Titans (25 page)

D
aniel Lane cupped Billie June's breast and took its nipple into his mouth. Billie June moaned in pleasure and moved her hips to receive her lover's ultimate expression of passion. They had been meeting in her hotel room and making love every night since Billie June's arrival in Beaumont to spend a week, ostensibly with her boarding school friend. Her classmate had no idea that her former roommate was in town.

Billie June hadn't had the slightest notion of how to get in touch with Daniel once she arrived in Beaumont, a small coastal town built above the shoreline of the Gulf of Mexico, but such hurdles had never deterred the marching and picket-waving champion of women's and animal rights from her course. “Where might I find the best hotel in Beaumont?” she'd inquired of the station master.

“Only one we got is the Seaway,” he said.

“That's what I thought,” Billie June said. She turned to a woman and fellow passenger whose husband had come to pick her up in his buckboard. “I wonder if I might impose on you good people to drop me off at the Seaway Hotel?” she asked.

At the hotel, she glanced at the names on the register as she signed hers. “Oh, I see that a family friend, Daniel Lane, is staying here,” she mused to the clerk. “Wonder what he's doing in town?”

“Don't rightly know, but when he arrived, he asked for directions to Spindletop. A couple of fools think oil is under the salt dome out there. It's become a sort of tourist spectacle.”

“I believe I'd like to see it myself. How do I get there?”

The clerk told her she could ask Wally, the cabbie, the only one in town, to take her to the Big Hill, another name for Spindletop, among the nicer ones it was called. Make sure he didn't take her the long way to collect a bigger fare, he warned her.

Billie June, wearing a new summer frock whose pigeon-breasted bodice and slim waist showed off her ample bust to its best advantage, climbed aboard a rickety trap driven by a knavish-looking individual she wouldn't have trusted as far as she could have thrown his wretched horse. Later, she might have to have a chat with Wally about the upkeep of the poor creature.

“The Big Hill, also known as Spindletop, please,” she told the cabbie, “and don't even think of divesting me of more money than the ride is worth. Believe me, if you try, you'll be divested of a great deal more than an overcharged fare. Are we clear?”

“Yes, ma'am,” Wally said.

Billie June, who'd heard of mysterious disappearances of women alone in strange cities, said, “To be assured we are, the proprietor of the hotel, his clerk, and my maid”—she was not accompanied by one—“know where I have gone and who took me there. If a mishap occurs to me, you'll be the one to hang. Are we clear?”

“Yes, ma'am,” Wally said.

Four miles later, they arrived at a barren, marshy point that Wally declared was Big Hill, also known as Spindletop. To Billie June it did not look like a hill at all but a fifteen-foot mound of skimpy grass topped with a crown of white sand. Billie June could see several men in knee boots at its base, one of whom she recognized as Daniel Lane. Billie June climbed down from the trap. “Stay here and wait for me,” she ordered.

“You goin' down there, ma'am? Among all them menfolk? Ain't no way to get there except on them logs they got laid down for a walk.”

“I'll do just fine,” Billie June said. “Wait here.”

Conversation among the men suspended as they grew cognizant of Billie June holding on to her wide-brimmed hat and picking up her skirt to navigate the haphazard array of log planks set down to mark the path up to the site of interest. Daniel Lane, his mouth agape, shouldered his way past the men to greet her at the boardwalk's end.

“My God, Billie June, what are you doing here?”

“I've come to see you, Daniel. Actually, I'm supposed to be seeing my school roommate. She lives here. That's what I told Sloan, anyway, but I really came to spend time with you—alone,” Billie June said, her meaning imparted by a direct gaze and ducked chin. “I'm staying at the Seaway in Beaumont, same as you. Coincidences never cease to amaze me. Room 213 at the end of the hall. It's very quiet. Perhaps you'd like to drop by tonight.” She nodded at the staring men, smiled at Daniel, who was speechless, and turned to pick her way back down to where Wally was watching from his cab.

“To the hotel, Wally, if you please,” Billie June commanded once she was seated.

“Yes, ma'am,” Wally said.

