*
October—Same Time, Wednesday
Wyatt Petroleum Headquarters, Houston, Texas
R O B E R T W Y A T T
The sun was out in full force over Houston—like a hot, bright wash pressing up against the massive floor-to-ceiling windows of Robert’s corner suite of offices. He glanced at his watch for the third time in an hour, glad to see time had flown by.
“Sir, your daughter’s here,” the disembodied voice of his assistant said over the intercom on his massive maple desk.
Robert pressed the intercom’s button. “Great—let me just wrap this up, and I’ll be right out. You set up lunch in the penthouse, right?”
“Chef made all her favorites,” his assistant confirmed.
“Perfect, thanks.”
Travis leaned forward in the seat across from him. “Sam’s here?” he asked, looking like he’d drawn a pat hand from a stacked deck.
“You can hold your horses, Trav,” Mack replied from the seat next to him. “We’ve still got plenty to do before the boss leaves for the Middle East.”
Travis ignored him, looking at Robert, his gaze direct and confident. “May I join y’all for lunch?”
“No, you may not,” Robert answered succinctly, setting down the production reports they’d been reviewing. “I can count on one hand how many times I’ve gotten to see my daughter one-on-one since she left for school. She’s all mine today.”
Robert stood and glanced out at the shimmering expanse of the city below. He’d been pleasantly surprised when Sammy had agreed to have lunch with him—even more so when she said she’d wanted to speak privately. And now she was here in the office—another rarity since she’d gone to college.
Robert considered taking the afternoon off before his flight that night. Maybe take her to the Mercer Arboretum for a stroll. He wondered if she’d like that.
Travis stood up. “Then I’ll just pop out and say hi.”
Robert stifled a smirk as he watched him go.
“That boy’s been nursing a little crush on her ever since she’d showed him which end was up,” Mack chuckled.
Robert just shrugged. He figured it was harmless enough. The way she and Wes had been carrying on, he didn’t figure Travis would have much of a chance either way. He respected the guy’s gumption for trying, though. If Travis wasn’t a tenacious son of a gun, he wouldn’t be working for Robert, and that was a fact.
“You and Travis finish up prep for the trip, alright? You can fill me in on any of the additional details on the jet tonight.”
“You got it, Rob,” Mack told him, standing. “Just so you know—this deep-water drilling in the Gulf is already causing some ripples. If we’re successful in pushing this through the Hill, we’re going to be making some choice enemies out of the Middle Eastern players we’ll be meeting. They’ll want to find a way to get in on the action.”
Robert smiled grimly. “They can just get the hell in line. I didn’t make my bones shying away from trouble.”
“Just sayin’,” Mack replied with a shrug, opening the office door. “We don’t want to be diggin’ up more snakes than we can kill.”
“Let’s just get the drilling rights through D.C. first,” Robert suggested. “Now I’m going to enjoy lunch with my daughter.”
Sam was smiling at Travis when Mack and Robert stepped out of his office. She looked lovely in a pretty blue dress, her hair down in glossy ripples the color of midnight. As Robert approached, he thought he noticed she looked a touch paler than usual, and maybe a little thin. He figured she was working too hard, but he kept his opinion to himself while Mack greeted her.
“You look pretty as a picture, darlin’,” Mack told her sincerely as he hugged her.
“Thanks, Mack,” she answered. “You keeping Dad on the straight and narrow?” she asked with a little smile.
“Don’t get him all up about it, but Rob wouldn’t know what to do without me,” he replied blithely before slapping a broad hand on Travis’s shoulder. “We’ll both leave you to lunch. See you soon, Sammy.”
“You too, Mack.” Sam smiled. “Nice talking to you, Trav.”
“I’ll give you a call later?” Travis asked over his shoulder as he and Mack moved off toward their offices.
“Sure,” she said before turning toward Robert. “Hey, Daddy,” she said as she leaned in to kiss his cheek, just like she had when she was little.
“Hey, Sammy girl.” Robert offered his arm. “It’s good to see you back in the office.”
