by Deeanne Gist
He tightened his grip. “I’m afraid that’s out of the question.”
“It is not. Just who do you think you are?”
They reached the street and he jerked her bike up off the ground. “I am overseer of the rotary rigs. And I do not allow females of any sort around the patch—even part owners.”
“You work for me, Tony, not the other way around. You do not have the authority to tell me where I can and can’t go.”
“I told your father I would not accept this position unless I had absolute power on the field. He agreed to my terms. If you have a problem with that, then take it up with him. But for now, you are to put your pretty backside on this bike and ride well out of harm’s way.”
“No.”
He narrowed his eyes. “If you don’t want me to sling you over my shoulder and bodily carry you all the way to your front door, then I suggest you get on this machine, and right quickly.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
He leaned in close. “Try me.”
She didn’t make any move to take the bike from him.
“You have to the count of ten. One … two …”
She could not believe he would actually do it. But, then, maybe he would. And if he did, the men would talk about it all over town, and any respect she’d garnered over the years would go up in a puff of smoke.
“Seven … eight …”
She grabbed Peg’s handlebars. “I am going straightaway to discuss this with my father. We will see just exactly who is boss and who is not. I expect you to be in our office the moment your shift is over.”
Without another word, she mounted the bicycle and, with all the dignity she could muster, rode toward home.
Papa was not at home. Nor at the courthouse. Nor at the attorney’s office. The longer she looked for him, the more irritated she became. He’d promoted Tony without consulting her. He’d excluded her from discussions with the Baker brothers. He’d contracted for three rotary rigs before even seeing if the first one was going to work.
Pulling to a stop in front of the jailhouse, she jumped from the bike, then stormed up the steps and through the door, bumping square into Deputy Howard.
“Whoa there, girl,” he said, clasping her around the waist to keep her from falling. Warm breath from his mouth and nose touched her cheek.
She shoved against him. “Let me go.”
He held up his hands in mock surrender. “Now, what’s got you cross as a snappin’ turtle on this fine summer day?”
“Men in general. You in particular.” She scanned the room and found her uncle and father standing beside the sheriff’s desk, staring at her in surprise.
She knew she was behaving badly, but she couldn’t seem to rein in her temper. “I’ve been looking all over for you, Papa.”
“Well, I’m right here. Has something happened?”
“Nothing catastrophic. Just a few things I’d like to get straightened out.”
“Can it wait a minute? Deputy Howard is leaving for Austin this afternoon, and Melvin and I need to finalize a few things before he leaves.”
“Austin? Why?”
“The annual Texas Sheriff’s Association Convention starts Monday, and Melvin is going to send Howard in his stead.”
“Oh.” She tugged the bow under her neck and removed her bonnet. “Very well. I’ll wait.”
Howard moved away from the doorway. “I think I’ll pick up those records from the courthouse on my way to the train station instead of getting them now.”
“Fine,” Uncle Melvin said, then turned back to Papa.
Howard sidled up to Essie, winking at her. She stepped to the right, putting distance between them.
“I like the opening sentence much better than the way we had it before,” Melvin said. “Do you think the petition is strong enough now?”
“Oh, I think it’s plenty strong. The question is whether or not the Association will back it.”
Essie moved to the desk. “What is it?”
“Take a look,” Melvin said, turning the document so she could see. “We want to ride the tide of the anti-lynching crusade led by that newspaper editor in Tennessee. If Billy John can get members of the Sheriff’s Association to sign this petition, the state congress will be hard-pressed not to pass a law punishing those responsible for lynching in our state.”
She glanced at the other papers on his desk but saw no evidence of the postcard she’d seen before. “You can’t arrest an entire mob, can you?”
“Naw,” he said. “But we could arrest the ringleaders and make an example of them.”
Papa checked his pocket watch. “Well, if you don’t need me any further, Melvin, I guess I’ll see what it is Essie wants.”
“No, no. You go on. Billy John and I can take it from here.”
Papa ushered her out the door and to her bicycle. “Now, what is it that has you all worked up?”
She recalled the sting of Tony’s dismissal afresh. “Tony refused to let me watch the rig builders. He practically forced me onto my bike and made me leave.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, honey. I forgot to tell you to quit going out there.”
“What?” She stopped pushing her bicycle to stare at him. “You agreed to that without talking with me first?”
He shrugged. “There wasn’t time. Besides, he’s the one running the site now. If he doesn’t want any women out there, then that’s his prerogative.”
They continued down the street. “I’m not just any woman. I’m part owner and his boss, to boot.”
“That may be so, but surely you see his point, Essie. The fields are getting rougher and rougher. Tony said you interrupt the work and distract the men, and depending upon what they’re in the middle of, that can be extremely dangerous.”
“What are you saying? That I’m never to go out to our fields again for the rest of my life?”
He chuckled. “I don’t think we have to go quite so far as that. Just lay low for now until Tony has a chance to establish himself in his new position.”
