked over a drink in the saloon. “And obviously she adores you.”

  “And vice versa,” King murmured with twinkling eyes. “Caught at last, aren’t you, old son?”

  “Caught and tied,” Cal agreed. He fingered his whiskey absently. “She doesn’t know anything about us. I didn’t want to tell her at first. Now I do, but I can’t decide how. She’s going to hate me when she knows all of it. If I’d taken her home in the first place, instead of dumping her into a cabin at the Tremayne ranch without even a decent stove…” He groaned and threw down the rest of his whiskey. “If I’d been halfway human about it, she’d never have lost the baby or so nearly have died from fever.”

  “We’ve both seen fever before,” King reminded him. “It’s treatable. As long as she isn’t overtired, she shouldn’t have too many bouts of it.”

  “I’ve looked after her this time,” Cal replied. “She’s been remarkably healthy since we’ve been in Beaumont.” He smiled, thinking of that long, exquisite night they’d spent together and those that had followed. He was still concerned about a child so soon after her illness, but she wasn’t. In fact, she was knitting little bootees now, in anticipation of a child that would surely eventuate from the fullness of their inexhaustible passion for each other.

  “You have to tell her,” King said. “It isn’t fair to let her go on believing that you’re a poor cowboy or a penniless oil prospector.”

  “I might have been,” he pointed out. “I still may. Brooks and Dunn may not be able to stand up to this man of Pike’s in court.”

  “My boy,” Brant said gently, “you have not seen Dunn before the bar yet. Reserve judgment until you do.”

  “Brooks is the research man,” King explained. “He does the legwork. But Dunn…” He paused to smile secretively. “Well, wait and see.”

  Cal was unconvinced. Dunn looked formidable, of course, but there was more than looks involved in winning a trial. He brooded about the court case, cursed Pike for all he was worth, cursed himself for being so stupid as to leave the ma
n to his own devices.

  King walked with him back to the hotel. The night was quiet except for the noise of a hurdy-gurdy coming from a saloon nearby. Even that was a pleasant sound in the darkness, broken only by voices and the sound of horses’ hooves as buggies passed by.

  “We shouldn’t have asked you to take that job with Tremayne,” King said abruptly. “If you’d been here, on the spot, maybe Pike wouldn’t have gotten so greedy.”

  Cal shook his head. “If I hadn’t taken the job, I’d never have met Nora. She was worth losing the damned thing, if it comes down to it. I have no regrets.”

  “When are you going to tell her the truth?” he asked.

  Cal stuck his hands deep in his pockets. “When I can’t avoid it for one minute longer,” he said doggedly.

  King grinned. “You sound just like me.”

  Cal glanced at his brother. “I am just like you,” he reminded the older man. “That’s why it’s just as well that you’re inheriting Latigo, and I have an oil business to build here in East Texas. We’d end up squaring off in the corral twice a day over nothing.”

  King chuckled. “Probably,” he had to admit. “All the same, you’re the only man I know that I can bare my soul to.”

  “That might flatter me if I didn’t know that you think of it as talking to yourself.”

  “You’re that much like me,” King admitted, “that it’s the same thing.” He stopped in front of the hotel, his face solemn. “What will you do if things go against you Monday?”

  He shrugged. “I’ll probably shoot Pike.”

  “That’s what I thought. Listen, Latigo is big enough for all of us. There’s no need—”

  Cal clapped his brother affectionately on the shoulder. “I was joking,” he said roughly. “For God’s sake, I wouldn’t leave Nora in the lurch by getting myself thrown in jail! And I’m not giving up. Pike’s the one who should worry, if Brooks and Dunn are as good as you say.”

  “You haven’t had any need of them over the years. We have,” King said quietly. “You’ll see what I mean.”

  Cal sighed. “I hope so.”

  HE DIDN’T TELL NORA how worried he really was. It would mean starting over, borrowing more capital, and taking another huge gamble if Pike walked off with his oil well. He didn’t know exactly what Pike was planning to do, and everything depended on documentation and the proficiency of the family attorneys. He tried to remember every step he’d taken since he’d bought the property and leased the mineral rights on land that adjoined it. But despite his best efforts to comb through the paperwork, he couldn’t find a loophole that Pike could use to take over the site. On the other hand, Pike might have an attorney dishonest enough to make one that would stand up in court.

  He wouldn’t really shoot the man, but it was tempting. Pike would have gotten a share, just as all the men who worked on the well were going to. Cal had decided that from the outset. But Pike was greedy. He wanted it all. Now, if Cal had his way, Pike was going to end up with nothing at all, not one drop of the crude oil that had poured out of that well.

  There was a rumor that one of J. D. Rockefeller’s people had stopped by to ask questions about the new strike that Cal and his people had made. The man hadn’t yet approached him, but that would be the next step. In order for the oil to mean any profit, it would have to be piped out and stored and refined. Cal needed someone to perform that chore for him. But he couldn’t make one legal move until the ownership of the well was assigned.

  Monday morning came, and Nora sat stiffly in the courtroom with Brant and King and Alan. She was dressed in a very becoming dark brown suit with white piping and a matching hat with a pretty bird perched jauntily on the crown. She watched the proceedings with worried eyes, glancing from the attorney, Dunn, to her own Cal sitting so quietly beside him at the defense table. The men beside her didn’t seem to be worried at all. King, in fact, was smiling.

