Titans (28 page)

O
kay now, is everybody ready?” Trevor Waverling asked, sticking his head into the Concord, hands on the frame. His daughter and Zak occupied one seat. Across from it, the other was piled with picnic basket, water jug, kit of geological tools, valise of books, and beige-and-red-striped canvas traveling bag designed by Louis Vuitton of France. A bisque doll of unglazed porcelain, also French, reigned atop the mound, its dark blue stare and realistic skin-like matte finish looking eerily alive in the shadows of the velvet-draped coach.

“Ready, Daddy!” Rebecca squealed, hooking her arm around the German shepherd's neck. “Aren't we, Zak?”

“Don't hold him so tightly, Rebecca,” Trevor ordered sharply. “Zak's already hot enough. Can't you see his tongue hanging out? He could bite you.” He turned to Nathan. They were standing in front of the town house in Turtle Creek, Mavis and Lenora watching from the porch, Benjy already ensconced on the driver's seat. “Are you sure you want to take Rebecca along, son?” he said, pitching his voice low. “You know what a handful she can be.”

“This trip to Fort Worth will be good for her,” Nathan said. “She needs a change of scene, something to remember and think about in that world she inhabits, and Zak will help look after her.”

“Your trip shouldn't take over seven hours. Once you get to the Worth, use their telephone to give us a call here at the house. Mother will be worried until we hear from you.”

“We'll be okay. Has everything been arranged with Mr. Gordon?”

“It has. He's expecting you, and maybe by the time you get out to his ranch, his daughter will have gotten that camera back. I hope Todd's right about the photographs. Otherwise, this trip and your research will be a waste.”

“Today's the ninth, twenty-three days since Todd mailed the camera,” Nathan said. “We'll know something by the end of the week. Kodak is good about developing and returning film when they say they will.” Nathan stuck out his hand. He had already given his grandmother a farewell hug. “See you soon, Dad.”

Trevor hesitated, then, ignoring his son's hand, pulled him into a rough embrace. “Take care, boy. We'll miss you,” he said, giving Nathan's back a thump. Stepping away quickly, he called up to his driver. “Benjy! You make sure to take the road carefully, you hear?”

Benjy glanced down at Trevor. His proper coachman's attire of the winter had been replaced by less formal summer wear, and he looked less picturesque in a cotton driver's jacket and cloth cap. “I hear ye, Mr. Waverling. I'll make sure to deliver yer
paístí
—children—back to ye safe and sound.”

Room had been reserved the other side of Zak for Nathan should the need arise to calm Rebecca, but for the time being, he would start the journey seated next to Benjy. He climbed up to the driver's box and at the flick of the reins gave a last wave to his grandmother, and they were off.

Trevor joined his mother on the porch. “I saw that embrace,” Mavis said. “You've grown to love him, haven't you?”

Trevor nodded, his gaze on the departing coach. “You could say I do.”

“Thank the Almighty for that,” Mavis said. “It's good for you to love somebody other than yourself.”

“Yes, it is, Mother,” Trevor said.

The next morning, Tuesday, Samantha found herself unable to stay away from the library window fronting the approach to the ranch. Her father had informed her that the landman who'd accompanied the geologist to do a preliminary survey of Windy Bluff would be arriving to take another look at the area.

“What for?” Samantha had demanded, a glint of suspicion in her eye. “Our agreement was that, no matter the possibility of oil at Windy Bluff, if my photographs bear out my guess, there will be no drilling in that zone.”

Neal held up his hands in a conciliatory gesture. “That's the point of the young man's visit, honey, and it was not my idea. It was Nathan Waverling's. He's coming out to determine if—should your photographs prove you right—there's a chance they might still be able to drill for oil in that region without interfering with the place where you found that head. No harm in that, is there?”

