Titans

by Leila Meacham

  Samantha looked baffled. “Really? I understood from Nathan that Waverling Tools was interested in only that one area. Did Todd come out here and take other soil samples while Sloan and I were on our honeymoon?”

  The dreaded moment had arrived. Neal steeled himself to meet Samantha’s disapproval, but he was ready with his defense. “After the skullduggery you suspect Todd of?” he exclaimed. “Not on your life! It’s my view the boy’s a reflection of the man he works for, and that makes me trust Trevor Waverling about as far as I could throw one of his rigs.” Neal turned away from Samantha’s astonished stare to select a thinly shaped cigar from a humidor on the mantel. In certain situations, a good panatela served a man better than Jim Beam, and it was too early for his evening bourbon.

  “What skullduggery?” Estelle demanded. “What did Todd do?”

  Sloan spoke up. “Sam suspects Todd destroyed her Kodak that contained pictures of her dinosaur site.”

  “What dinosaur site?” Confusedly, Estelle looked from her husband to her daughter. “What else has been going on out here?”

  While Samantha remained silent, Sloan answered, chronologically filling Estelle in on the series of happenings that had led to the question of Todd’s integrity and the conflict of interests over the site.

  Estelle’s glance lit on Samantha. “And you didn’t think to tell your mother about finding a dinosaur?”

  Samantha answered curtly, “I didn’t find a dinosaur, Mother, only a partial head of what I suspect is one, and I mentioned nothing to you because you don’t like to hear anything having to do with paleontology.”

  Estelle’s flat cheeks darkened guiltily. “So now that your proof of the pudding has mysteriously disappeared, you’ve given your blessing to lease that section of land in return for the sacrifice your father was willing to make for you? Well, I think that’s very noble of you, darling, but it’s also the right thing to do. I mean, after all, to trade the prospect of oil for a burial ground of old bones…”

  Samantha dismissed the view with a tired shake of her head and pointed her gaze at her father. “You’re not leasing the land to Waverling Tools?”

  Neal had found a match and struck it to the tip of the cigar. “No, I plan to lease to the Corsicana Oil Development Company. Those folks have a proven success record and are more experienced in the oil business than Waverling Tools. That’s why I’ve decided to go with them.”

  Anger, dismay, disappointment, and a bitter sense of betrayal washed through Samantha, revolting as bilge water. She’d seen newspaper pictures of the cotton fields laid to waste in Navarro County by the drilling company her father had selected. “Daddy, you’re not being fair,” she said, unable to keep her voice from trembling. “It was Nathan Holloway who has done the title search and Waverling Tools that you originally promised the lease to. Todd’s sins are his own. Mr. Waverling is a good and decent man, and so is his son. They’ll respect our grasslands, and Billie June says that Daniel is working on a device that will prevent oil from spewing out the top of the derrick. It’s a first and only of its kind that the Corsicana company won’t have.”

  Neal removed his cigar, tensing at the familiarity with which Samantha praised Trevor Waverling. Everyone was looking at him. Estelle, clearly bewildered by the discussion, squinted at him in the way she had when she knew he was up to something. Sloan, too, was giving him an odd look. He’d also assumed that the company Todd worked for would be doing the drilling. “How do you know Trevor Waverling?” he asked.

  “I met him at a paleontology lecture in the spring and spent time with him the day I confronted Todd at Waverling Tools. I found him kind and considerate, and my instincts tell me he’s honorable.” Samantha paused. “And regardless of my personal view of Todd, the fact is that he could have gone to work for any number of oil companies up East, but he chose Waverling Tools. That says something about his faith in the company.”

  “That says only that Todd Baker wished to land a job close to home,” Neal countered. He felt he’d taken an unguarded blow behind the knees. In telling him of her suspicions of Todd, his daughter had not mentioned meeting Trevor Waverling.

  “Why would you object, Neal?” Estelle said, her look at her husband wary. She turned to Samantha. “Tell me again why it’s necessary for Waverling Tools to drill, darling.”

  “Because I trust them to prevent wanton desecration of our pastureland.”