Sam shrugged a little. “Hard to find the time, between A&M and the ranch. You got lunch ready?”
“Upstairs,” Robert replied, pressing the button for his private elevator. The penthouse of Wyatt Towers served as his private residence as well as an entertainment area he used for the occasional business luncheon or cocktail party. Sam and Ry had their own rooms, though they were rarely occupied. Ry preferred staying at the ranch with Carey, running around and causing trouble, and Sam—well, he’d always hoped she’d spend more time there, but time would tell.
They stepped off the elevator into the spacious travertine foyer featuring a stunning floor-to-ceiling view of the city. Robert led her through the open space, a combination of architectural austerity and masculine comfort—his haven away from home, the place he’d lived in solitude for years after losing Samantha’s mother. They passed over finely woven Persian carpets collected on trips to the Middle East, densely packed bookshelves holding volumes purchased in shops from Scotland to Hokkaido and back again. The skylights illuminated various Cherokee artifacts and commissioned works of art.
“I thought we’d eat on the balcony,” Robert said as he led her toward the patio overlooking the city.
Samantha smiled. “Fall finally cooled Houston off enough to get away with that,” she agreed. “Might as well enjoy it.”
The chef had prepared a feast for the senses: delicate spinach, lightly sautéed with lemon and mizuna paired with succulent ten-ounce Wyatt Ranch Limousin ribeyes, and accompanied by Hannah’s homegrown red potatoes and rosemary that were sent up special with Robert when he’d returned to work earlier in the week.
“This is amazing,” Sam told the chef, making him beam with obvious pleasure. “You’ve really outdone yourself, Felix.”
“Hannah sends her love,” the chef told her before disappearing into the attached kitchen.
“I would have been happy with tacos,” she admitted as Robert seated her.
“Not every day I get to have lunch with my girl.”
“That’s true,” she agreed, unfolding her napkin. “It’s actually one of the reasons why I wanted to see you, Dad.”
Robert took a sip of water, waiting.
Her hands fluttered for a second before settling on her lap. He watched Sam take a little breath, like she was nervous, before meeting him square in the eye.
“I’ve been thinking a lot the past couple weeks—about our relationship,” Sam told him, her gaze direct and clear, and maybe a little sad. “I know we haven’t been close in a long time, and there are a lot of reasons for that, but the truth is, I felt like I lost both my parents when Mom died.”
Robert’s hand tightened imperceptibly on his water glass. It pained him to hear the truth, but she was right. She had lost him for a while. He hadn’t been much of a father to her. Not for many years.
“I worked really hard to keep a distance after that, and I came to resent you for it,” she continued, looking out into the expanse, her eyes tracking the horizon as the late fall breeze lifted her hair. She looked so much like her mother, it nearly took his breath away. “I’ve been thinking a great deal about what kind of person I want to be, and the truth is, I don’t want to be angry with you.” She met his eyes again. “And I definitely don’t want Ry to see us at odds all the time—the way we are now.”
It seemed to Robert that the tourniquet he held closely around his emotions loosened at her words. He’d never been a sentimental man, and was certainly not
given to expressions of emotion, but his heart flooded with warmth to hear her words of conciliation. Robert had been butting up against a wall with her for the past couple years, and maybe she was right to have erected it in the first place, but now that she was finally taking down some of her defenses, maybe even forgiving him a little… he felt happier than he had in a long time. Robert reached across the table, clasping his daughter’s hand.
“You know there’s nothing more important to me than you and your brother, right? I know I don’t always say it the way it needs to be told, but I love you, Sammy. More than I can ever tell you.” He squeezed her fingers when he saw her eyes well. Sam looked up at the sky, quick to hide her feelings—a trait she’d inherited from him, for better or for worse. She nodded quickly, pulling her hand back before picking up her knife and fork and cutting into her steak.
“I’ve made another decision I wanted to tell you about,” she transitioned smoothly, back to business.
Robert waited.
“I’ve decided to double major in linguistics and behavioral psychology,” she said, surprising him.
“No chance of changing that to petrochemical engineering?” he asked, only half-teasing.