  The judge spoke to both attorneys before the case began, and Nora noticed that he seemed to know Dunn. He was much more respectful to him than he was to Bean, Pike’s attorney.

  Pike was in court. He wouldn’t look at the other side of the courtroom, although his beady little eyes kept darting around restlessly.

  His attorney was good; very good. He stated the distorted facts of the case, twisted to make his client’s case look stronger. Pike had filed a prior claim on the oil well site, he told the court, and he had the documents to prove it. Cal, already aware of the attempt Pike was going to make because of Brooks’s legwork, glared furiously at the averted face of Pike. It amazed him that the man was willing to tell an out-and-out lie in court and perjure himself for the sake of money. He wondered if Pike’s attorney knew it was a lie, and that any documents he produced would have to be forged.

  Pike’s attorney presented those documents, along with eyewitness accounts of Cal’s long absences from the drill site and the hard work Pike had done to bring in the well. When he was finished, it looked as though Pike had done all the work, and Cal had done nothing and was now trying to jump Pike’s claim.

  Pike’s attorney, Mr. Bean, sat down with a reassuring smile in his client’s direction.

  Then Mr. Dunn got to his feet. He was a tall, slender figure as he moved lazily around the courtroom, looking at the jury with eyes the pure pale blue of a winter sky. He wore glasses, but they only emphasized the strong lines of his face. He held a sheaf of papers in one hand as he approached the bench.

  “Mr. Bean’s arguments are quite interesting,” he remarked absently. “He states that his client did most of the work bringing in the well and thus deserves the bulk of the profit from it. This assertion is ridiculous, so I will not dignify the claim by arguing it.” He placed a sheaf of documents at the judge’s fingertips. “However, the prosecution’s claim that his client has a prior claim on—” he gave the lot number and location of Cal’s oil well “—is invalid. These are the titles and deeds to the land, which is owned by my client,” he said. “They have been duly notarized and their accuracy can be vouched for by witnesses which the defense is prepared to introduce.”

  He picked up the prosecution’s evidence, a sheaf of documents with dates one day prior to Cal’s filing on the claim.

  “Now, to the matter of Mr. Pike’s alleged prior claim.” He looked at Pike with a faint smile that was chilling. “According to information provided by Mr. Pike’s former landlady in New Orleans, along with affidavits from the owner of a saloon called ‘The Gator’ and an, ahem, employee known as ‘Rose Lee’ as well as the local constable, all of whom witnessed the incident, on the date of the aforesaid documents, Mr. Pike was as drunk as a skunk and sleeping off his excesses in an upstairs bedroom of the saloon. It would have been physically impossible for him to sign a deed on the date in question.” He looked straight at Pike, who was jumping up to protest, while his attorney tried to restrain him.

  “That’s a lie!” Pike shouted. “I was here, right here, in Beaumont!”

  “You were not,” Dunn replied calmly. He stuck his hands in his pockets, and his deep, measured voice filled the courtroom as he turned to stare at Pike. “And even if you had been, your finances were not such as to permit the expenditure of so much money for the tract.”

  “It was cheap, I tell you!” Pike burst out.

  “It was beyond your pocket,” Dunn countered. “Nor is it logical that you would have risked such an amount of money on what was, at that time, a very slim chance of success.”

  “Sir, you accuse my client without proof!” Bean managed, taken aback by the revelations and searching desperately for a legal foothold.

  “Do you think so?” he asked. “I apologize for wasting the court’s time on such a trivial and unsubstantial bit of nonsense,” he added, and his steely eyes made Pike fidget. “For nowhere in my experience has an employee been given such trust by an employer and yet abused it so completely. Mr. Pike was paid a weekly salary, an exorbitant one, for his efforts in behalf of my client. But the thought of
so much money turned Mr. Pike into a greedy man who was more than willing to break the law in order to further his own financial ambitions. And yes, Mr. Bean,” he told the prosecuting attorney, “I can certainly prove that the signature on these documents is forged. I have a full confession from the perpetrator, whom my colleague, Mr. Brooks, flushed out only this morning.”

  Mr. Bean sat down, looking sick. He stared at Pike, who finally gave up the uneven struggle and hung his head. Having anticipated a long argument, flowery words and a battle of wits between the attorneys, Nora sat nonplussed.

  The judge pursed his lips and looked over the documents Dunn had given him. “The deeds do seem to be in order,” he murmured.

  Mr. Bean was fuming. He glared at Dunn and suddenly got up, demanding to be allowed access to the documents.

  The judge agreed, handing them over.

  “Aha!” Bean shouted as he read the name on the deeds. “Here is further proof of my client’s claim. This is fraud on the part of the defendant! This is not the name of the man sitting at the defense table! He has misrepresented his identity, which negates the whole matter of his ownership!”

  Nora’s jaw fell. Beside her, Brant took her hand and patted it reassuringly, his eyes urging patience.

  The judge looked at Mr. Bean over his glasses. “You have not lived long in Texas, have you, young man?”

  “With all due respect, your honor, what has that to do with the documents in this case?” Bean asked.

  The judge smiled at Cal and the people sitting just behind him. “Well, son, if you were a native, you’d recognize that name pretty quickly. The family is not exactly unknown, even here in East Texas. In West Texas, they’re something of an empire.”

  Bean was looking less confident by the minute. “Sir?”

  “Let me put it this way,” the judge continued, pushing the documents aside. “You know how the name Rockefeller just shouts oil?”