  “Hmm,” Estelle said. She looked again at her husband. “You haven’t signed any lease agreement yet, have you, Neal?”

  “No… not yet, but I intend to,” Neal said, puffing fiercely on his cigar. “I believe the Corsicana people are right for the job, and I gave them my word they’d get the go-ahead—”

  Estelle motioned away those grounds as of no consequence. “Well, then, you’ll just have to break it and sign the agreement with Waverling Tools. There seems to be absolutely no reason not to.”

  Neal had the feeling he was about to be thrown from the bull he’d been confident he could ride. He pointed his cigar at his wife. “Now see here, Estelle, that’s for no one but me to decide, and I’ve decided. The concrete’s been poured on this deal. I’ve given my word to the Corsicana Oil Development Company, and that’s that!”

  “No, it isn’t,” Sloan said, his quiet contradiction falling like a crack of thunder in the room. “Waverling Tools does the drilling, Neal, or the fence between our ranches does not come down, and that’s that.” He took his wife’s hand again. “Allowing the oil company of Samantha’s choice to drill is the least we can do to make up for the sacrifice of her archeological field.”

  Neal felt his face turn as gray as the ashes fallen on the front of his shirt. “But… Sloan… Estelle, you don’t understand…”

  “What’s there to understand?” Estelle said. “Honestly, Neal, you mystify me sometimes. You’re getting the dream you’ve always wanted. The only difference is the oil company that will make it come true.”

  “Estelle, you don’t know…” Neal started to say, but panic choked his throat.

  Monday morning, Trevor Waverling was stunned to hear from Miss Beardsley that Mrs. Sloan Singleton was on the line. Could Mr. Waverling take the call? He most certainly could, Trevor told his receptionist.

  She was calling on behalf of Las Tres Lomas, Samantha explained. Her father had reconsidered drilling in the Windy Bluff area of the ranch and would like to reopen discussions. Could Mr. Waverling send Todd Baker and Nathan Holloway to meet with her and her father and husband?

  All Mrs. Singleton had to do was to tell him when and where, Trevor said, and he’d like to come along, too. He wanted to look over this area that had caused such a fuss.

  By all means, his caller said. Would tomorrow be too early, and would he mind meeting them at the ranch? There would be a driver and coach at the train station to pick them up and take them back. Otherwise, they could gather in Fort Worth later in the week at a place of his choosing.

  The ranch would be fine, Trevor said, and tomorrow perfect. What time?

  Las Tres Lomas possessed the best ranch cook in Texas, Samantha informed him with a smile in her voice. Could she entice him to arrive by noon?

  He and the boys would be there with bells on, he said.

  Trevor hung up the receiver and sat back in his desk chair flushed with surprise and pleasure. He had never expected to see or hear from his daughter again. He had thought he would have to make do with his few memories of her and the keepsake of a small white feather he’d discovered caught in the nap of his suit coat. But it looked as if fate might have intervened on his behalf. He had never been a favorite of fate, but he would be open to whatever it had in mind, wherever path it led. Trevor glanced at his black metal desk calendar, the month and day displayed in numbers in round yellow sockets. Today’s showed 9-3—September third. He wondered if tomorrow, when he turned the knob to roll 9-4 into place, he would remember the date as an omen of ill or a harbinger of good to come.

  Chapter S
ixty-Three

  Neal looked down the long table in the Trail Head and wondered how in the bloody hell it had happened that his worst nightmare had come to life and sat at his table as a dinner guest. The world was an infinite place. Damn, Texas was as big as a country! How was it possible that in all the space in the universe, the child he’d adopted and raised as his own would be dining with her father and twin brother at the same table in her home without any of them having a clue to the other’s identity? What force had collected and driven them into this one chute? He could not shake the gut-emptying feeling that a divine power had herded them here today.

  “Here you go, folks,” Grizzly said, setting down a huge serving bowl of steaming stew on the table. “Hope you enjoy.”

