A Little Town in Texas

by Bethany Campbell

  “But all that land—who’ll give you what you’ve got in it?”

  “I don’t care. If the Three Amigos corporation still wants it, they can damn well have it. Tell Cal McKinney to call me in an hour. Before I change my mind.”

  “He’s out rescuing people from your flood.”

  “So make it two hours. I don’t feel like being patient with this guy. As for you, rest up and be back in New York in two days. I have widows and orphans for you to evict.”

  Mel managed another crooked smile. That was Fabianese for a tricky, top-dollar deal.

  “As for your dear old gray-haired mother,” Fabian said with mock despair, “she says I have to change my ways. She’s had a divine revelation. Bah, humbug, and so forth. Fat chance, as you know.”

  Mel wasn’t so sure. “Can I talk to her?”

  “For just a minute. She’s still—how shall I say it?—volatile. She didn’t sleep at all last night. I’ll take the phone to her.”

  Mel listened to the other man swear and grumble as he moved through Minnie’s apartment. Then he heard Fabian say, “Here he is. Minnie, it’s your boy.”

  “Hi, Ma,” Mel said, trying to sound healthy and unscathed.

  “Melburn,” his mother said. “I’m so happy you’re alive that I could just kill you.” Then she began to cry.

  “I’m fine, Ma. Everything’s fine.” Mel must have told her this a dozen times. It didn’t help. At last Fabian took the phone from her. “Jack’s going to give her a pill and put her to bed. Do me a huge favor. Get back here and prove to her that you’re alive. You are coming back—aren’t you? Or are you going to jump ship like your brother, whom I, of course, have been forced to forgive completely.”

  Mel thought. He thought of Fabian’s many failings. He thought also of his loneliness and strange kindness. He thought of himself and Nick and Jack and especially Minnie. He thought of Kitt. And her story. That story could end things between him and Fabian. Maybe it should. And yet…

  “Coming back? I don’t know yet,” he said.

  As Mel hung up, he didn’t know what his relationship to Fabian might become. He was a different man than he was yesterday.

  He looked from Nick to Shelby to Kitt. “Fabian’s selling the land. Even if it’s at a loss. He’ll let Three Amigos buy it if they still want it. Bluebonnet Meadows is over. It’s history.”

  Nick gave a cynical shrug. “That doesn’t mean things around here go back to normal. Far from it.”

  “I know,” Mel said, looking at Kitt.

  Nick eyed his brother suspiciously. “Are you going to stay with Fabian? He wants you to.”

  Mel saw the question repeated in Kitt’s blue gaze. “I can’t say yet,” he answered. “It depends.”

  Nick nodded toward Kitt. “What about her story?”

  Mel said to her, “That’s partly what it depends on.”

  He realized that in the cave, he had told her everything. Including too many truths about Fabian. She stared at him as if for the first time, she realized it, too. Her eyes were wide and wary. If she wrote what she knew, he would never work for Fabian again. It had been Mel’s job to keep secrets. But hers was to discover and reveal them.

  He moved to her, touched the bandage on her forehead. “Let’s not talk about that now. It’s too soon. Get some rest.”

  He heard the women coming back to the house. He bent and kissed Kitt lightly on the mouth. It made his lip sting. He didn’t mind.

  “Oh,” Cynthia cried delightedly when she saw him, “you’re here. Let’s get some breakfast into you. It’s Lettie Mae’s day off, but—”

  “—that’s all right, because I know how to cook,” laughed Nora.

  “—and I know how to wash dishes,” Serena said.

  “I’ll make a fresh pot of coffee,” offered Lynn.

  Shelby squared her shoulders and addressed the other women. “Brian Fabian just phoned. He’s pulling out of Bluebonnet Meadows. He’ll sell to Three Amigos.”

  “Good Lord,” Serena breathed. “They won’t have to go through a legal battle. They just might pull this off…”

  Cynthia looked stunned, but Lynn grinned happily. “Then it’s over, isn’t it? Everything will go back like it was. All the troubles are solved.”

  Cynthia nodded uncertainly, and Serena gave a relieved smile. Nick had gone stone-faced again. And Kitt, still clutching the back of the chair, seemed torn.