No, there was no harm in it, Samantha conceded to humor him, but she could have added that the landman was wasting his time. If a dinosaur field was there, it would encompass the whole northern section of the ranch, leaving no room for a drill site. It was clear to her that her father's excitement at the prospect of oil deposits being found on Las Tres Lomas had grown like a newly planted seed since their agreement. She'd find him reading The Derrick Page, a section recently included in the
Fort Worth
Gazette
, when formerly he'd been interested only in cattle news. He began subscribing to business periodicals featuring petroleum-related articles he'd discuss with Sloan when he came for supper. He'd drop snippets from them such as “It's rumored that Henry Ford is designing a gasoline-powered auto of the kind that everybody in America will be able to afford. Can you imagine the demand for petroleum when that happens?” And, “Did you know that France is the world's leading auto manufacturer, but it's predicted that by 1905, the U.S. will outdo them. Imagine that.”

Her father had been bitten by the petroleum bug. Even Grizzly and Wayne seemed resigned that oil drilling was coming to Las Tres Lomas de la Trinidad. It was only a matter of time. Samantha, repulsed, pictured bloated cattle lying dead beside their contaminated underground spring, black crude soaking into rich green grass, destructive service roads cutting across flowing pastures, drilling noise and the loud passage of horses and wagons sending their livestock fleeing.

Samantha tried not to let her dread cast a shadow over her wedding preparations and her upcoming marriage to Sloan, but it nibbled on her happiness. The glow of her reconciliation with her father, at its brightest and warmest the night of the party, had dimmed somewhat. Her trust that nothing again could ever come between them had weakened. Neal Gordon would stick to his word—that she believed, but could he live without resentment of her if the only oil to be found on Las Tres Lomas was over her dinosaur bed?

“What's gotten you by the horns, Sam?” Sloan had asked. “I know something's going on in that pretty head.”

They were standing outside one of the Triple S's corrals looking over the newly purchased bull bred in England that had made it alive and well all the way from Liverpool, a testament to its stamina that Sloan hoped to breed into his herd. Sloan stood behind her, his hands on the railing and she in the space between him and the corral fence. Now and then Samantha felt Sloan's chin nuzzle the top of her head. Regardless of how many cowhands lined the railings, when she appeared, unabashedly, he would make room for her in this intimate impound. At such times, she could hardly endure her longing for him, and she knew he felt the same. He would nibble her ear and whisper, “Soon, sweetheart. Soon.”

She'd explained, and Sloan had asked slowly, “Well, to avoid another conflict with your father, would you… reconsider your part of the agreement?”

She'd swung around, horrified. “You mean forfeit an archeological dig that could yield untold prehistoric treasure for an
oil
site? No. A deal is a deal. Daddy would expect me to abide by his side of the agreement, and I expect the same of him. He knew what was at risk when he made it.”

“And you know what's at risk if he loses.” Sloan's meaning was clear. Had she asked herself what Neal Gordon would feel if and when inevitable disaster struck Las Tres Lomas that oil money could fix? Samantha had indeed given thought to that crisis, and it was at the root of her worry. She'd slowly nodded yes.

“I think you'd be wise to keep that in mind if no other source of petroleum is found, Sam,” Sloan had said, then tightened the enclave of his arms. “But let's not worry about eggs that might never hatch. Neal's optimism is probably well-founded. My bet is that oil is all over that ranch.”

Samantha had never thought she'd agree to such a statement, but she hoped so, too.

Troubling her also was the disappearance of the skull. What had happened to it? How could it have simply disappeared without a trace? What food value could an animal have found in ancient bone? Their dogs were well fed, and predators would have been more interested in live flesh. Samantha had dug carefully in the exact spot where she'd found the fossil, but found no bone source where it would have been attached. What movement of earth had caused it to surface from its centuries-old burial ground in the first place? She burned with impatience to get an archeological team out to the ranch.

Samantha heard the rumble of a coach and team turn under the crossbars. A look out the library window confirmed their visitor had arrived. She dropped her hand just as she was about to tug the bell pull to summon Silbia to send someone to get her father from the Trail Head. In the kitchen, the housekeeper would not have heard the team drive up. That was good. Samantha wanted time to look over Nathan Waverling alone, without the meddling—and intimidating—presence of Neal Gordon. She understood that this visit was the landman's idea, that he was in sympathy with the desire of the rancher's daughter to preserve her archeological site. That bode well for a tolerable meeting. She wondered if her hair would again attract his attention.