  “We always do, Grizzly,” Samantha said, hoping the savory hot meal would thaw the atmosphere. All those gathered had issues with someone at the table. Tacit truces had been declared between the combatants, but there was still a bite of hard frost in the air between Sloan and Daniel, she and Todd, and Neal Gordon and Trevor Waverling. For some inexplicable reason, unless her father was a poor loser, he had taken a dislike to the owner of Waverling Tools. Even Nathan Holloway, easy with everybody, treated Todd with reserve. Samantha stood up from her place at the table. “I’ll serve,” she said.

  There were a few murmurs professing hungry appetites as Samantha ladled the beef stew into bowls. At the news that there would be visitors arriving for the noonday meal today, Grizzly had ordered the main table moved to a side of the room away from the noise and flurry of the chow line. He had personally covered it with a tablecloth and set out cutlery and napkins, salt and pepper shakers, glassware, and pitchers of iced tea.

  “I’ll bring more butter for the cornbread if you need it,” the cook said, hovering in his clean apron. It wasn’t every day he was called upon to feed men wearing business suits in the Trail Head. Thank God for that, but still he was flattered. The important entertaining was always done in the main house.

  “We have plenty for the time being,” Samantha said. “Thank you, Grizzly.”

  “Holler when you want your pie,” Grizzly said. “It’s pecan today.”

  That announcement sat well with all faces but Neal’s, sitting in gloomy silence at one end of the table.

  Trevor said as they lifted their forks, “I asked Daniel, my troubleshooter, to join us today because he will be overseeing the site Todd believes best to place the rig. He will ensure the drilling crew will do what they can to respect your archeological field, Mrs. Singleton.”

  Samantha smiled down the table at him. “I’d be pleased if you called me Samantha, Mr. Waverling. Mrs. Singleton is such a mouthful.”

  “It would be my pleasure,” Trevor said, returning her smile. “And perhaps you could call me Trevor.”

  Neal grunted rudely. “Pass the butter to this end of the table, if you please. My cornbread is getting cold.”

  But by the conclusion of the visit, the visitors’ mission had been accomplished to the satisfaction of all concerned. Trevor had offered Neal a better financial arrangement than the Corsicana Oil Exploration Company, but that was nobody’s business but his. If the well came in, his percentage of the revenue, called royalties, would dwarf the generous lease payment. The contract included clauses that restricted willy-nilly damage to property, livestock, and water, and promised minimum interference in the ranch’s operations. To assuage Samantha’s horror of a deluge of oil spreading over acres beyond the drill site, Daniel confirmed that he was working on a blowout preventer that might be up and going by the time the well came in. He explained that it was a series of control valves and pressure gauges designed to constrain the flow of oil and keep it from blowing out the drill hole up through the derrick. In other words, prevent a gusher. Samantha noticed that Sloan, despite himself, looked impressed. How could he not deduce that if the device worked, Waverling Tools—and Daniel—would make a great deal of money?

  By late afternoon, their business concluded, a host’s manners dictated that Neal invite the male contingent to stay for something to “wet their whiskers” before Jimmy drove them to the station, but instead he saw his guests to the door immediately and wished them a safe journey back to Dallas. Samantha was ashamed of her father’s inhospitality, but she was no longer the mistress of the house in her mother’s absence. Her home was now at the Triple S. Leaving Sloan with her father, she walked the men to the waiting carriage and shook hands with each of them. When she offered hers to Nathan, she said, “I’ll keep you in my thoughts with Charlotte. Good luck to you.”

  “I’ll need it,” Nathan said, “and thank you for your advice. I plan to follow it.”

  Earlier, when Samantha and Nathan were reexamining the area where she had found the skull, she’d said, “Forgive me if I’m presuming on our short acquaintance, Nathan, but I must say you seem awfully quiet today.”

  “Well, I’m a quiet person.”

  “But unusually so today, I’ve observed.” She felt drawn to Nathan, as if they’d been friends all their lives.

  “That obvious, is it?”

  “Perhaps only to me.”

  “Well… since you asked, I’ve got my mind on a girl I’ve met recently who’s given me no reason at all to occupy it.”

  “Oh,” Samantha said. “Why doesn’t she deserve to be in your head?”

  “She’s stuck up and opinionated and thinks too much of herself.”