  Things wouldn’t go back like they were, Mel knew. All the troubles weren’t solved. There were choices to be made. Hundreds.

  Of all of those decisions, Kitt’s would be one of the hardest. Hardest because it involved far more than money. It involved honor, ambition, loyalty—and love.

  NORA MOVED KITT into her tiny guest room. She propped her up in bed and made her drink a hot toddy. It was fragrant with lemon and spices, and potent with Ken’s best whiskey.

  The toddy made Kitt’s muscles feel warm and liquid; it quieted the ache in her bones. It also loosened her tongue. She told Nora about Hometown Restaurants and Mel Belyle. She said, “It’s something he wanted to do, Nora. Let him do it.”

  “The Longhorn was Dottie’s,” Nora said stubbornly. “She wanted me to have it.”

  Kitt said, “She’d want you to be happy. You know that. To go back and follow your dream.”

  “What on earth would Mel Belyle do with a small-town restaurant?” Nora demanded.

  “To him it’s an investment, that’s all. This Hometown Restaurant—thing—will run it for him. He doesn’t want to change it, if that’s what bothers you.”

  Nora put one hand on her hip. “Look, don’t worry about me—all right? Worry about yourself. Something’s happened between you and Mel. I can tell. What are you going to do about it?”

  “Don’t change the subject. What are you going to do with the Longhorn? Keep it until you die? Then leave it to Rory and tell him that he has to keep it until he dies? It’s a legacy, a destiny—and an albatross around your neck?”

  For the first time, Nora looked uncomfortable. “Of course, I don’t expect Rory to take it over. He’s got other things to do with his life.”

  “So do you,” Kitt said, pressing on. “Face it, Nora. That restaurant has pulled you through some tough times, but you don’t have to keep it forever. Let go of it while you’ve got the chance.”

  “I’m not listening to you, so just be quiet,” Nora ordered. “You’re half out of your head with exhaustion. Drink that toddy down. Get some sleep.”

  Kitt sighed and took another drink. Her eyelids were growing deliciously heavy. So she yawned, which wasn’t difficult and wasn’t faked.

  Nora shook her head and took the mug away. She pulled the soft blanket up to Kitt’s chin. “Sweet dreams, toughie,” she said.

  KITT SLEPT for eight hours straight. Nightmares crowded in on her. She dreamt of flood waters lunging after her to drown her, of landslides thundering down to crush her. The cave groaned and rumbled, growing smaller and darker and pressing in on her.

  Then, magically in these dreams Mel suddenly would be there. When he was, she felt euphoric—and almost safe. Yet not quite safe. To her dismay, Mel would vanish as inexplicably as he appeared, leaving her alone in the shadows and showers of falling stone.

  She dreamed that the cave sighed monstrously. A wall shuddered and cracked. From deep inside this fissure, she heard a strange voice calling her name. She looked about in fear, praying for Mel to return.

  He did not. The stones whined, inching closer to her. The crack in the rock wall widened. It became a jagged black door. From deep beyond it, she again heard her name being called, as if she was being beckoned into the dark center of the mountain.

  Come, said the voice. There’s treasure here. For you. For you alone. You alone. Alone.

  Somehow she knew if she went through that door, the blackness would claim her, and she would never return. Yet she took a step toward it. And then she took another.

  Kitt cried out, waking herself. She sh
ot bolt-upright in bed. Her heart thudding, she stared wildly about Nora’s guest room. She didn’t need a psychiatrist to tell her what the dream meant. She pushed a hand through her tumbled hair and thought, “I need to talk to Cronin. Right now.”

  THE MCKINNEYS’ RANCH HOUSE had an immense stone patio. It was surrounded by autumnal flowers, mums and Jerusalem cherries, asters and tuberoses. At the far end was a pool, its blue shimmering iridescently from its underwater lights. Artificial torches sent bright flames flaring up against the night sky.

  The sky was cloudy, but a few stars peeped out like faint promises. It was almost midnight, but Mel had left word with Nora for Kitt to phone him at any hour. He would meet her at the patio if she felt well enough. He was staying at the McKinneys’ guest house for the night.

