Читать книгу A Little Town In Texas - Bethany Campbell - Страница 10

KITT HAD BEEN WORRIED. After all these years, would she and Nora have anything in common, anything to say to each other?

But they couldn’t stop talking. One memory sparked another; each story unleashed a flow of more. The two found they could still complete each other’s sentences—and make each other dissolve in hopeless giggles.

They sat at the kitchen table with Ken, who listened to them with wry amusement.

“And remember when we hiked up to Hermit’s Cave—” Nora began.

“—we’d lugged tons of books up there—” Kitt put in.

“And a blanket to sit on. And potato chips and a canteen of limeade—”

“We were going to hide out all summer from my brothers—”

Nora grinned. “—and a bat pooped in my hair—”

“—and you screamed and ran halfway down the mountain—” Kitt snickered.

“—yelling, ‘Bat poop! Bat poop!’ and pouring limeade on my head. Oh, Lord! And you behind me yelling, ‘It’s okay! People use it for fertilizer!’”

Nora almost doubled up. Ken looked at his wife in wonder, as if he’d never seen her so giddy.

Kitt laid her head in her folded arms on the table and laughed until she cried. Nora told how she’d washed her hair four times and would never go back to the cave. Kitt had to carry all the books back down by herself.

This led to the story of how Reverend Blake’s dog had wandered into the church one Sunday morning when the reverend was preaching a sermon on the virtue of obedience.

“Shoo, Spot,” the reverend had thundered. But Spot wouldn’t shoo. He sat in the middle of the aisle, ignoring his master and scratching a flea.

Nora went to the counter, took a paper towel and dabbed at her face. “And we didn’t dare laugh. It nearly killed us.”

“Whatever happened to that dog?” Kitt asked. Her ribs ached.

“He died of old age. They buried him in the backyard under a rose bush. Eva Blake still gets misty when she talks about that dog.”

Nora sighed and added, “The Blakes are eager to see you, you know—Howard and Eva. They always ask about you.”

Kitt’s mirth vanished. An uneasy guilt filled her. She owed the Blakes a great deal, and she must visit them. But she didn’t want to, not at all. They brought back memories that still gave her bad dreams.

But with false cheer she said, “Of course, I’ll go see them.”

Ken got to his feet. “You two look like you’re just getting started. I need to catch some shut-eye. I’ve got a windmill to check out soon as the light comes up. Hope it doesn’t rain again.”

He kissed Nora. It was not a perfunctory good-night kiss. It was full on the lips and lingering—not long enough to be showy, but long enough to convince Kitt how deeply he cared for his wife.

“Good night, honey,” he said in a low voice. Nora rubbed her nose against his.

Suddenly Kitt felt like an intruder. Ken wanted to make love, and Nora wanted it, too. “I should be going—” she began.

“No,” Ken said. “You girls have catchin’ up to do. You don’t need me.”

Nora was insistent. “I’m not letting you go yet. After all, it took twelve years to get you back here.”

Ken kissed Nora’s cheek and limped from the room. Nora looked fondly after him. “He’s right,” she said, turning to Kitt. “We have a lot of catching up to do. I’ll make some cocoa?”

“He seems like a good man,” Kitt said, gazing after Ken.

“He is good,” Nora said. “The best. He’s made a world of difference in my life. And Rory’s. Lord, Rory. You should see him—he’s six foot one now.”

Kitt smiled the mention of Rory. He was the one good thing to come from Nora’s marriage to Gordon Jones. But Nora’s unplanned pregnancy with Rory was why she had to marry when she was only sixteen.

Kitt, eleven then, had been horrified. But she’d grown fond of Rory, and she knew how Nora loved him and how fiercely she had always protected him. And Rory had needed protecting. Gordon was abusive.

When Kitt was in college, she got word that Gordon had died—violently. In a haze of jealousy and drugs, he’d come after Nora and Ken. Cal McKinney had tried to intervene. There was shooting, and Gordon, fleeing, had been hit by a car from the sheriff’s department.