  “But beautiful and you’re attracted to her,” Samantha said, grinning.

  He’d blushed sheepishly. “That obvious as well?”

  She’d chuckled. “How did you meet?”

  Nathan had related the awkward circumstances of the night of his first meeting with Charlotte and the impression she’d left, then their chance encounter on the sidewalk in front of her house when she’d invited him and Rebecca and Zak inside. Charlotte had given Rebecca poetry books to read and allowed Zak to dry off on the rug in the morning room while she put Nathan to work. He could make himself useful while his pants dried, she said, and instructed him to form his hand into the shape of a gun. Then she wrapped knitting yarn in a figure 8 around his thumb and forefinger so that the strands would stay neat and not become tangled. “We formed these balls,” Nathan said, “and by the time I left, we had a whole basket full of them at her feet.”

  “Center-pull balls,” Samantha identified them.

  “Is that what they are called? My mother never knitted.”

  “You all had to talk about something. How did the conversation go?”

  “It was mostly about me. I learned very little about her, oddly enough. I’d have expected her to talk about nothing but herself, but she wanted to know about my job, my rescue of Zak, my opinion of Dallas.” Nathan wagged his head. “She got me to talking about growing wheat, of all things.”

  Samantha said, “Umm…”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Could it be you may be mistaken in your impression of her? Perhaps Charlotte resents, as you did, the effort of her family and your grandmother to pair you two up. Perhaps her appearance of snobbery and superiority is really a form of independence.”

  “Oh, she’s independent all right!” Nathan declared. “You have only to see her walk and hear her speak to suspect that.”

  “She can’t be too indifferent to you to invite you in to dry off your pants,” Samantha said with a smile. “Will you have an opportunity to see her again?”

  “She’s invited me to a party at her house,” Nathan said, uncertainty in his tone. “Do you think I ought to attend?”

  Samantha popped his shoulder playfully. “Of course! Why not? The party will give you a better view of her.”

  “What if she just wishes to embarrass me?”

  “I imagine you can handle yourself pretty well in a situation like that,” Samantha said. “Think of the evening as a means to confirm your opinion of her one way or the other.”

  After a second’s consideration, Nathan had said, �
�By gum, you’re right. Why not?”

  They became aware that Trevor Waverling had come upon them and been standing there for some time. “Time to go, son,” he said quietly when they noticed him. “Our business for the day is finished.”

  From his upstairs bedroom, Neal Gordon watched the family coach driven by Jimmy trundle out through the twin posts of the entrance to his ranch. He turned away sick at heart. He should be feeling over the moon. Instead, he felt only a fraction of the joy, relief, and enthusiasm he’d hardly been able to contain when the Corsicana people had inspected the area. Neal had never seen a man as deliriously happy as Todd Baker when they reached the spot where he’d taken a tumble off Samantha’s pet steer. Neal would not have been surprised to see the geologist leap up and down on his skinny legs like a jumping frog. To suffice, Todd had thrown back his head, opened his arms wide, and cried, “It’s here! It’s here! It’s here! As sure as God’s in His heaven, it’s here!”

  That should have been enough to make any rancher’s heart soar right out of him, especially when the talk turned to America’s insatiable future needs for petroleum. “Once ol’ Henry Ford’s Model T catches on,” Daniel Lane had predicted, “there won’t be a family who won’t want to retire ol’ Dobbin for a motor car!” The men from Waverling Tools had not had time to check out the other areas of the ranch that the Corsicana geologist had taken a look at for potential petroleum deposits, but Todd had winked and said, “Don’t worry, Mr. Gordon. We’ll have plenty of opportunity to inspect other possible sites on your ranch. I wouldn’t be surprised if Las Tres Lomas is over one of the biggest oil fields in the country.”

  Downstairs, Neal had excused himself to Sloan and Samantha and told his son-in-law to help himself to the bourbon, that he’d be down directly. Before he went up, Sloan had drawn him aside and said, “I hope there are no hard feelings between us, Neal, and that you understand that I couldn’t go against my wife to take your side against Waverling Tools.”