  Now Kitt waited on an ornamental stone bench beneath the torches. She was self-conscious in Nora’s lavender peignoir set. They were the only clothes Nora would loan her.

  “You’re not going out there in Cynthia’s bathrobe,” Nora had lectured her. “You have to roll up the sleeves three times, and it drags on the ground. You look like a cartoon character.”

  Nora was not as petite as Kitt, and she said the set was a gift, years ago, from Dottie right before she died. Though it was too small, Nora had never had the heart to exchange it; this was the first time it would ever be worn.

  The negligee was simply cut, a layer of something sheer over a layer of something silky. The peignoir matched, but was more flowing, with three-quarter length sleeves. It was open and ornamented only by a lace border up each side and around the low-cut neckline.

  Kitt had taken one look in the mirror and swallowed. This was not her style. She heartily wished she could put on her vest over it.

  “Oh, wear it,” Nora had teased. “Dottie always liked you. She’d want you to.”

  “It’s too—too seductive,” Kitt had objected.

  Nora had only laughed. “At this point? I don’t think so.”

  Does it really show that much? Kitt wondered. That he and I made love? It must. It must show like crazy.

  Now a breeze played with the gossamer fabric of her sleeves and addled her with the intoxicating scent of tuberoses. Along the gravel path that led to the outer gate of the patio, she heard a man’s sure step.

  Mel entered the gate between the pillars with their rearing stone mustangs. Light from the torches flickered on his tall figure. He still wore the boots, jeans, and yellow shirt. The narrow bandage that curved across half his face was tinted gold in the fire’s glow.

  He came to the bench and stared down at her. “I—never saw you look like this,” he said, his voice tight.

  She shrugged sheepishly. “I don’t usually go around looking like this. It doesn’t feel natural.”

  “You look beautiful,” he said. “Can I join you?”

  She gave a laughing sigh. “You shouldn’t have to ask permission after all we went through.”

  “I’m struggling to be a gentleman.”

  “I guess I’m struggling to be a lady,” she said. “It’s new to me. And not easy.”

  “You look the part,” he said. He put one booted foot on the stone bench, crossed his arms over his knee and smiled down at her.

  She couldn’t bring herself to smile back. She stared off at the gem-blue of the pool. “I talked to Heywood Cronin,” she said. “Just before I called you. I had to talk to him. About the story.”

  She didn’t have to see him to know that his body tensed. “So soon?” His tone was careful. “I thought you might want to think it over for a while.”

  She shook her head. “You want to stay with Fabian, don’t you?”

  The breeze fluttered her sleeves, stirred the perfumed air, made the flames dance in the torches. He said, “If it’s over, it’s over. I told you things about Fabian, things I’d sworn never to tell. I told you of my free will. What you do with that information is your choice.”

  She kept staring at the glittering blue. “That doesn’t answer the question. Do you want to keep working for him?”

  He was silent a moment. “I’d like to try it for a while. If he wants me. If he doesn’t, that’s that. But my family owes him. I owe him. He needs my mother. In a strange way, he needs me.”

  “Nick quit,” she said, still not looking at him.

  “I’m not Nick,” he said quietly. “I know Fabian can be a bastard. But I also know, better than most, where he’s coming from.”

  She let her gaze drift to her hands, which were scratched and bruised, the nails broken. How she had struggled last night to survive. And so had Mel—to save them both. He’d carried her when she’d fallen. During the cave-in, he’d shielded her body with his.

  He said, “Fabian’s not always a good human, but he’s human. Even arrogant bastards need friends. I ought to know.”

  She swallowed. The truth about Fabian’s past was a good story. It would make her career. It would destroy Mel’s—at least with Fabian.

  He leaned nearer to her, but he didn’t try to touch her. “I mean it,” he said. “I told the facts to you willingly. I knew you’re a reporter. Use what I said as you like. It’s your choice.”

  She took a deep breath and looked him in the eyes. “My choice is not to write it. I don’t want to write the article at all.”

  “It’s the chance of a lifetime for you,” he said.

  “There’ll be other chances,” she said. “What you told me last night was—personal. You weren’t being a lawyer. And I wasn’t being a reporter. We were being…” Ourselves, she thought, but didn’t say. For once we were being ourselves. She only made a helpless gesture.