Kitt said carefully, “Does Rory ever mention Gordon?”

“Not much. But he knows the truth. I didn’t want him to find out by the gossip—which is still going around, dammit.” Nora’s frank eyes showed a spark of anger, but it quickly faded. “He’s dealt with it fine, just fine.”

“A freshman in college—I can’t believe it.” Kitt shook her head. “And he wants to be a professor, yet. He’s your boy, all right.”

Nora’s smile was both happy and sad. “He was editor of the high school newspaper. Just like you. I wish Dottie could see him. She’d be so proud.”

“She would.” Kitt put her hand over Nora’s and squeezed it. Dottie Jones had been a widow and Gordon’s mother. She’d always loved Nora and stood by her, even when Nora divorced Gordon. Dottie had been the original owner of the Longhorn, and she’d left it in her will to Nora.

“How long have you been running the Longhorn now?” Kitt asked.

“Almost ten years, off and on. I’ve poured enough coffee to float an aircraft carrier.”

“I thought,” Kitt said carefully, “that when you got married again and went back to school, you were out of that place.”

Nora tried to shrug as if it didn’t matter, but she didn’t fool Kitt. Nora said, “Ken saw that I finished my degree. He really wanted it for me….” Her voice trailed off.

“You had a job at the high school,” Kitt said, still perplexed at what had happened to Nora. “The kids voted you Best Teacher.”

“Ken got hurt,” Nora said, going to the counter. “And that was it.”

Ken had been trying to help unload an unruly Brahma bull bought at a stock auction. The brute had kicked and pinned him against the side of the truck, half-killing him. His leg was broken, his pelvis fractured.

“He couldn’t work for a year,” Nora said, stirring the cocoa. “J.T. did everything in his power to help. But at the same time, the school system was having money problems—no raises—and I could make better money going back to the Longhorn and managing it myself.”

“What I’ve never understood,” Kitt said with a frown, “is why the school system had money problems?”

Nora shrugged and filled two cups with cocoa. “The town’s lost people. The tax burden on those left—it was getting out of hand.”

Kitt crooked an eyebrow. “But Crystal Creek should have been growing. With this location? This close to Austin? Wasn’t the town even trying to attract any kind of industry or business?”

Nora gave her on odd look. “We have an industry—cattle. We have the winery. We don’t want things like that yucky cement factory at Kelso. Or the dairy operations at Bunyard—they both pollute something fierce.”

Kitt eyed Nora with surprise. Did she believe Crystal Creek could survive without changing?

“I know what you’re thinking,” Nora said, a bit defensively. She carried the cups to the table and sat down. “That Bluebonnet Meadows could actually help the town. We don’t see it like that. Our way of life is being threatened. Our heritage. Our identity.”

Your identity has got you back cleaning tables and flipping burgers, Kitt thought. But instead she said, “You plan to keep working at the Longhorn.”

Nora shrugged. “Rory’s in college. And business is steady.”

But the conversation seemed to make Nora uneasy, and she changed the subject. “What about you? I know about your work—I read every sparkling word you write. But how about life? Any love interest?”

It was Kitt’s turn to be defensive. As a reporter, she was used to talking about other people’s lives, not her own. She said, “I’m taking a break from that sort of thing.”

Nora raised an eyebrow in concern. “What about that guy who wrote for U.S. News and World Report? Weren’t you living together?”

Kitt rolled her eyes. “Reese? For a while he was kind of interesting. Then he became predictable. Then, finally, he bored me to tears.”

Nora laughed. “They always end up boring you to tears.”

Kitt had the decency to blush. This was true. She had never seriously dated a man for long. Any man who seemed vaguely like a prince quickly became a yawn-inducing frog.

“Was he handsome?” Nora asked, leaning her chin on her hand.