Samantha had come out on the porch by the time the team of two horses drew up to a hitching post. She recognized Nathan Waverling from their one brief meeting last March. He sat next to the driver, an odd-looking little man who handled the team of powerful horses with expert ease. A dark-haired little girl hung her head out the coach window. “Hello,” she called out. “Who are you? Are you nobody, too?”

Inside the coach a dog barked.

“Howdy,” Nathan said, hopping down, seemingly taking no notice of Samantha's hair, worn in the topknot style she favored in the heat of summer. “I'm Nathan Holloway. We met once before.”

Perplexed, Samantha took the proffered hand. “I remember,” she said, “but Holloway? I thought you were Trevor Waverling's son.”

“I am.” Nathan smiled at her confusion. “It's complicated. I brought my sister and dog along. I hope you don't mind.”

“No, of course not,” Samantha said. She smiled at the little girl. “Hello,” she said.

“This is Rebecca,” Nathan said, opening the coach door, “and my dog Zak, and that fellow up there grinning like a fool is Benjy, my friend and the family driver.”

“How do you do?” Samantha said, with a polite nod that included them all. “Won't you come in? I believe our cook has made some fresh lemonade.”

“Thank you, but we just had breakfast at the hotel.”

“Are you sure, Nathan?” Benjy called down.

“I'm sure, Benjy.”

Rebecca had approached Samantha. Eyes bright with wonder, she reached up and stroked an errant strand of Samantha's hair. “
O Helen fair, beyond compare! I'll make a garland o' thy hair
,” she quoted.

Samantha looked bewilderingly at Nathan. The dog, a German shepherd, had come to sit quietly on his haunches beside the little girl. “Rebecca, honey, you mustn't touch the lady's hair. You and Zak come stand by me,” Nathan ordered quietly.

“It's all right,” Samantha said, quickly understanding the situation. His little sister was enchanting but suffered a mental deficiency. Samantha smiled at her and said, “I like your hair, too, especially your pretty ribbon.”

“
I'll tell you how the sun rose a ribbon at a time. The steeples swam in amethyst, the news, like squirrels ran
,” Rebecca began, but Nathan stepped forward and took her hand.

“Excuse me, Rebecca,” he said, his voice gentle but firm. “The nice lady and I must talk. Go sit with Zak on the porch for a little while and get out of the sun. Will you do that for me?”

“Yes, Nathan,” she said. “Come, Zak. You come, too, Benjy.”

“That I will, wee one,” Benjy said, nimbly hopping down on his short legs from the carriage seat to take charge of Rebecca's hand.

“You impress me as a kind and patient brother,” Samantha said, risking an observation the landman might take as too familiar on such short acquaintance. At first blush, it was hard not to like him.

“My sister's no trouble. She'll go with us for the inspection. Would you direct me to the spot? I can't quite remember how to get there. Also, is Mr. Gordon about? I imagine he wants to be on hand. You, too, I suspect.”

“You suspect right, but my father is… indisposed. I'll lead you out to Windy Bluff myself. My horse is already saddled.”

“Lead on, then,” Nathan said. “We'll follow.”

A
n hour later, Nathan's inspection had been completed. Todd's maps and tools, along with Samantha's knowledge of the huge fields of dinosaur skeletons found in Colorado and Wyoming in the late 1870s, had helped him make his geological assessment. “It was estimated that the quarry in Colorado encompassed forty acres,” Samantha told Nathan. Nathan did not state what was glaringly apparent to both of them: If Samantha's theory proved correct, a cemetery of deeply buried fossils half that size would spread over Todd's proposed drill site.

Samantha asked, “If oil is present in this area of the ranch, can it be assumed to exist in another?”

“Not necessarily,” Nathan said and explained that he'd seen a gusher shoot out of a well dug a half acre from its sister rig that produced nothing but sand. “Pinpointing the exact location of oil is near impossible,” he said. “Even when there are indications of petroleum deposits, you can still come up empty. Wells are dug on belief and gut feelings and noses. Nothing scientific about it.”