  “Kitt, if you’re doing this for me, know I can get another job. A good one. Easily.”

  “I’m doing it for me,” she said with feeling. “I can’t write this story. I’m in the middle of it. I can’t be objective. I don’t want to tell truths that can hurt people. Even people like Brian Fabian. But especially not you. No. Especially you.”

  Mel bent nearer. “Is that what you told Cronin?”

  “I told him the truth. I never should have accepted the assignment. This place has too much of a hold on me. I just didn’t know it. I wouldn’t admit it. Maybe I couldn’t.”

  She had confessed to Cronin the truth about her stepfather. She’d told him that the McKinney family had helped her escape the danger, to pursue her dreams. She’d even told him that she’d had an intense and embarrassing crush on Cal McKinney, and if this was known it would be an embarrassment to both her and the magazine. She’d come to Crystal Creek filled with bad memories, unresolved conflicts, secrets she’d wanted kept at all costs.

  How could she, of all people, write about this place?

  “At first,” she said, bitter at her own foolishness, “I was almost glad to see this town in trouble—because I’d been hurt here. I was wrong to feel that way. And then…”

  “And then?” he asked.

  “And then I fell in love with you,” she said. “And I don’t want to write a story that hurts the town and people that I love.”

  Tears rose in her eyes, and she blinked them back fiercely. “I don’t want to hate this town any longer. And I don’t want to write about it. Its story is already written on my heart. On my mind. And it’s being rewritten even now, here with you.”

  “Kitt,” he said, taking her hand, “I mean it. Don’t do it for me—”

  “No,” she said. “I told Mr. Cronin I don’t want to try to explain Crystal Creek to the world. I’m just starting to explain it to myself.”

  “Was he angry?”

  “No. He said it was good I told him. And now—now the story’s changed so much, he’s not sure it’s right for Exclusive.”

  “You’re not fired?”

  “No. He thanked me for my frankness. I’ll be fine.”

  “And if I go back to work for Fabian? For a while?”

  “I hope you can at least reform him,” she said. “A little bit.”

  She
said it with so much of her old spirit that he laughed. He took her face between his hands. “One thing at a time, babe. I’m still reforming myself. How about some motivation?”

  He kissed her.

  It was a rather sideways kiss because of the bandage, but Kitt didn’t mind. She put her arms around his neck and drew him down beside her. She lost herself in the balmy night, the bewitching perfume of the roses, and most of all, in loving him.

  J.T. AWOKE to the night’s silence. He thought about this long day. He’d taken the ’copter up—for the last time probably. But he and Cal and Nick Belyle had saved two people. It was a good day’s work, and the way to walk away from the chopper—triumphant.

  The flood wasn’t as bad as it might have been, and it seemed his prodigal son would be coming home at last. Not immediately, and by taking some hellacious gambles, but he was coming home. Maybe the Double C was going to stay in the McKinney family another generation or two, after all.

  Cynthia had scolded him for taking chances with the helicopter—and he’d taken far more than she’d realized. But she’d also looked at him with unfeigned admiration and even called him a hero.

  He’d been thinking over something all evening, but he hadn’t been ready to speak out about it yet. Now, suddenly, he wanted to talk. He rose on his elbow and shook Cynthia’s shoulder gently.

  “Mmm?” she said sleepily. “What is it? Is it raining again?”

  “No,” he said in her ear. “You know what Cal said about coming back?”

  Cynthia stirred and nuzzled his shoulder. This excited J.T. She smelled like the roses in her garden, and her hair was like silk against his bare skin.

  She said, “Darling, he thinks he can’t get everything ironed out to get here for at least a year. But I know you’ll be glad to have him back.”

  J.T. kissed her throat, a light but lingering kiss. “So for that year, how would you like to take a trip? Like you used to talk about. Paris? Rome? Athens? London?”

  Cynthia sat upright. “J.T., is that you? Has somebody else crept into this bed?”

  “I mean it,” he said. “I could hire my cousin to come manage the ranch for a year. He’s tired of Idaho. He wants to come back to Texas. I think he’d do it. I’m going to offer it to him.”