“Too handsome,” Kitt said. “It made him conceited.”

An image of Mel Belyle flashed through her mind. He was far better-looking than Reese. Yet Mel’s looks were somehow different from Reese’s. Something deep in his sapphire eyes was complicated—and mysterious.

She reminded herself that Mel was also more conceited than Reese—far more. Yet something about his cockiness seemed forced, more assumed than genuine. She couldn’t put her finger on it, which was maddening….

“You said he was quite bright,” Nora said.

“Reese? Very bright,” Kitt admitted. “But too serious.”

“What’s the matter with serious?” Nora asked.

“Nothing,” Kitt said. “At first it was attractive. But he had no sense of play. He didn’t have conversations, he gave lectures. Long, dull ones.”

“Ugh.” Nora wrinkled her nose.

“One day I realized that he was gorgeous, he was smart, the sex was great, but every time he opened his mouth, I wanted to scream.”

Nora laughed. “You need a man with a little devil in him.”

Kitt thought again of Mel Belyle, the wicked innuendoes, the playful sexuality of his words. She realized that he was staying at the same hotel she was, literally sleeping under the same roof….

“So there’s nobody interesting?” Nora asked sympathetically.

Kitt pulled herself back to the moment. “Nobody interesting in the least,” she said, almost believing it.

MEL BELYLE WAS NOT without potential friends in Crystal Creek.

There were people who looked at the rolling ranch country that Brian Fabian had bought and didn’t see land about to be despoiled. They saw a crop of dollar signs pushing out of the earth, begging to be harvested.

Two who saw dollar signs were Ralph Wall, the town pharmacist, and his wife, Gloria. Mel had phoned them once he got settled, and Gloria immediately invited him over for a “little get-acquainted drinkee.”

Mel went to see how much the couple would tell him and to gauge how grasping they were. They struck him as transparently greedy, and after two little drinkees, they were very talkative indeed.

“A smart man stands to make a lot of money out of all this,” Ralph Wall said, doing his best to look like a smart man.

“You’re exactly right,” Mel answered. He smiled at Gloria Wall. “These are excellent hors d’oeuvres, Mrs. Wall.”

Gloria beamed. She was a large woman whose hair was a crown of tight ringlets rinsed to an improbable shade of gold. She had filled a silver plate with things stuffed with ham, olives, anchovies and enough creamed cheese to supply Philadelphia for a week.

“We have five prime acres we inherited from Gloria’s mother,” Ralph said, leaning back in his flowered easy chair. “It’s the ideal location for a strip mall. I thought I could lease it to Mr. Fabian for a hundred years—”

“Mr. Fabian doesn’t usually lease,” said Mel as pleasantly as he could. “This is an idea I’d have to run by him.”

“He’ll like it,” said Ralph. “He’s a man who thinks outside the box. I can tell that. Yessir. I’m a man who thinks outside the box myself.”

“Mama’s land is a select piece of property,” Gloria said. “We were thinking of leasing it at oh, maybe, a million dollars. That’s not very much, spread over a hundred years.”

It’s highway robbery, thought Mel. “Interesting. We’ll have to do a feasibility study. That takes time. But I’ll be sure to suggest it.”

“Let me freshen that drink,” she said reaching for the pitcher of margaritas.

“No more, thanks,” Mel said. “But don’t let me stop you. This is truly a festive spread.”

Gloria refilled Ralph’s glass and her own. “I lo-o-ove to cook. I want you to come for supper sometime this week. I’ll invite my niece, Ladonna Faye. She’s a lovely girl, a natural blonde like me, and so interested in investments. We’ll have such a nice cozy time.”

When hell freezes over, Mel thought, suppressing a shudder. But he smiled, told them he’d checked his schedule and let them know. Now, when they were so friendly and their tongues growing loose, was the time to ask about Kitt Mitchell.

He had a thin stack of information on her in his hotel room, faxed by the tireless DeJames. He’d learned a few things about Kitt—but not enough.