“Not a snowball’s chance in hell,” Sam answered frankly, though she flashed a good-natured grin.
“What are you planning to do with it?” Robert asked as he sliced into his ribeye, curious.
“I was thinking of military intelligence to start,” she replied. “It’s one of the reasons I’m here, actually.”
Robert lifted a brow in question.
“I have an appointment with a captain at the Kennedy Center here in Houston. It’s part of the Naval Intelligence Office.”
Robert couldn’t have been more surprised if she’d told him she was quitting college to become an acrobat, but he didn’t show it. “No kidding?”
Sam bit into her steak, sighing with pleasure before she continued. “I think with my propensity for languages and my interest in psychology, I could be a good interrogator one day, or at least very useful in military intelligence. I’m not a hundred percent certain, but I’m doing my due diligence now. Figured it’s time.”
Well, hot damn. An interrogator. That suited Sammy. He liked it.
“What about the Rangers?” Robert asked idly, taking a sip of his iced tea.
His daughter shrugged lightly. “I’m still going out for the competition next year, but something else has happened.”
Robert lifted his brows. “Like what?”
“I realized the biggest reason I wanted to go after the Army Rangers was to piss you off, and if I want to be in the special forces by the time I graduate, I can always try for the Navy SEALs or Marine Corps Special Ops,” Sam admitted, though her expression looked a little ornery. “Either way, I could beat the pants off of your military record in my own way.”
“That you could, Sammy girl.” Robert felt a big grin stretch his face as he laughed outright. “That you could.”
Sam’s expression grew somber. She set down her cutlery and looked at him with a look of gravitas she’d had since she was little. “I want to bury the hatchet, Dad. I know it’ll take time, and I know you and I won’t always see eye to eye, but I want you to know I’m proud of being a Wyatt. I’m proud to be your daughter, even though you’ve done a bunch of wily b.s. like keeping tabs on me in school and paying off Sasser to do God only knows what. But now I need you to trust me to make my own decisions and to make the right ones, Dad.”
Surprise reverberated through Robert, though he didn’t show it. He briefly considered denying it, but his daughter was too damn smart to buy it, and she expected him to backpedal, if that knowing little smirk of hers was any indication.
“How did you know?” he asked instead.
Sam shot him a sidelong glance as she sipped her water. “I’m your daughter, Daddy. It’s exactly what I’d have done if it was Ryland.” She tapped her temple. “Great minds think alike…” She sliced into her steak. “Besides which, honest-to-God SEALs showing up to an ROTC program in Texas just out of the blue? Sasser’s got pull, but he’s an infantryman through and through. You overplayed your hand on that one,” she commented. “Had you written all over it.”
“Well, shoot.” Robert grinned. “And here I thought you’d never be the wiser.”
“I know you’re just trying to take care of me, and I guess part of me is grateful for that. But you taught me to stand on my own two feet.” Sam leaned forward, expression serious. “So don’t you think it’s about time you let me?”
Robert sat back, pride in his daughter warring with his desire to protect her from anything and everything that might ever harm her. But Sammy was right. It was time he let go of the reins a little; it was time to see what she could do.
“You’ll always be my little girl,” he reminded her. “That never changes.”
“Maybe, but you taught your little girl to skin her own buffalo,” she replied. “So I figure it’s best you leave me to it.”
Well, damn. She reminded him so much of himself at her age.
Robert raised his glass in a toast. Sam lifted hers as well. “To your success,” he murmured.
Sam smiled as they clinked glasses. “To our success.”
Chapter 39
October—Thursday Night
Bar Illegal, Austin, Texas
W E S L E Y
Wes walked into Bar Illegal, one of his and Ryke’s favorite hangouts in Austin. It looked like a storage unit inside the grounds of its better-known big brother, Clive Bar, just off the raucous commotion of Rainey Street’s bar district. But the Bar Illegal only served small-batch mezcal from Oaxaca, a guaranteed cure to what ailed you—or a great way to get yourself some serious ailments the following morning, depending on which way the scales tipped over the course of the evening. After a long day in The Statesman office reworking the articles with Mr. Riley and meeting the newspaper’s team of journalists and staff photographers, Wes wasn’t entirely sure which way he’d land. He figured he’d start drinking to celebrate, then see where that led him.
