by Jodi Thomas
He held the door open for her as she lifted her jacket and purse from the hook beside her desk. “I’ll have you back by then, Professor,” he said with almost a bow.
They walked down the hall without a word. His height made her feel small and the way he opened the doors for her surprised her. In today’s world with men worrying about always treating women as equals, it was rare to find a man who showed such simple politeness.
He opened the passenger door of his truck and held her arm as she stepped into the cab. Sidney had seen a great many pickups, but none like this. The seats were leather, the floorboard muddy, and the back bench seat covered in rolled-up tubes that looked as if they could be maps. A small laptop rested between them, along with folders and notepads stuffed into what had to be a tailor-made traveling desk between the seats. She didn’t miss the fact that one tablet was yellow, just like the note she’d seen earlier that ordered her to let the house fall.
He slid his Stetson into a hat rack behind his head that already held a hard hat and two baseball caps. “The truck stop out by the interstate all right?” he asked. “I hear their Mexican food is good.”
“Fine.” She’d lived here a year and never gone there. Once in a while, when she forgot her lunch, she’d eat at the snack bar next to the bookstore. When she didn’t feel like cooking she’d stop by the grocery and buy one of the box meals, or spoon up a salad from what the grocer called a salad bar, even though it looked more like a salad barrel.
“I’m surprised you don’t have a stove and refrigerator in this thing.”
He glanced at her a moment as if trying to figure out if she was kidding. “I pretty much live in my truck. It’s part of the job. I do have a cooler in the back under the seat, but there’s nothing but beer. With some folks, when you’re talking oil, you’re drinking. My father used to roughneck when he was young. He said since coats could be dangerous around a rig, the colder it got, the more they drank in the early days.”
Sidney nodded as though what he said sounded logical.
For a man who insisted on a meeting, Sloan didn’t have much to say. He backed out of the loading-zone slot and turned toward the interstate. She watched him out of the corner of her eye. Every movement he made appeared easy and relaxed, but he was nervous. His hand, too tight on the wheel, gave him away. He must be about forty, a man in his prime. A man strong enough to throw a drill bit into a window.
“I’ve been here almost a week,” he said without looking at her. “I feel like I’ve eaten at every place in town twice, but the truck stop was too packed the first time I drove out there.”
She looked again, but saw no deceit in his manner. His direct way of glancing at her told her he was either an honest man, or a man very good at lying.
“It’s a popular place.” Sidney frowned, hoping she followed the conversation. She had no idea what she was talking about, but she had to say something. “I like to cook; however, I’ve never quite gotten the hang of Mexican food.”
He spread his hand out along the back of the seat, almost touching her shoulder. Was he relaxing or trying to look as if he were? “I grew up cooking it. My mom had a housekeeper who could make the best enchiladas in town. By the time I was eight I was helping her.”
“Really?” She found it hard to see him as a boy or a cook. He looked like a businessman, but looks could fool people. She couldn’t forget the fact that he was in the oil business and it had been a drilling bit that flew through the window.
He turned in her direction and smiled. “If I had a kitchen, I’d cook you the best chili rellenos you’ve ever tasted.”
“Since I’ve never had chili rellenos, that wouldn’t be hard.”
He raised one dark eyebrow as if he didn’t believe her.
“I promise. My mother’s idea of Mexican-food night was a TV dinner.”
Sloan laughed and turned into the truck stop. When he cut the engine, he said, “Wait for me to get the door, Sidney. This wind has a hell of a way of ripping it right out of your hand.”
She waited as he shoved on his hat and rounded the cab. He’d called her Sidney, this man she hardly knew. Somehow it sounded natural. Despite trying to remain distant, she found herself liking Sloan McCormick.
When she stepped down, the wind almost whirled her around. Out in the open land like this nothing slowed the wind as it blew sandy dirt so hard she felt the sting on her skin.
Sloan put his arm over her shoulder and guided her toward the café side of the truck stop while Sidney tried to hold both her hair and skirt in place.
They stepped out of the wind into a tiny waiting area. Sloan turned to put his hat on a rack with several others. Sidney looked around. The place had been busy, most of the tables were dirty, but the lunch run must be over.
“Welcome,” a girl behind a counter said. “Two for lunch?”
Sloan glanced at Sidney. “Yes. Nonsmoking?”
She nodded slightly.
They followed the girl to one of the few clean tables. She handed them menus and disappeared.
“How’d you know I didn’t smoke?”
He smiled. “You don’t look like a woman who smokes. No ashtrays in your office. No smell of stale tobacco hanging around. It was an easy guess.”
She made a mental note. Sloan McCormick was a man of details. Sidney thought of asking him about the reason he wanted the meeting, but she found herself enjoying this time before they had to get down to the reason he’d come to see her. For a few minutes, she felt like they were almost on a date. Almost friends.
If someone she knew from the college walked by, she’d introduce him as a friend. Let them think what they wanted to. She felt reckless today.
“What do you think is good here?” The menu made little sense to her. Each dinner was a mixture of words she’d heard, but had no idea if she liked, and items she couldn’t pronounce.
