Chapter Two

      Amanda watched the Victoria airport loom up on the horizon as the pilot of the air taxi banked for his final approach. This part of Texas was no stranger to her. It had been her home before she settled in San Antonio, where she’d gone to college. She’d spent her childhood here, among cattlemen and businessmen and bluebells and an historical legacy that could still make her heart race.

      She clenched her hands in her lap. She loved this state, from its western desert fringes to the lush portion of eastern Texas they were now flying over. From Victoria, it was only a short drive to the Whitehall ranch, Casa Verde, and the small community called Whitehall Junction that had sprung up at the edge of the massive property Jace Whitehall had accumulated.

      “So this is your hometown?” Terry asked as the small plane touched gently down on the runway with a brief skidding sound before the wheels settled.

      “Yes, Victoria,” she laughed, feeling her childhood again as she remembered other trips, other landings. “The friendliest little city you’ve ever seen. I’ve always loved it here. My father’s people settled in this area when it was still dangerous to go riding without a gun. One of Jace’s ancestors was a Comanche,” she added absently. “It was his uncle who owned Casa Verde. Jace’s father, Jude Whitehall, inherited it when the boys were very young.”

      “You became good friends, I gather?” he asked.

      She flushed. “On the contrary. My mother didn’t even want me to associate with them. They were only middle class at that time,” she added bitterly, “and she never let them forget it. It’s a miracle that Marguerite ever forgave her. Jace didn’t.”

      “I begin to see the tip of the iceberg,” he chuckled.

      They climbed down out of the plane and Amanda drank in the clean air and sun and endless horizon beyond the Victoria skyline.

      “No small town, this,” Terry said, following her gaze.

      “The population is sixty thousand or so,” she told him. “One of my grandfathers is buried in Memorial Square. That’s the oldest cemetery here, and a lot of pioneer families are buried there. There’s a zoo, and a museum, and even a symphony orchestra. Not to mention some of the most delightful concerts—the Bach Festival Concerts are held in June. And there are some old mission ruins—”

      “I only made a comment,” he interrupted, laughing. “I didn’t ask for a community profile.”

      She smiled at him. “Don’t you want to know that it’s located on the Guadalupe River?”

      “Thank you.” He shaded his eyes against the sun. “Who’s going to meet us?”

      She didn’t want to think about that. “Whoever’s got time,” she said and hoped that ruled out Jace. “Ordinarily, Duncan or Jace would probably have flown to San Antonio after us. They’ve got two planes, and they’re both pilots. They have their own airstrip and hangars, but it’s spring,” she said, as if that explained everything.

      He blinked. “Come again?”

      “Roundup,” she said. “When they cull and brand and separate cattle. The ranch manager bears the brunt of the responsibility for it, but Jace doesn’t turn over all the authority to anyone. He likes to keep his eye on the operation. And that means Duncan has to double up on the real estate interests and the other companies while Jace is occupied here.”

      “And time is short,” Terry said, pressing his lips together. “I didn’t think about that, or I’d have been willing to wait until next month. The thing is,” he sighed, “we really need this account. Business hasn’t been all that good during the winter, the economy’s in such a slump.”

      She nodded, but she wasn’t really hearing him. Her eyes were glued to the road leading to the airport, on a silver Mercedes speeding toward them. Jace drove a silver Mercedes.

      “You look faintly terrified,” Terry remarked. “Recognize that car, do you?”

      She nodded, feeling her heartbeat triple as the car came closer and pulled up in front of the terminal. The door swung open and she breathed a sigh of abject relief.

      Marguerite Whitehall came toward them in a dressy pink pantsuit and sandals, her white hair faultlessly arranged, her thin face beaming with a smile.

      “It’s lovely to see you again, dear,” she told Amanda as she hugged her, wrapping her in the delicious scent of Nina Ricci and pressed powder.

      “It’s good to be here,” she lied, meeting the older woman’s dark eyes. “This is Terrance Black, my partner at the advertising agency in San Antonio,” she introduced him.

      “You’re very welcome, Terrance,” Marguerite said courteously. “Duncan explained the offer you’ve made. I do hope Jace will go along with it. It’s just good business sense, but my eldest has some peculiar ideas about…things,” she said with an apologetic smile at Amanda.

      “I’m anxious to talk with Duncan about the account,” Terry said with a smile.

      “He isn’t here right now, I’m sorry to say,” came the polite reply. “He had to fly to San Francisco this afternoon on some urgent business. But Jace is home.”

      Amanda felt something give way inside her, and she fought back the urge to leap back aboard the plane and go home. Instead, she followed the two of them to the car and allowed herself to be placed in the front seat with Marguerite while Terry loaded their bags and got in the back seat.

      “The weather’s nice,” Terry commented as Marguerite headed the sleek little car toward the city.

      “But dry this year.” Marguerite sighed. She didn’t go into the various ways droughts played havoc with a ranch. Amanda already knew, and it would have taken the better part of an hour to explain it to someone who wasn’t familiar with cattle.

      “I’m looking forward to seeing the ranch,” Terry volunteered.

      Marguerite smiled over her shoulder at him. “We’re rather proud of it. I’m sorry you had to take a commercial flight. Jace could have come after you, but Tess was with him, and I didn’t think you’d care for her company,” she added with a wry glance at Amanda.

      “Tess?” Terry probed.

      “Tess Anderson,” Marguerite replied. “Her father and Jace are partners, with Duncan of course, in that real estate venture in Florida.”

      “Will we have to consult him about the account as well?” Terry asked.

      “I shouldn’t think so,” the older woman replied conversationally. “He always goes along with whatever Jace says.”

      “How is Tess?” Amanda asked quietly.

      “Just the same as always, Amanda,” came the haunted reply. “With one hand reaching out toward Jace eternally.”

      Amanda remembered that. Tess had always been a step away from him, since they were in their teens. Jace had offered to take Amanda to a dance once—a mysterious offer that Amanda had refused in silent terror. Tess had got wind of it, and given Amanda the very devil, as if it had been her fault that Jace asked her.

      “Tess and Amanda were at school together,” Marguerite told Terry. “In Switzerland, you know.”

      It seemed like a hundred years ago. Amanda’s family had lost everything when Bob Carson was caught with his financial fingers in a crooked land deal. The shock of discovery had caused a fatal heart attack, and he’d died leaving his stunned wife and daughter to deal