Wes took a seat near the bar, holding his fingers up to the bartender for two shot glasses. His gaze snagged on a couple of pretty, heavily-made-up girls sitting across the room. One of them had a tramp stamp on the strip of tanned skin between her top and her jean skirt. The other had dark hair and clear, dark eyes. Like Sammy. Or maybe close enough after enough agave. He nodded toward them and asked the bartender to send them a round after ordering a bottle.
Wes was already a couple shots in by the time Ryke arrived.
“We celebrating?” Ryke asked as he slapped Wes on the shoulder.
“You’re looking at the newest member of The Statesman’s photojournalism department,” Wes told him with a brief smile. “And soon to be published in a national paper, thank you very much.”
Ryke’s brows shot up as a broad grin spread across his face. “In that case—you’re buying.”
Wes laughed softly, pouring Ryke a shot. They clinked glasses and took the shots with quick grimaces before Wes poured them another round.
“We looking to get lit up tonight?” Ryke asked as he swallowed the second shot.
“Don’t know about you.” Wes licked his lips, wondering when the numbness would set in. “But I am.”
“You don’t have work in the morning?”
“Finished it up today. That’s why I’m in town,” Wes replied, shooting the mezcal before Ryke got to his. “The first of the articles come out Sunday, but I don’t formally start until next week.”
Ryke drank down his shot, eyes on Wes. He flipped his shot glass over before Wes could pour him another.
“With all this good news, why do you look like a guy who’s drinking to forget something, Wes?” Ryke asked casually though his gaze, a little too intuitive for comfort.
“Who says I got anything to forget?” Wes replied blithely, pouring another shot.
“I do,” Ryke answered. “I’ve known y
ou since we were kids, man. You think I can’t tell when you’re looking to bury your head in the sand? What comes next?” He looked around. His eyes fixed onto the two girls Wes had spotted earlier. “Ah—your other favorite painkiller.” Ryke smiled grimly. “This mean the love’s all gone with Samantha?”
A cuff of laughter escaped him as Wes took his sixth shot. He was finally starting to feel warm now. That luscious beginning to the descent. He hadn’t let himself get hammered since it happened. And tonight seemed as good as any. His work was done for the next few days anyway, and he was finally on a much-deserved break. Wes had nothing to look forward to but that long stretch of oblivion, and if he was very lucky, a long weekend ménage à trois with a Sam look-alike and her sultry sidekick.
“What happened?” Ryke asked, leaning on the table.
“Came to my senses is all.”
“No shit?” Ryke said with a knowing smirk. “That why you trying to drown what’s left of them in firewater?”
“Are we celebrating or doing therapy?” Wes retorted, knocking back his mezcal. The warmth was really starting to spread. He felt loose-limbed and the hazy glow of a profound buzz coming on. Besides being told the good news about the internship—it was the best he’d been feeling in days. Even if it was artificial.
Truth was, he missed Sammy something awful. He wanted to tell her about everything. But he was trying to give her some space when all he wanted to do was celebrate the win with her.
Wes glanced at the girls again, their appeal ironically diminishing as he started to feel the liquor working through his system—like the opposite of beer goggles. Push came to shove, he didn’t want to get drunk and hook up with girls he wouldn’t remember the next day. He wanted Sam. He wanted to make love to her, tell her all his secrets, and listen to all of hers.
Christ, what was he doing? He looked down at the glass in his hand, pensive.
“Wes, I don’t know what’s going on with you, and God knows you don’t have to tell me, but before you black out from all those shots, and I have to carry your drunk ass home, I’d just like to know a little about what I’m dealing with here,” Ryke said, his brow raised in question. “Last time we talked, it was all coming up roses, and now you’re talking shit about coming to your senses when it seems like you’re doing the exact opposite—”
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