Daniel arrived at the Seaway Hotel at eight o'clock that night. Billie June was dressed in a robe over nothing underneath, her mouse-brown hair brushed from its pompadour and splayed about her shoulders. “Have you had your supper?” she asked.

“I don't want supper,” Daniel said. “I want you.”

Tonight was their last night together before Billie June would take the train back to Fort Worth in the morning. “My brother is getting married,” she said, sprawled in euphoric exhaustion beside Daniel.

“To that do-gooder banker's daughter?”

“No. To Samantha Gordon.”

Daniel rose up on an elbow to stare at her in surprise. “Samantha Gordon! I thought he was engaged to Anne Rutherford.”

Billie June played with his chest hair. “Well, they were not exactly engaged, but everybody expected them to marry.”

“My God! What happened?”

“I'm not exactly sure, but Millie May and I are pleased that it did. We love Samantha, and we can't stand Anne.” Billie June laughed. “It happened the day after Sloan wagged home something that looked like a dried animal's skull, I imagine to give to Samantha. That may have done the trick. She's always been fascinated by fossils.”

“What kind of an animal?”

“I just got a brief look at it, so I couldn't say. Sloan whisked it under his arm and took it up to his room without a word.”

Interested now, Daniel propped up on his pillows, always alert for any morsel having to do with Mr. High-and-Mighty Big Britches, and reached for a cigarette. One of the indulgences his salary from Waverling Tools afforded was machine-rolled cigarettes, generally considered effete among smokers. Cigars and pipes should be a man's choice was the general opinion. Daniel liked neither and dared anyone to call him unmanly for his preference. Those who'd dared when he rolled his own had regretted it. He especially enjoyed a cigarette after having sex. “Why be so secretive about it?” he asked.

“I don't know. Maybe he meant it as a surprise for Samantha and thought I might spill the beans. I'm not good at keeping secrets.” She grinned. “Unless it's you and me. Anyway, the next day, Sunday, he ended things with Anne and proposed to Samantha.”

“Really?” Daniel said, filing away that information. He knew of Samantha Gordon's interest in paleontology and smothered a smirk, thinking maybe Sloan had proposed with a fossil instead of a wedding ring. He put his unlit cigarette aside for later. Billie June had moved her hand down to his groin.

“Of course I don't mind you going to Fort Worth to spend a few days with Samantha and her mother,” Todd said to Ginny Friday morning at the station. “You take as much time as you need to help Samantha plan her wedding.”

“I'm so thrilled that she asked me to be her matron of honor,” Ginny said. “I would have thought that privilege would go to Millie May or Billie June, but I can see the diplomacy in asking me instead. How could Sam have chosen one sister over another?”

Ginny's chatter barely filtered through Todd's tense thoughts. He wondered how thrilled his wife would be over her selection as matron of honor when Samantha discovered he had engineered the possible ravage of her suspected sauropod field. Upset, puzzled, Samantha had written to him in a letter received Wednesday about the disappearance of her fossilized find, which confirmed that Sloan had not ratted on him nor shown her the confiscated skull. She had no idea how it could have disappeared, she wrote. It wasn't the kind of thing a predator or the ranch dogs would have been interested in, and she'd found no tracks.

Maybe Saved was the culprit, he'd written back. Maybe he'd butted the thing across the pasture and destroyed it.

Todd's euphoria of Wednesday had been diluted by his anxiety over how he could stay innocently out of the picture with Samantha never the wiser about his hand in the matter, but he saw no escape. Samantha was a very smart cookie. She knew of his burning desire to prove himself a great geologist. When she learned that he was responsible for the company's oil interest in the area of Windy Bluff, especially when her camera and photographs did not arrive from New York, it wouldn't take her a minute to solve the mystery of the missing skull. The only explanation was that her good friend and fellow classmate had returned to the ranch to destroy her evidence of a possible archeological phenomenon. Todd would deny the charge, of course, and defend his soil samples by saying that as a geologist and employee of Waverling Tools, he'd felt it his job to report his suspicions of oil deposits on Las Tres Lomas to his boss. But he was no fool, either. To back up his claim of innocence, he'd taken measures to ensure it.