He lowered his menu. “I’m sorry. You really don’t eat Mexican food, do you? We should have gone somewhere else.”
He did it again, reading her too easily. “No, it’s not that. I’m just not familiar with all the lunch specials.”
She straightened, expecting McCormick to say something about how she must be one of those people who never liked to try anything new. The one man she’d dated seriously ten years ago had constantly teased her about not having an ounce of adventure in her soul. But, if he’d stayed around, she could have fooled him. She’d packed up everything she owned and moved to Clifton Creek because of a note on a recipe card.
“If you’d allow me, Professor, I’d be happy to order for you. Nothing too hot or spicy, of course.”
She nodded.
When the waitress returned, Sloan told her what they both wanted, adding sopaipillas with the meals and queso for an appetizer.
“With or without onions on the lady’s?” the waitress asked.
“Without,” Sloan said not even looking at Sidney.
“And to drink?”
He hesitated.
“Tea,” she answered, surprised he didn’t know that about her, too. “With extra lemon, please.”
As the waitress left, Sloan smiled. “If it were evening and you didn’t have a meeting, I’d teach you to drink tequila with salt and lime.”
“Why do you think I don’t already know how?”
His eyebrows shot up and she knew she’d surprised him. “I don’t,” she admitted slowly.
Sidney unfolded her napkin and wiped her silverware with it.
“You don’t?” he asked.
“I don’t,” she admitted.
The waitress brought the con queso and chips. When she was out of hearing distance, Sloan leaned across the table and whispered, “Professor Dickerson, you are a fascinating woman.”
Sidney felt herself blush, something she hadn’t done in years. She knew he probably only put on an act because he wanted something from her and the committee, but she couldn’t help being flattered. It took a few minutes for reason to win out. “I don’t b
elieve we’re here to talk about me, Mr. McCormick. You said you had information about the Altman house.”
He straightened, but his eyes still studied her. “I’ve been digging up all I could and I thought something I found might help the committee.” He pulled a folded paper from his jacket pocket. “But, first I should tell you that my company is willing to make a fair offer for the land the house sets on.”
“You want the drilling rights?”
“More, I’m afraid. You see, the house sets on the crest of the property. Finding oil is a long shot in an area that’s virgin. The test hole would need to be drilled on the most likely spot.”
“And that spot is where the Altman house sets.” She stiffened.
Sloan nodded slowly. “My company’s not heartless, Sidney, but we’re not foolish either. It’ll cost thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands to drill. We can’t afford to take less than our best shot at finding the oil beneath.”
“I understand,” she whispered, suddenly not the least bit hungry.
“No, you don’t,” he answered. He unfolded the paper. “I think before you make up your mind about me, or the Altman place, you should have all the facts.”
“You mean the committee should have the facts?”
“No, you.” He looked down at the paper. “I dig through the records of every public file I can. Two days ago I found something that might surprise you. I’ve got copies of all the documents, but I just brought one page in with me.” He passed the paper toward her. “According to Rosa Lee’s will, the house only went to the city if it was not claimed within a year by Minnie Jefferson of Chicago, Illinois.”
Sidney felt the blood draining from her face. “Minnie Jefferson was my grandmother,” she whispered.
“I know.” Sloan looked down at the paper. “I looked up her name on the Internet. She died in an accident on her way here, didn’t she?”
Sidney fought back tears. “My mother was with her. I didn’t know where they were heading. I was teaching in a junior college north of Chicago and must have been in class when they left a message on my home phone saying they were off on a little trip. I thought it strange because my mother rarely left the city.
“The next time the phone rang, it was the state police saying they were killed in a pileup a hundred miles south of their home.” She closed her eyes and tried to remember every detail of a day she’d often wished she could forget. “They were headed south, so this could have been their destination. My mother’s last words were that she’d call me before dark and let me know where they were spending the night. So, they must have known the trip they were taking would be more than a one-day drive.”
“She didn’t drive at night.” Sloan filled in the blank.
“None of us did,” she whispered, fighting tears. “I still can’t. When I teach a night class I always walk home even if the faculty parking lot is right by my classroom. I’d rather face the cold than chance not seeing one of the students out walking at night.”
She stared at the paper in his folder. “This brings up a hundred questions.”
“I’ve only a few answers,” he whispered. “But, I’m willing to help.”
The waitress circled by and Sloan asked for their orders to go. They sat in silence until she came back with the bags. Sloan walked beside her to his truck, but didn’t close the door when she got in. He stood next to her, the meals in one hand and his arm on the frame of her door.
“I shouldn’t have told you like that.” He reached in awkwardly and took her hand. The bag bumped against her knee. “I’m sorry.”
Sidney managed to smile more at herself than him. How could she have been so foolish to even allow a tiny part of her mind think he’d asked her on a date? She should have known better. “It’s all right. Thank you for being honest with me. Not that it will matter, since my grandmother never claimed the house I don’t have any more say than anyone else on the committee.”
“Yeah,” he mumbled. “But, I shouldn’t have blurted it out like that. I should have started with the little things I learned and not just handed you part of the will.”
