Belle Pointe. Karen Young
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Anne Whitaker? What the hell—”
With her hand on the nozzle, Anne turned to see who’d spoken. Coming around the hood of a large black Lexus on the opposite side of the pump station was Buck’s older brother.
“Jesus, it really is you, Anne.” While still a yard away from her, Pearce Whitaker opened his arms wide and smiled, showing a lot of teeth. He swept her up in a bear hug, his kiss just missing her lips when she turned at the last second. Then, holding her by the arms, he looked her over. “Talk about surprises, honey, I about drove into the pump when I saw who it was gassin’ up Beatrice’s bug. How the hell are you?”
“I’m fine, Pearce. And you?”
“Couldn’t be better.” He’d removed his sunglasses and was still studying her as if he wasn’t sure she was real. Her own sunglasses were firmly in place in the hope that she’d go unrecognized once she left her father’s house. And of all those who might have recognized her, she would have wished it anybody but Pearce. Or possibly his mother.
“Where’s Buck?” He glanced at the passenger seat of the Volkswagen looking for his brother. “After the accident, I thought he’d be confined to quarters in St. Louis by the Jacks. You’re looking great, but how’s our fair-haired boy?”
“He’s okay.”
“He didn’t sound okay when I called him Sunday. Grouchy as a bear with a burr up his—” He caught himself. “And he didn’t say a damn thing about coming to Tallulah. So, how long y’all been here?”
“Just since Tuesday.” Skirting the truth. If she could get by without telling him outright that Buck was not with her, she would avoid questions about why. Let Buck break the news.
“And you haven’t called us at Belle Pointe?” He was shaking his head. “I know Buck would rather kiss a snake than have a conversation with Mama, but y’all can’t hole up at your daddy’s house and pretend she’s not just five miles down the road. She’ll have a fit like you never saw when she finds out. Hey!” His eyes lit with a new thought. “I assumed Buck would be playing, which is why I haven’t called him to set up an appearance in my campaign, but now you’re here it changes things. He’s able to get around?”
“More or less.” She looked at the gauges on the pump and willed the gas to flow faster. “How is your campaign going?”
“Couldn’t be better,” he repeated, reaching into the breast pocket of his jacket. He took a business card out of a small leather case and used the surface of the pump to scribble a number. “Here’s my cell. Tell Buck to call me. Today. Within the hour. His name’s gold around here. I’ve been lucky the way support is growing, but word gets around that Buck’s gonna make an appearance, the voters will love it!” He grinned, handing her the card. “This is just great. Couldn’t happen at a better time. The polls say I’m the front-runner, but it’s early yet and you can never be too far out front. A couple of appearances with the great Buck Whitaker and it may even scare my opponent into pulling out!”
The pump clicked off automatically. “You’ll need to talk directly to Buck about that,” she told him, with a glance at her watch. “I’m sorry to run, but—”
“No problem. Got things to do, huh?”
“I’m heading for Dad’s office.”
He spread his hands wide with another grin. “Another major advantage for me, having connections at the Spectator. I’m hoping Franklin will do more than just an endorsement. I’d like a nice profile piece, from the standpoint of the Whitakers. You know, playing up the contributions made to the town—hell, the state!—by my ancestors, emphasis on me, of course.” He gave her a playful wink. “Get folks thinking it’s the natural thing, having a Whitaker in the Capitol.”
Anne bent to screw the cap of the tank in place thinking Pearce had found his calling as a politician. With his profound conceit he assumed not only the cooperation of her father in his campaign, but Buck’s as well. Fortunately, it wasn’t her place to disabuse him of this notion.
She closed the lid with a thump. “Good luck, Pearce.”
“Wait a minute.” He opened her car door for her with the courtesy that seemed innate in Southern men. “How about coming out to Belle Pointe tonight? No joke, Buck can’t hole up at the Marshes’ and avoid Mama. Y’all need to make an appearance, if nothing else.”
“I’m sorry, but I really can’t speak for Buck.” She reached over and turned the key in the ignition. “And I’m afraid I really do have to run, Pearce. Tell Claire I said hello, will you?”
“Sure, sure.” He stepped back as she put the car in gear. “And you tell Buck I’ll be looking to hear from him today, okay?”
With a smile and a wave, she drove off. He would know the truth before the day was done, but he was right about one thing. Now she was here, out of courtesy she must pay Victoria a visit. And soon. But she didn’t have to look forward to it.
“Hello, Tyrone?”
“Yeah. Who’s this?”
Nursing a Coke in one hand and the phone in another, Buck leaned back in his recliner. “Somebody who knows you were the one who tied Ray Dixon’s jockstrap in a knot fifteen years ago, then forced Coach Randall to use you to pinch hit for him while Dixon spent precious minutes trying to straighten it out.”
A moment of stunned silence. “Buck? This Buck Whitaker?”
Buck grinned and felt something ease in his chest. “Yeah, you sonofagun, who else?”
“Buck! Man, how you doin’? I saw on TV where you like to’ve killed yourself and your wife in that expensive car. Y’all okay, man?”
“Yeah, we were both lucky. I’m stove up some, but with a little physical therapy, I’ll be okay.” He took a sip of Coke. “How you doin’?”
“Fine. Fine. But I gotta say if what they reported is anything like accurate, you got a knee injury that needs more than a little physical therapy. You gotta be careful underestimating the damage and what it takes to overcome it, you know what I mean?”
Buck held the Coke can against his forehead. Cold seemed to ease the ache. “That’s why I’m calling, Ty. I hear you’re one of the best physical therapists in the South.”
Tyrone gave a snort and then chuckled low. “I don’t know about that, but I’m enjoying regular employment here in Memphis.”
“How would you like to spend the next, say six months working in a place outfitted with the best state-of-the-art equipment, be your own boss, right in your own hometown?”
“That would be Tallulah, right?”
“Right.”
“I would say it would cost a nice chunk of change and where would it come from?”
“Here’s what I was thinking, Ty. I’ve chartered a plane and I’ll be flying in to Tallulah in a few days. I need a PT and you’re the best. The setup will be wherever I’m staying in Tallulah, which is a little up in the air at the moment. But after you check me out, you’ll have an idea what kind of equipment and all the other bells and whistles I’ll need for therapy. Are you with me so far?”
“I guess…so far.”
“We could meet, talk, work out the details. I’d leave it to you to set the schedule and start the torture.”
“What time frame we talking here?”
“I need to start right away. And I’d like to hire you exclusively for as long as it takes, Ty. I realize this means you’d have to ask for a leave of absence from your employer. If you need me to make a call or even to see somebody personally, I’ll do it.”
When Ty remained silent, Buck said, “If a leave of absence puts your present job in jeopardy, I’d