She blew out a huff of breath. “I wish you would consult with me before making decisions like this. You promoted Tony without due consideration. Grandpa or some of our other men should have been offered the position first.”
“I don’t know why you keep harping about this. If we were replacing Moss, then you’d be right.” He shook his head. “We needed a tool pusher for our rotary rigs. None of the men but Tony had ever even seen one. Like it or not, he’s the man most suited for the job.”
She sighed. “That may be true, but something just isn’t quite right. I can’t put my finger on it. But he left Morgan Oil so suddenly, and he knows the Morgan family more intimately than he let on at first.”
“You think he’s lying to us about something?” Papa asked, clearly surprised.
“Withholding, maybe. He knows too much about that family not to have some personal tie.”
Papa considered her words as they turned onto Eighth Street. “Well, let’s put the shoe on the other foot for a moment. Moss or any of the men who report at the house know plenty about our personal lives.”
She supposed he was right. But would Mr. Moss use her Christian name in casual conversation the way Tony had with Miss Morgan’s? She couldn’t imagine him taking such a liberty. Not unless theirs was a more … intimate acquaintance.
No, if Mr. Moss were to call her something other than Miss Spreckelmeyer, it would undoubtedly be in the form of a nickname.
Thank goodness she’d escaped that unpleasant designation.
Essie showed Tony into the study. She’d forgotten he was coming by the house right after work. When she’d instructed him to do so, she’d thought to tell him in no uncertain terms that she would go out to the fields whenever she pleased. To have to concede defeat on the matter did not sit well.
He’d not taken the time to bathe or change. His clothes were splattered with mud. His face was covered in dirt. His brown eyes, however, shone brightly.
“I’d ask you to sit, but, well …”
He smiled. “I understand. You go ahead, though.”
Papa was not at home, so she took his place behind the desk.
Tony moved to the window, leaning back against the sill. “The judge told me y’all bid on some land south of town.”
“That’s right.”
“I went down there and looked it over. Looks like a ripe field.”
“I certainly thought so.”
“When will you know if you won the bid?”
“Anytime now.”
An awkward silence settled over them.
Tony cleared his throat. “The rig builders should finish the derrick within another day or two, but that’s going to cut into our fishing time. Would you mind if we postponed our date until next Sunday?”
She moistened her lips. Her plans had been to ask him about Anna Morgan while they were fishing, and she wasn’t sure she could wait another week to satisfy her curiosity. Perhaps an opportunity would present itself between now and then.
“No, of course I don’t mind,” she answered. “Next Sunday is fine.”
He hesitated. “Did you have a chance to talk with your father?”
“Yes,” she said, clipping the word.
“Good. He told you about the masks, then?”
“Masks?”
“Yes. The cup masks.”
“What cup masks?”
“I thought you talked to your father?”
“I did, but we discussed your request that I stay away from the fields.”
He nodded as understanding dawned. “I am sorry about that. It’s just that women—”
She held up her hand. “I’d rather not rehash it, if it is all the same to you. Now, what about these masks?”
“When we swab the wells, the sulphur gas that rushes up out of the hole is so strong it can knock a fella clean out. We waste a lot of time waiting for that gas to blow before letting the bailer down. So I was thinking, what if we got us some of those cup masks they use in the factories up north? We could just wear those and then we wouldn’t have to worry about anybody keeling over. And it would save time, too.”
She leaned back in her chair. “You know, Tony, you come up with more creative ways to spend money than anyone I’ve ever met. You just talked Papa into investing in three rotary rigs and now you want me to order masks?”
“Not just any masks. Cup masks. You know, the kind that look like pig snouts?”
“Pig snouts.”
“Yes. They fit over the nose and mouth and prevent noxious gases from getting into your throat and lungs. For us, they’d also save time.”
She sighed. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but if the sulphur gas is truly as dangerous as you are suggesting, then cup masks would be used up in Pennsylvania. But no one uses them. No one.
They simply get out of the gas’s way when it starts to blow.”
“So your answer is no?”
“I have to consider both the benefit and practicality of them,” she explained. “And though they might help the men breathe, I cannot imagine the boomers wearing them. Think of how uncomfortable and hot they would be.”
“They wouldn’t wear them all the time. Only when the gas starts to blow.”
She shook her head. “They could just as easily clear out of the way. I’m sorry. I simply can’t justify the expense of masks for every man in my employ.”
“Not every man. The drillers.”
“We have over three hundred drillers, Tony. We can’t just up and buy masks for all of them. Besides, we don’t even know if they would work.”
“Yes, we do. I had one sent out already and tried it. Works great.”
She frowned. “Where did you get it?”
“I’m not sure where it came from. Your father ordered it.”
Her lips parted. “When did he do that?”
“Couple of weeks ago.”
“Good heavens.”
“So what do you say?”
“I say we’ve been doing just fine for the last four years. I imagine we’ll continue to do so.”
“You don’t even know what they cost and haven’t seen them in action.”
“I’m afraid I won’t have the pleasure of seeing them in action, Mr. Bryant, since I’m no longer allowed on my own fields.”
