Texas Millionaire. Dixie Browning
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and teaches Sunday School at the First Baptist Church? Did you know—”
“Manie, get to the point. What does all this have to do with your niece?”
“Great-niece. She’s all the family I’ve got left in the world, poor little thing.”
When Manie put on her “poor lonesome me” act, it was time to take cover. “Fine. Or sorry, depending on your sentiments. Is the kid weaned yet? Do I need to hire a nanny?”
“Have you heard a single word I’ve said?”
“Enough to know you want me to baby-sit while you go up to Midland. Have you and Helen planned a big shopping spree or something?” The two women had kept in touch even after Helen had transferred to headquarters after Hank’s father’s death.
Manie made a sound that was part snort, part huff. He used to try to reproduce it as a kid, but he’d never been able to come close. “What I want is for you to listen,” she snapped. “Now, I’ve put off this surgery for—”
“Surgery! What surgery? You didn’t say anything about surgery!”
“I just did. Now hush up and listen.”
“What kind of surgery? I can fly you to Austin—”
“I don’t want you to fly me to Austin, I’ve got a perfectly good doctor in Midland, and she’s scheduled me for next Friday morning at seven, which gives Callie just enough time to get settled and learn how we do things around here.” She said it all without giving him a chance to get a word in, and then glared at him over her spectacles, daring him to argue.
“Callie?”
“My great-niece. I just finished telling you all about her, didn’t you hear a single word I said?”
He’d heard it all, only he was having trouble collating all the data. “Just back up a minute, will you? First, I want to know the name of your doctor. Next, I want to know exactly what she told you, and dammit, I want to know why you never mentioned it before. Hell, I thought you just wanted a vacation. How long have you known about this? Why didn’t you say something before now? Does it-” He scowled and shoved back the thick, gray-spangled hair that fell over his tanned forehead. “Here, sit down, take my chair. Want me to get you some water?” He hit the intercom button that connected him to his chefs office. “Mouse, send up a pot of tea and whatever the hell goes with tea. Crackers, cookies—whatever. It’s for Miss Manie. You know what she likes.”
Everyone knew what Miss Manie liked. She was an institution at the club. A roughneck’s kid his father had taken in out of the oil fields and raised like his own daughter. Outspoken, occasionally outrageous, she’d earned the respect of everyone in town, even the women she called floozies. They might not like her, but they sure as hell respected her.
“Now, tell me what this is all about.” He squatted before her. It damned near killed him, but he needed to see her eyes. Taking her knotty-fingered, blue-veined hands in his, he said, “Manie, sweetheart, level with me. I want to know everything—diagnosis, prognosis, treatment—whatever you know, I need to know. We’re going to beat this thing, I promise. No way am I going to let anything happen to my Manie. Now what is it?”
She sighed, and he braced himself for the worst. He’d get her the finest specialists in Texas. In the U.S. In the world. What good was money if it couldn’t help the ones you loved?
“If you must know, it’s nothing at all serious. Just a simple repair that should have been done years ago.”
“Repair what? What’s broke?”
She snatched her hands from his and clapped them to her withered cheeks. “Oh, for mercy’s sake, it’s called female trouble,” she hissed. “Now, let’s get down to brass tacks, young man. Callie will be here late this afternoon, and I’m planning to bring her into the office tomorrow. She’s smart as a whip, she’ll be able to take over without a speck of trouble. By Thursday I’ll be—”
“Whoa, back up again, honey. Take over what?”
If there was one thing Manie Riley was good at, it was coercion. Done politely, there wasn’t a single thing wrong with a bit of gentle blackmail to her way of thinking, not when it was done for the good of all concerned.
And this certainly was. All she needed was a little nip and tuck to keep her from traipsing to the bathroom every fifteen minutes. What Hank needed was a decent woman to save him from all those floozies who judged a man by the size of his bankroll instead of the size of his heart, while her Callie…
Well, Callie needed a man. Some women didn’t. Manie had thought, until recently, that she herself didn’t need one, either, but then, live and learn, they said.
They also said there was no fool like an old fool, but that was another matter.
“Gracious, are you sure about this?” Callie exclaimed. Pushing away her plate, she tried to focus on all the lists her great-aunt had presented along with the sweet potato pie. She was still reeling from the trip, amazed that she’d actually managed to get here after driving for what seemed forever.
Royal was a tiny little town, hardly more than a speck on the map. She’d been afraid she’d miss it and wander around forever in the most desolate country she’d ever seen, but suddenly, there it was, green as a pool table, right in the middle of a desert. No wonder they had all those windmills going full tilt day and night, hauling water up from way underground. It must take a zillion gallons just to keep all the lawns watered.
“Wake up, don’t you dare fall asleep at the table. Now pay attention, I promised Hank I’d bring you in tomorrow and show you the ropes.”
“Aunt Manie, I’m not very good with a computer and my bookkeeping is probably not what he’s used to. Honestly, are you sure—?”
“I’m sure. Secretaries aren’t what they were in my day. What with all these machines people use nowadays, they’re practically obsolete, but don’t worry about that, what you’ll be is more like a personal assistant. If you worked for that crochety old man I met at Wharrie’s funeral, you can work for anybody. My Hank’s a sweet boy. All he needs is someone to screen his calls and keep folks from pestering him for donations, or papas wanting to take him home to meet their daughters, or these jumped-up schoolteachers wanting him to endow a chair at some university. You’ll be taking care of his personal needs, that’s all.”
Callie’s eyes widened, but before her imagination could shift into overdrive, her great-aunt continued, “Now, I’ve listed everything you need to know right here. What calls to put through right off, which ones to stall, who to let in, who to keep out, who to interrupt if they stay more than ten minutes. This list here is the numbers of his favorite restaurants for making reservations. If he’s taking a woman, he’ll likely take her to Claire’s, but if it’s one of his friends, they’ll go to the Royal Diner for hot dogs and coconut pie. The Royal don’t take reservations. Here’s the number for the florist, the cleaners and the pharmacy where he gets his migraine medicine. He won’t need it often, but when he does, he’ll need it right quick. They deliver. Here’s his private pilot’s number and—oh, yes, here’s the phone number where I’ll be staying once I get out of the clinic.”
Merciful heavens, Callie felt as if she’d run head-on into a Texas tornado, which couldn’t be much worse than the Carolina variety, only after a four-day drive, she wasn’t in any condition to put up much of a fight. “Yes, but—”
“I can’t tell you how much it means to know I can go off with a clear conscience, I’ve been putting it off for so long.”
“But, Aunt Manie—”
“This way, I can rest easy about my plants. Every third day for those in the east window, every day for the south side. I’ve left instructions in the kitchen.”
“Yes, but—” Callie tried again. Manie had hit her with this thing before she’d even opened her