A Little Town In Texas. Bethany Campbell
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mission. He wants to kick my ass.”
Cal lifted an eyebrow. “Meaning he also wants to kick our ass?”
“Precisely,” said Nick.
“How do we stop him?”
Nick made a tight, exasperated gesture. “I can’t do much. Fabian’s got me in legal handcuffs for at least a year.”
“I understand,” said Cal. “Daddy explained. He’s hired lawyers in Dallas. What do you think of them?”
Nick’s face became unreadable. “They’re doing their best.”
Cal knew what the problem was. The central conflict was a complex question over water rights. J.T.’s Dallas lawyers had forced Fabian to halt construction until it was resolved.
But Fabian had cleverly used the law to stop the work at a tricky stage. Now that stage threatened danger. The dam holding Fabian’s artificial lake in place was temporary, a mere makeshift levee. With each rain that fell, it became an increasing hazard.
Fabian complained his hands were tied. The injunction against him forbade work on anything at Bluebonnet Meadows—including the dam. The Dallas attorneys dawdled and dithered and seemed incapable of solving the mess.
“The lawyers aren’t doin’ so great?” Cal persisted.
“I didn’t say that,” Nick murmured.
“I know you didn’t,” Cal returned. He reached into his shirt pocket and drew out a piece of notebook paper. “I got two names here. Other lawyers. Now Daddy probably can’t afford ’em, but me and my partners can. I’d have to try to ease into doin’ it. Not to put his nose out of joint. Would you just look at this for me?”
He unfolded the paper and laid it on the bar, smoothing it out. He could see Nick’s reluctance. But Nick, grim-faced, looked down and read the names. Cal watched his expression. Slowly, disbelievingly, Nick grinned.
Cal said, “Now, I know you can’t tell me if these folk’d be good. But you might make some little…remark. Chosen careful, I realize.”
Nick looked at Cal with something like new-won respect. “Where’d you get these names?”
“I got connections here and there,” Cal said nonchalantly.
“I see that you do.”
“So—can you say what you think?”
Nick’s smile grin became conspiratorial. “I think you’re one smart cowboy.”
“Naw,” Cal said. “It was more my partners’ idea. There’s three of us. We call ourselves the Three Amigos. They’re the brains. I’m just a simple country boy.”
“Right,” Nick snorted. He put his hand on Cal’s shoulder and laughed. “Man,” he said, shaking his head. “Man, oh, man. This is something.”
Cal laughed, too. Maybe Fabian and Nick’s brother didn’t hold the winning cards, after all.
KITT HAD NOT SEEN the Hill Country for twelve years—almost half a lifetime ago. She had convinced herself it would seem strange and was startled that it didn’t. Why does it still feel so familiar, she thought with apprehension. It shouldn’t.
Yet she knew the sweep of these hills with a primal, bone-deep knowledge. It was in her blood to know it—whether she wanted to or not.
The land had dramatic beauty. There were hills, cliffs and low mountains. Great expanses of sparse ground stretched between them. In the open spaces, only the sturdiest vegetation grew. The twisted mesquite trees crouched low to the ground, and the scrub pines were dwarfish.
Along the creeks and river banks, though, were lush green groves. Over this mixture of starkness and fertility arched the great Texas sky. It was gray today, threatening rain. In the distance, lightning glimmered like a ghost.
In her heart, she reluctantly admitted the land’s grandeur. But her head asked: What’s it good for? Cattle and little else. Raising cattle was a back-breaking struggle, and ranching often fell on ruinous times.
The memory of those hard times killed any nostalgia that might stir her. This land was beautiful, yes. But it was also cruel. She was here only because a story was here, and she happened to know the territory.
Yet when she reached the stone pillars that marked the entrance to the Double C, she paused a moment, letting the car idle.
As a child, this ranch had filled her with awe. In spite of herself, she felt a shiver of the old wonder. To her, J. T. McKinney had been rich. Now she realized he’d never amassed the wealth people called “Texas Big Rich.”
By Lone Star standards, his ranch, thirty-five thousand acres, was respectable. It was hardly dazzling. Kitt thought, It’s not a magic kingdom, it’s only land.
The Double C would have little importance if it wasn’t so close to Austin—and Brian Fabian wasn’t so greedy for it. She stepped on the gas and headed down the lane toward Nora’s house.
Nora lived at the ranch in the foreman’s house with her second husband. Ken was a fine and reliable man—unlike Nora’s first husband, Gordon Jones. Kitt had despised Gordon.
She bit her lip in remembrance. Kitt had been considered a tough child, one who could hold her own in an argument, a wrestling match, or an all-out fight. She cried no more than did the most roughneck boys; she would not allow herself.
Yet when Nora had been forced to marry Gordon, Kitt had bawled like a baby. In secret, of course. In her bed and under her covers. She’d thought Nora’s life was ruined. It almost had been.
Kitt passed the ranch house, which she’d known well. Her father had been a wrangler on the Double C, and the McKinneys used to give Christmas parties for the ranch hands and their families.
The house seemed just as impressive as ever. Lights blazed from every window, and the drive was full of cars, many of them expensive. But it was not the sprawling house that made Kitt’s heartbeat speed.
Beyond the McKinneys’ house, she saw another, more old-fashioned home standing on a rise. It was a tall, angular and white, a Victorian clapboard that more than a century ago had been the original ranch house.
A swing hung in the porch’s shade, moving gently in the October breeze. Pots of mums marched up one side of the stairs and down the other, overflowing with fat-faced blossoms of bronze and jaunty yellow. On one side was a trellis with an ancient rose bush, still in pink bloom.
It was a lovely, old-fashioned house. It was Nora’s house.
For the first time, feeling seized Kitt so hard she couldn’t fight it off. She took a deep breath and pulled onto the house’s graveled drive. She took an even deeper breath, then got out of the car. As she did, the front door of the house burst open.
Nora came half-running, half-skipping down the steps, her shiny brown hair bouncing against her shoulders. In her jeans and yellow-checked shirt, she still looked as young as a girl.
She raced toward Kitt and caught her in such an embrace that it nearly knocked Kitt’s breath away. Nora was laughing and crying and talking all at once. “Kitt-Katt—welcome back! How was your trip? I was afraid you’d be stuck all night in Dallas. You haven’t gained an ounce, not a single ounce—I’m going to have to fatten you up. Did you remember the way to the Double C? Does Crystal Creek look different?”
To Kitt’s astonishment, hot tears pricked her eyes. And when she tried to speak, she couldn’t. Her throat was too choked.
What’s wrong with me? she thought, bewildered by the force of her emotions. All she could do was hug Nora back and hold her tight.
Vaguely, Kitt realized someone else had come out onto the porch. Nora drew back, laughing at herself for crying. Kitt fought down her own tears and found her voice.
“Oh, Nora,”