His lips thinned. “Is that what this is about? You’re mad because you got your nose tweaked, so you’re going to risk the health of the men for the sake of your pride?”
She shot up out of her chair. “That is quite enough. I don’t know what makes you think you can address me in such a manner, but let me assure you that you cannot.”
“Those masks can be a matter of life or death.”
“I hardly think so. As I pointed out before, every oil patch in America has managed just fine without them.”
“Does your father know you are refusing to buy them?”
“You go right ahead and run to him, since that seems to be your wont. But I guarantee you, this time he will say the decision is mine and mine alone.”
Tony put on his hat. “Well, I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”
“We certainly will. In the meantime, I expect to see you at training tonight. Be prepared for a vigorous workout.”
“Not to worry, Miss Spreckelmeyer. I can handle anything you care to throw my way.” Spinning around, he stalked out of the office and slammed the door behind him.
chapter TWENTY
ESSIE PLACED sugar cookies in a tin, the buttery aroma filling the room. The door opened and she glanced over her shoulder.
“Ewing,” she said, smiling. “It’s been a while since you’ve come in the kitchen door. And just in time for cookies. Would you like some?”
Hanging his hat on a peg, he nodded. “Don’t mind if I do.”
His reddish blond hair fell in abandon across his forehead, but his black clerical suit fit him with the precision of a well-tailored garment.
She handed him the tin. “Papa’s in his study. I’d walk you back there, but I need to get to the clubhouse.”
He set the cookies on the table. “Actually, I didn’t come to see your dad. I came to see you.”
“Me?”
“Yes.”
She glanced out the window. “I’d love to visit, but Tony’s expecting me.”
He held out a chair. “He can wait.”
She slowly untied her apron and hung it over the oven-door handle. “What’s the matter?”
“Please, have a seat.” Tension tightened the lines on his face.
Smoothing her skirts, she took the chair he offered, then watched as he settled in across from her.
“We’ve been friends a long time,” he began.
“My stars and garters, Ewing. What on earth has happened to make you so morose?”
He took a deep breath. “How well do you know Tony Bryant?”
She blinked. “What kind of question is that? I’m courting him, for heaven’s sake.”
“Yes.” He cleared his throat. “But what I’m trying to determine is, um, just how much you know about him.”
“Who’s asking?” she said, cocking her head. “My preacher, my friend, or my former suitor?”
His face filled with color. “I’d like to say your preacher, but I’m not sure that’s the case.”
“Then which is the case?”
“Your friend. Your friend is asking. Though, I don’t think I’d have agonized over it quite so much if I hadn’t been a former suitor.”
She digested that bit of honesty, then pushed the tin of cookies toward him. “You’ve heard something you think I need to know.
And whatever it is, it’s unpleasant. Am I right?”
He nodded, breaking a cookie in half, then putting it in his mouth.
“Well, let’s hear it.”
He finished chewing and swallowed. “Tony Bryant is actually Tony Morgan. As in the Morgan Oil Morgans.”
“What?” she asked, frowning
. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying he’s the late Blake Morgan’s younger son.”
As she tried to sort through her confusion, one thought rose immediately to the surface. That would mean Anna Morgan’s his sister. She slid her eyes closed, a sense of relief flowing through her.
“Oh, Ewing. I’d suspected his ties to the Morgans were more than he’d let on, but I’d imagined he was a spurned suitor of Anna Morgan’s and that he had ulterior motives for courting me.” She shook her head. “And now to find out Anna’s his sister, of all things.”
She smiled at her foolishness and at Ewing, but his face did not reflect her relief.
“I don’t think you’re seeing the big picture, Essie. He’s been lying to you. To the entire town.”
“Oh, I’m sure there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation. Just look at how I mistook his interest in me, thinking it was due to my being an oil heiress—just like Anna—when all the time she was his sister.”
“I don’t know. I mean, we both know your first instinct has always been to see the best in people—even when it’s not there.”
He gave her a pointed look, and she knew he was referring to a beau of hers from a few years back whom she’d grossly misjudged.
“That aside,” Ewing continued, “why would a Morgan pass himself off as a nobody unless he wanted something?”
She gave him a cautious look. “Like what?”
Ewing rubbed his forehead. “Like a position with Sullivan Oil.”
She hesitated. “Come to think of it, why would he need a position with Sullivan Oil when he has his own company?”
Ewing held her gaze. “Perhaps he was figuring to learn firsthand his competition’s strengths and weaknesses.”
She swallowed, her calm suddenly eclipsed by impending dread.
Setting his elbows on the table, Ewing linked his hands together and rested his chin on his fists. “And what better way to do that than by courting the owner’s daughter and infiltrating the company at its highest and most vulnerable level?”
Her mind balked. She tried not to think the obvious, but it was becoming all too clear.
“Are you absolutely certain about this?” she asked.
“I’m not at all certain of his motives. Only that his real name is Tony Morgan.”