Sidney placed her free hand over both theirs. “I thank you. I’ve already mourned my mother’s and grandmother’s deaths. You’ve only given me a piece of the puzzle I couldn’t understand. How about we go back to my office and look over all the papers while we eat our lunch?”
His eyes met hers. “I’d like that. Whether my oil company gets the property or not, I’d like to think that we can be friends.”
Sidney nodded.
An hour later they were both reading through every detail Sloan had managed to dig up on the history of the Altman house. He had found records of the good Henry Altman had done for his community. How he’d donated money to just about every cause to better the community, and how he’d served on early education boards.
Sloan’s work added to Sidney’s research, but still offered little as to why Rosa Lee would have left a house to a woman she could only have met during the Depression. As far as Sidney knew, her grandmother had not been back to Texas since her mother had been born in Chicago.
“If your grandmother was in Clifton Creek, how would she have known Rosa Lee?”
Sidney raised her eyebrows. “Maybe from church? All my life my grandmother Minnie went to church every time the door was open. If she lived here in the Depression, I’m guessing she continued the habit.”
Sloan shook his head. “Could be, but from all I read Rosa Lee never left the place. If she’d been active in a church, looks like it would have shown up in the newspaper at some time.”
Sidney tried again. “Both my mother and grandmother were nurses?”
“Maybe,” he guessed. “If Rosa Lee or her father needed home nursing, your grandmother could have been there. There are folks who feel mighty grateful to caretakers. I’ve worked a few oil rights where someone died and left everything to the nurse or doctor who took care of them during the last few years.”
“I know during the Depression Granny Minnie worked to save enough money to join my grandfather in Chicago. She might have spent her time here as a nurse. I think they were separated for almost a year. She said the hardest part of the Depression was the year she spent away from him. She took the train up to visit him a few times, but I never asked if he came down to see her.”
“Times must have been hard back then,” Sloan agreed. “I think a lot of couples were separated like that. Men could find work in towns but couldn’t afford to bring the family.”
“Once Minnie was in Chicago, it wasn’t long before my mother came along and I don’t think my grandmother ever worked again. When my father died in ’Nam, Grandmother Minnie came to live with us. For as long as I can remember it’s been the three of us.”
Sloan circled to her side of the desk and read the will once more over her shoulder. “Maybe Rosa Lee and Minnie were friends. Maybe the old maid had no one else to leave her house to. Did your grandmother ever mention a friend in Texas?”
Sidney started to shake her head, then whispered, “Only once in a note on the back of a recipe card.”
Sloan’s starched shirt brushed her silk blouse as he straightened and checked his watch. “Looks like we missed lunch.” He glanced at the meals still in the bag. “Cold Mexican food isn’t much good anyway. How about I pick you up after your meeting and we try again? I’ve got some business to take care of, but I should be finished by six.”
Reason told her to decline. Lunch was one thing, dinner another. But, he had been helpful. He’d also been honest about where he stood with the Altman property. He’d told her his company wanted the land, but he hadn’t tried to talk her into anything.
“All right,” she answered. “Only this time I buy.”
He raised an eyebrow as if she were challenging him. “Fair enough,” he said retrieving his coat from the rack. “Should I pick you up here, or at your place?”
She started to tell him that she’d pick him up, but an image of her knocking on
doors at the town’s only motel flashed in her brain. She didn’t like the idea of meeting him at the restaurant, either. What if he was late? She’d be sitting alone like a woman waiting to be picked up. “Here,” she finally said. “I’ll leave my office door unlocked in case the committee meeting runs late.”
“I’ll wait.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Lora Whitman searched her desk for the yellow legal pad where she’d made notes and tried to ignore the loudspeaker calling one of the salesmen to the phone. She didn’t want to be late to the committee meeting, but her summary of what Billy and she had found looked puny.
One sighting of someone with a flashlight in the house, evidence of an attempted fire and a dozen nail holes at the base of the stairs.
Lora frowned. Not exactly a conspiracy. Sidney said to collect all the information they could, but Lora didn’t feel as if she had much.
She could almost see herself sitting on the Rogers porch every night counting cars and writing down license-plate numbers. Maybe they’d make matching militia outfits with crocheted armbands.
As she pulled the legal pad from beneath a stack of papers, a rapid-fire knock sounded on the frame where her door should have been.
“Howdy, honey.” Talon Graham stepped in without an invitation. “Glad to see me?” He looked every inch the young Texas oilman even though she knew he dropped by in his capacity as president of the rodeo association.
Since they’d met earlier in the week, Lora had, at least, done her homework on Talon Graham. He had a degree from the University of Texas, a rich grandfather who lived in the area and a powerful lawyer for a father. He was working for an oil company out of Austin. According to Dora, her father’s secretary, Talon was back in Clifton Creek not just to put together an oil deal, but to start his career in politics.
Lora forced a smile. He was easy on the eyes but, she decided, he was a bother to the brain. She’d seen too many of his type. Men who knew they had it all. Men who got friendly too fast. Men who thought because she had blond hair she must like to be called honey.