Ginny was taking the morning T&P to Fort Worth. She did not know that her husband, along with Nathan, would follow an hour later, but they would return the same day while Ginny planned to remain through the weekend. Neal had apparently not informed Samantha of his coming visitors, or she would have mentioned the meeting to Ginny. Todd had a feeling that the rancher, aware of his daughter's views on drilling for oil on grazing land, would have kept that information and the purpose of the visit to himself, so Todd's involvement would remain secret a little longer.

Removing—stealing—that archeological find was the most god-awful sin Todd had ever committed, and he'd bet it was for Sloan Singleton, too. The rancher's transgression was more traitorous, though. Todd was betraying a friendship. Sloan was deceiving the girl he planned to marry. Samantha would naturally have shared the news of her discovery and its mysterious disappearance with Sloan. What would she think of Sloan's marriage proposal if she should learn of her fiancé's accidental meeting with Todd and the gist of their discussion at Windy Bluff the afternoon before he asked her to marry him the next day? If the man was as smart as Todd credited him, he'd get rid of that skull. In any case, Todd cringed at the idea that he was now tongue-in-groove in a conspiracy with Sloan Singleton, which was a little like a mongoose and a snake in the same cage. All Todd could do to protect himself was to make sure he kept his distance from Samantha's betrothed.

F
riday afternoon, Neal leaned back in his chair behind his library's mammoth desk and clasped his hands over the slight bulge of his stomach in delicious enjoyment of the third most perfect time of happiness he'd ever known. The first had been the day Estelle agreed to marry him, and the second had been the night Samantha was put into his arms. Other than those memories, none other could compare to his homecoming Wednesday afternoon. The joy of seeing his daughter, of their being on an even plane again, had been happiness enough. He should have suspected something more was in the works when he found Grizzly and Silbia whispering peaceably in a huddle in the kitchen. Those two fought like cats and dogs. And the dining table had been laid especially festive with flowers and extra settings of the cupboard's best dishes beyond the number expected. “Silbia must think we've invited the bunkhouse,” he'd commented to Samantha after flicking an eye over the layout, but such things were her bailiwick and no business of his.

So he'd had a good soak and a little shut-eye and woken refreshed to the welcome-home aroma of beef roasting for supper. He felt light on his feet, as if he'd shed ten pounds, and he whistled as he dressed, wondering what it was that Sloan wanted to ask him. He was looking forward to an evening with him and his sisters, always good company, and of course the delight of his daughter's presence. Now if only Estelle were with them, the party would be complete.

Ready for his bourbon, and hearing voices below, he'd gone downstairs to the library, where to his surprise, he found only Samantha and Sloan, the boy looking as handsome as the golden Titans in Neal's mythology books. He and Sloan shook hands, and Neal had said, “I believe you wanted to ask me something?”

That had been a cue. Into the room had trooped Estelle with a smile as big as a breaking sun, followed by Millie May and Billie June, Silbia, Grizzly, and Wayne. They'd all been hiding outside the door. Sloan had gone directly to Samantha, put his arm around her waist, and turned to him. “Mr. Gordon,” he said, “may I have your permission to marry your daughter?”

Well, now, that was about as good as it got for a father. Neal had thought of Seth Singleton when he choked out a mighty “
YES!
” and they'd all had a grand time together drinking and making merry until the early hours. Estelle had stayed the night, of course, and they'd made love for the first time since he couldn't remember when, his love gushing out for her in one of his best performances ever. “My goodness!” she'd said. “You've still got it, old man!”

Yes, sir, he still had it—all that was important, and now his daughter was soon to be married to the perfect man for her. There would be grandchildren to come with no more worries of an heir, and he would live to see his and Seth's dream come true—the ranches of Las Tres Lomas and the Triple S joined as one. He'd discussed it privately with Sloan Wednesday night, and his soon-to-be son-in-law was all right with the two of them running the ranches as a single outfit. In time, Neal would step down and leave it to Sloan to oversee the whole operation. It was as he'd intended it anyway before Samantha came along. There would still be years to take Estelle traveling. He'd gut it up and go by train. She'd always wanted to see New York City. Neal foresaw only one problem that could shadow his complete happiness. Sam would frown on drilling for oil on Las Tres Lomas.