He said, “I need to confide something to you. I got word today that Exclusive magazine’s sending a reporter after me. A woman who grew up here. Her name’s Katherine Mitchell.”

Ralph and Gloria exchanged a significant look. Ralph said, “Little Kitt Mitchell? She’s coming?”

“She may already be here,” Mel said. He knew she was; she had to be. It was eerie, but he could feel her presence in his marrow.

Gloria peered at him over the edge of her drink. Ah, thought Mel. Gloria wants to gossip. It’s shining out of her face like a light.

She said, “I’m surprised she’d lower herself. She couldn’t wait to shake the dust of this place off her feet.”

Mel tilted his head in interest. “Really? What makes you say that?”

Gloria twirled her glass coyly, making the ice cubes clink. “Well…” she said. “Far be it from me to gossip…”

Mel stared into her slightly unfocused eyes. “This isn’t gossip. It’s intelligence. Business background.”

“Give him the goods, Mama,” Ralph said and reached for another canapé.

Gloria seemed to puff up with importance. “I wish I didn’t have to say it, but Kitt came from riffraff. They both did.”

Mel’s interest coiled up like an overwound spring. “Both of them? What do you mean?”

Gloria heaved a sigh of false sympathy. “She and that Nora Slattery. She’s Kitt’s aunt. She owns the café and motel.”

Mel nodded solemnly, hiding his jubilance. So the little vixen had told the truth about having an aunt. And he recognized Nora’s name; she ran the Longhorn, which was one of the town’s main nerve centers.

“Excuse me,” he said. “Why’d you call them riffraff?”

Gloria’s small eyes narrowed to knowing slits. “Well, Nora’s father was shiftless. Just a wrangler. He drifted all over the county. He worked for all of ’em at one time or another.”

“All of them?” Mel reached for the pitcher and topped off her drink.

“All the money people,” Gloria said with ill-disguised bitterness. “The big ranch folks. He dragged around a skinny wife and a passel of skinny kids. And the youngest was Nora. She was the ‘caboose.’ Her oldest brother—that was Herv—was sixteen—seventeen years older than her.”

Ralph reached for another canapé. “Herv was already married when Nora was born. He worked for the McKinneys. Kind of a tenant-hand. There never was a Mitchell man who showed a lick of ambition.”

“No,” Gloria said sipping her drink. “And they all married young. Had to. Couldn’t keep their pants on.”

Mel frowned, wondering if this was supposed to include Kitt.

“Well,” Gloria said with an expansive gesture. “When Nora’s mother died, Nora was the only kid left at home. She was about nine. So her daddy dumped her on her brother. On Herv, at the McKinneys’, and lit out for the panhandle. So Nora lived with Herv for—let’s see—seven years.”

Ralph heaved himself up out of the easy chair. “Those margaritas are so tasty, I’m going to make up another batch.”

“Oh, goody,” said Gloria. She gave Mel an almost flirtatious look. “What was I saying?”

Mel inched back from her slightly. “I asked about Kitt Mitchell.”

Gloria finished her drink and set the glass on the coffee table with a loud clink. “Herv’s oldest child was Kitt—the reason he had to get married. Then, like stair steps, there were three more little ones—boys—boom-boom-boom. Those Mitchells bred like rabbits.”

Mel did some swift figuring. “So Nora and Kitt were actually kids growing up together.”

“Right. And Nora was like a little mother to that child. Good thing, too. Kitt’s own mother couldn’t keep up with all those children. Ha! She didn’t even try.”

Mel felt an irrational desire to defend Kitt Mitchell. “Kitt did all right for herself. Exclusive’s a fine magazine.”

“I never said the girls weren’t smart,” Gloria said with a sniff. “They were. But…blood will tell. Nora no sooner turned sixteen than she got pregnant by that no-good Gordon Jones.”