Samantha and her mother, who'd stayed over Thursday, had left with Millie May and Billie June early this morning to spend the weekend at Estelle's and meet with Ginny Baker to discuss plans for the wedding. Neal had let his daughter and wife go without telling them about today's meeting with a landman and Todd Baker until he learned more. Where exactly did the company wish to drill? His only information had come from the messenger representing Waverling Tools of Dallas. It seemed that Todd had visited the ranch in Neal's absence and strongly believed Las Tres Lomas could be sitting on a large deposit of petroleum.

There were plenty of arguments to soften Samantha's disapproval, and he hoped to enlist his future son-in-law's support to convince her of them. Sloan would see the practicality in drilling. Never far from all Texas cattlemen's minds was the question of how they could keep their ranches going year after year if they should head into another prolonged period of drought. Only one teasing rain shower had fallen since the first of April. With oil money in the bank, Las Tres Lomas and the Triple S could keep everybody on the payroll, buy feed for their herds when their alfalfa fields dried up, and afford to hire one of those economic botanists who fooled around with food plants to work with Samantha in developing drought-resistant grasses. Considering her passion for microscopic study, she would be sure to embrace that idea.

And there was another reason why Neal wanted to drill. He was well-off now, but he wanted to be rich. Money spoke. It was like the sword in the hands of the mighty Titans that ruled the universe in his mythology books. He had a respectable say in local politics now, but he yearned to have larger sway statewide, use his influence to do what was best for Texas, the state of his birth whose independence his family had fought for and that he'd helped to protect from Northern aggression. Too many men of low character from other parts of the country—carpetbaggers—were getting into the state legislature and leadership positions with only their own interests at heart.

Silbia's rap on the library door signaled that his visitors had arrived. She stuck her head in. “They're here,” she announced. “Where do you want me to put 'em?”

Neal's heart began a rapid beat. “Show them in here,” he said and inhaled a chest full of air. His glance fell on his row of well-preserved books telling the stories of the mighty Titan gods and goddesses of Greek mythology. And, he had to admit it, but only to himself, that he
liked
the idea—the
image
—of himself as a powerful champion of Texas, like those Olympians featured in the tales from his mythological collection. Since he was a boy, it had been a dream of his to become one of them in reality. In whose hand would the sword of power be better wielded? And oil money—gushers of it—would make his dream come true.

“Gentlemen, welcome,” he said, getting up to shake hands with the two visitors shown into the room. They were a disparate pair. Todd Baker was tall but thin as a scarecrow, nervous as a twining rod. The other stood an equal height but was of muscular build with an air of calm, patient strength about him. Neal addressed Todd first. “Todd, good to see you again. Hardly any time seems to have passed since you were no taller than the top of your daddy's boots, and now here you are, a bona fide geologist.” To Nathan he said, “And you must be the landman I was told to expect.” Neal noticed that the young man's extraordinary eyes were neither blue or green but a deep combination of both.

“He's the son of Trevor Waverling,” Todd offered, hoping that information might carry weight in the negotiations and that Nathan wouldn't muddle it up by correcting his last name and confuse the issue.

“Just Nathan will do for now, Mr. Gordon,” Nathan said, shaking hands. “You have a good-looking place here.”

Neal cast an appraising eye around the library. “Thank you. The old abode could use a little sprucing up, but it's comfortable enough.”

“I was referring to your rangeland, sir. It's some of the finest I've ever seen.”

Neal was conscious of a discomfited shuffle from Todd. “Oh?” he said. “You speaking from experience as a landman or from having grown up on a ranch?”

“Neither,” Nathan said. “I'm new at the job, and I grew up on a wheat farm.”

So the boy might have some misgivings about sinking a drill bit into good rangeland, Neal thought, divining a little conflict in that regard between landman and geologist. Samantha would find a kindred spirit in this young man, more was the pity, but Neal found he liked him, too. The boy exuded a straightforwardness he liked. That perception remained to be tested, but for the moment, Neal was inclined to trust him to lay out all the facts and to offer a fair deal.