Mel’s face hardened. “What about Kitt?”

But Gloria’s mind was on its own track and would not be derailed. She leaned forward conspiratorially. “There was something funny about how Gordon Jones died. It happened at the McKinneys’ lake house. Cal McKinney himself was there. And so was Nora. And Ken Slattery—the man she married—the McKinneys’ foreman.”

Gloria looked at him with malicious satisfaction. He didn’t like it. It was his job to find the weaknesses of Fabian’s enemies, and the McKinneys were among those enemies. But where in hell was this leading?

With cool politeness he said, “I asked about the reporter.”

The woman tilted her head knowingly. “And I’m telling you about her background.” She jabbed her manicured finger toward his chest. “There was something strange about Gordon Jones’s death. Cal McKinney and Nora and Ken were in it up to their necks. The McKinneys have enough money to buy their way out of anything.”

Mel looked at her in disbelief. “You’re saying they bought their way out of a killing?”

Her little pink mouth smiled, but her eyes were hard as ice. “I’m pointing out things, is all. Suspicious things. You get my drift.”

Mel clamped his mouth shut so that he wouldn’t swear. Ralph came in, bearing a pitcher of fresh margaritas. “Woo, boy!” he said. “This is some party, eh? Well, how’s my girl doing, Belyle? She giving you an earful?”

“I think I’ve shocked him plumb silent,” Gloria said smugly. “And I haven’t but scratched the surface of what I know. Now Bubba Gibson—do you know he served prison time?”

Hell and damnation, thought Mel, who did this woman think she was? The Recording Angel of All Sins? “Kitt Mitchell,” he said. “Was she even in town when this—Gordon Jones died?”

“No,” Gloria said, holding out her glass to be refilled. “She was at her fancy college. But I want to tell you about Bubba Gibson—he was cheating with this woman young enough to be his daughter—it was a scandal.”

Mel interrupted. “How did a poor kid like Kitt Mitchell get to a rich school like Stobbart’s?”

“I’m telling you about Bubba going to prison,” she said. “When you want to know something about somebody in this town, Mr. Belyle, you come to me. I know where all the bodies are buried.”

Time for my vanishing act, Mel thought grimly. He was sick unto death of this fat gossipy woman. “I really have to go,” he said rising. “Long day. Had to get up early. Jet lag.” He made his way toward the door and as he did so, he lied about having a nice evening and being grateful for their hospitality.

Gloria tried to follow him, but she wasn’t quite steady on her feet. He’d just made it to the porch. She peered out through the screen door and added, “We didn’t talk about your brother.”

His spine stiffened, but he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of a response. She didn’t notice. “And that woman he married. If you want to know the full truth about Shelby Sprague and your brother, ask me. I have the goods on her and him. Because I know—”

—where all the bodies are buried, you bitch, he finished mentally.

This last jibe, at his brother’s wife, somehow offended Mel most deeply. He could not forgive his brother, and he did not want to. He had no desire to meet Nick’s wife. So why did he resent Gloria Wall mentioning them?

He drove back to the Crystal Creek Hotel, smoldering with anger. He hadn’t merely disliked the Walls, he detested them with vehemence.

And these people, God help him, were his allies.

KITT DROVE BACK to the hotel about ten-thirty.

The night was cloudy, drizzle fell, and the darkness seemed supernatural. Twice she had to swerve to avoid hitting white-tailed deer that suddenly bounded into the glow of her headlights.

Kitt had grown used to New York, where there were always nearby buildings and lights burned all night long. This black, vast space on either side of the highway almost frightened her.

She was restless and fidgety, too. This restiveness came from unpleasant truths that she didn’t like to face. But Kitt was not cowardly about such things. She made herself face them.

In truth, she was surprised by Nora’s marriage, maybe even a bit…jealous? When Kitt had heard, years ago, that Nora had married Ken Slattery, Kitt had thought: Another cowboy. Won’t she ever learn?