They took chairs around a large table used for Neal's poker games. Todd spread out a map of the area of Windy Bluff drawn from another brave, clandestine visit to the site he'd managed without discovery. Employing a plotting compass, steel-ribbon tape, and other surveyor's tools, and using the rock structure of Windy Bluff as a benchmark and the fence gate as a boundary monument, Todd was able to sketch a detailed drawing of the acreage he believed most viable for striking oil.

“So that's the area where you wish to drill!” Neal exclaimed, flooded with relief. “Thank God. That patch of ground is near worthless anyway, with hardly enough grass to feed my daughter's pet steer. How in the world was it that you came to be out at Windy Bluff to make your discovery, Todd? The messenger didn't say.”

Todd exchanged a look with Nathan. From Neal's question, Samantha had obviously not told Neal of her possible archeological discovery. Todd wished he could lie, say that Samantha had invited him out to see her pet steer. However, in meeting with Nathan and his father the Sunday following his discovery, Todd had presented the snag that would prevent Neal Gordon from agreeing to drill on the desired land. Todd had had to remind father and son that they had met Samantha Gordon at the paleontology lecture in Fort Worth they attended in March. They both remembered her reddish-gold hair.

“Well, sir…” Todd began and explained, leaving out the part about the theft. When he finished, Neal's rosy mood had tempered. He remained silent for a few minutes, chewing on his thoughts, patting his chin thoughtfully. “Did… Samantha not tell you about her find, sir?” Todd asked.

Neal realigned himself in his chair, his disappointment heavy. He should have expected there'd be no clear sailing in this enterprise. “I've only been home less than two days, and there were other things of importance to discuss,” he said. “My daughter is getting married, as you know, Todd. Her mother was home and we had guests to celebrate the occasion. I'm sure Samantha would have gotten around to it.”

“So, until you discuss our proposal with your daughter, I should hold off my land research?” Nathan asked quietly.

Neal drummed his fingers on the table. “So my daughter thinks there's a dinosaur burial ground around Windy Bluff, does she? What do you think, Todd? You saw the skull.”

“It was only a fragment of one, and I couldn't be sure.”

“Was?”

Todd felt a lurch of anxiety. “Yessir,
was
. It's no longer there. Samantha wrote me that it had… disappeared.” Todd felt Nathan's curious eyes on him, but he could plead that he'd simply forgotten to pass on that information since he hadn't received Samantha's letter until days after his Sunday report.

“Hmm,” Neal mused. “So there's no proof of the possible existence of such a burial ground around Windy Bluff?”

“Uh, actually, there might be,” Todd said reluctantly, again aware of Nathan's narrowed gaze. In their early Sunday meeting, Todd had left out the information of the photographs Samantha had taken with her Kodak, which was now hidden in his desk drawer. Eventually, that lacking piece in his Sunday report would come to light. Best to insert it now.

Under Nathan's scrutiny, Todd filled in the missing part. When he'd finished, Neal asked, “Where is that camera now?”

“On the way to Rochester, New York, for the pictures to be developed, sir,” Todd said, straight-faced.

“So they'll tell the tale one way or the other?”

“That's right, sir, but again, I don't think we have to worry. In my expert opinion, they'll only show the relic to belong to a more recent species of extinct life.”

Neal turned to Nathan. “How many acres are we talking about, son?”

“Two, sir.”

“Only two. That should present no conflict. You can just drill a little away from wherever this”—Neal twirled a finger—“
artifact
was found, right?”

Nathan and Todd exchanged a look. Nathan said, “No sir. An oil rig has to be set up where geological findings indicate oil. Off two feet either way can produce a dry hole.”

“I see…” Neal mused. “That's a damn shame.” He glanced at Todd. “But if you're right and Samantha's wrong about the identity of that bone, I see no problem with leasing. I have proof of my family's land grant and property deeds, plus a copy of my father's will, but I understand before you can negotiate mineral and surface rights, you have to authenticate them from courthouse records. Is that right, Nathan?”

“That's right, Mr. Gordon.”

Todd sat up eagerly. “Does that mean we have a deal?”

“It means that Nathan can begin his research, Todd. Now let's go see precisely the area we're talking about.”