As a girl, Kitt had paid little attention to Ken. He’d been attractive in an old-fashioned Randolph Scott sort of way—but aloof. The sort of man who’d worked hard, kept to himself, and talked little.

She’d told herself that since he was foreman, Nora might have some security at last. She had never imagined that Nora could really be in love with him or that he would treat her as anything more than a hardy pioneer wife, born to do woman’s work.

“Okay, so I was wrong,” Kitt admitted to the darkness.

The man obviously adored Nora, and she adored him in return. Kitt had sensed the strength of their feeling every moment she was with the two of them. From the way they’d looked at each other when they’d said good-night, they were probably making love at this very moment.

The thought of Nora, naked and happily abandoned in Ken’s strong arms, made Kitt feel like a voyeur. She quickly shooed the image away.

But still she felt unsettled. Kitt had always considered herself the lucky one, the one who escaped. She’d thought of Nora as trapped—and that sex was what had trapped her.

So why did Kitt feel suddenly lonely? She never felt lonesome; she never allowed it. And why did her series of safe, comfortable affairs suddenly seem empty, almost soulless?

Kitt wasn’t promiscuous. She took her time between romances—in fact the time between romances usually lasted far longer than any of the romances themselves. Nora was right. Kitt seldom stayed involved with a man. She’d always thought it the fault of the men. But maybe it was something that was missing within her….

Thinking of the men in her life reminded her again of Mel Belyle. There was no sense in this linkage of thoughts; it just happened. All evening he’d haunted her.

She was above all a professional, but she had acted frivolously with him. That was a mistake. This assignment made them adversaries. That could not be helped. But at least he should see her as a worthy one.

Did she think of him as a serious opponent? She would be a fool if she didn’t. Nora had told her that Nick Belyle was smart as hell—and that he himself had said his younger brother just might be smarter.

KITT PARKED in the hotel’s back lot, picked up her laptop and backpack and went in the service entrance leading to the lower floors. She remembered it from years ago, when she and Nora used to deliver fresh eggs to the hotel kitchen. Kitt’s mother had raised hens on her patch of tenant land. The yard around the house had always been pecked bare and smelled of chickens. Kitt still hated eggs.

She went down the long hall that led to the registration desk. The hotel had been spiffed up nicely, she thought with approval. She eyed the oak paneling and the spruce green carpet with its pattern of thistles.

At the desk she smiled at a blond woman with a Scottish accent. She’s a newcomer, I don’t know her, thought Kitt. The realization made her feel odd. This was her hometown, but she was a stranger in it.

She took the brass keys to the back entrance and her room—no plastic card keys for this old-fashioned place—thanked the blond woman, and picked up her bags. She turned from the desk and looked directly into a man’s broad chest.

He smelled divinely of expensive aftershave, and the sweater looked like cashmere. Sapphire blue cashmere. She looked up and met the beautiful, enigmatic eyes of Mel Belyle.

Although she knew he was staying here, he’d caught her by surprise. Her heartbeat sped, and her breath felt just as stuck in her throat.

His perfect mouth twitched, as if he might say something. But he was silent, and almost self-consciously he touched his forefinger to his upper lip. There was something shy in that gesture, and it surprised her.

She swallowed and found herself saying, “I’m sorry for what happened this afternoon. You bought me a drink. I’d like to buy you one in return. After all, why not?”

The words sprang from her mouth before she had time to think of them. Instantly, she regretted them. He would of course say no. He would be scathing; she would be resentful, and they would dislike each other more than before.

He kept his finger resting on his upper lip thoughtfully. He looked at her such a long time that she thought he was not going to speak, only snub her. She was ready to spin on her heel and go.

But he said, “I could give you fifty reasons why not. Instead, I’ll say it’s a good question. Shall we start over, Mitchell?”

She looked up at him. For some reason she felt a smile stealing across her lips. “Let’s,” she said.