Samantha's heart fell. “I can't tell you how sorry I am to hear that, but your company will look at other possibilities on the ranch, right?”

“I couldn't say, Miss Gordon. That will be up to my father.” Nathan's heart had fallen also. He scanned the surrounding rangeland, vast in scope but only a fraction of the ranch of Las Tres Lomas de la Trinidad. If Waverling Tools did not sink a well in this spot, the company would move on. “You've got a big place here. Todd might not be able to sniff every foot of it.”

“I understand,” Samantha said, thinking of Todd Baker's nose that had generated all this trouble. If only Todd had not gotten on the back of Saved that day…

She would not exactly call him a traitor to the cause. That would be unfair. His cause was geology. Todd's job, as her father had pointed out, was to find oil for his employer. But he was a traitor to the principles of the earth sciences he'd professed to embrace, those that called for respect and reverence for relics of the past. And he was a traitor to their friendship. That day at Windy Bluff, he should have told her of his belief that an oil field lay near where she found the skull rather than express it to her father behind her back. What was more disturbing, at his suggestion, she'd handed over her camera to Todd to mail to New York. It was a concern that only recently had come to haunt her when she learned the extent of his treachery.

Benjy stole up to Nathan's side. “Nathan, me lad, isn't it time to spread the picnic? It's been a while since breakfast. I'm sure Rebecca is hungry.”

“Ah, so it's her stomach I hear growling, is it?” Nathan said, grinning. He turned to Samantha. “Won't you stay and have a bite to eat with us, Miss Gordon? There's plenty.”

“
Please!
” they heard from inside the coach, as the door flew open and Rebecca jumped out. Nathan and Samantha glanced at each other in surprise that she'd been listening. During the inspection, Rebecca had been content to sit in the coach reading to her doll one of the many books brought along to keep her occupied. The little girl ran to Samantha and wrapped her arms around her waist. “Please stay,” she begged.

Samantha thought a moment. Her father, finding her gone, would have deduced their visitor had arrived and she and the landman had taken off to Windy Bluff without him. Grass and dirt flying, he would be thundering up any minute in a fume that she'd not alerted him and caused him to miss out on information she'd been privy to. She was glad he wasn't with them. Neal Gordon would not want to hear what Nathan Holloway had to say. God help them if Todd's nose did not turn up another prospective place to drill. Meanwhile, this little girl's arms were around her, her upturned face as tender as a flower, her plea irresistible. “I'd love to,” Samantha said.

They sat down in the shade of a large cottonwood tree near the underground spring, Nathan and Samantha with their backs against the trunk. He had ordered the picnic prepared back at the hotel, the menu suggested by Benjy, and they watched as the coachman spread a blanket and set out a basket of fried chicken, cornbread, onions, pickled okra, a crock of pinto beans, and a butter cooler of banana pudding. But for Saved, cattle did not range this far north, and they would be spared the smell and sight of “cow patties,” which would have affected their appetites. Today, the steer had wandered out of sight.

“How long have you been a landman?” Samantha asked.

“Not long enough to call myself one,” Nathan answered, and without going into personal detail, volunteered that he'd come to work for his father when he turned twenty. He now lived with him and his grandmother and sister in Dallas and was finally becoming weaned from the wheat farm in Gainesville where he'd grown up.

Samantha smiled. “I was in Gainesville not so long ago. Beautiful farming country. So you're becoming accustomed to city life?”

“Trying to,” Nathan said.

Samantha enjoyed the sound of his voice. He was a very comfortable person to be around, she thought, peaceful as a slow-moving river. While they conversed, Rebecca and Zak splashed in the spring, the little girl holding up her skirts and squealing when the dog shook himself and showered her with droplets. A cool breeze off the water relieved the heat, and only an occasional caw from a bird or the distant low of cattle disturbed the noon stillness.

Samantha felt the tension drain from her shoulders, if only for a little while. She found herself recalling the boy's handsome father and tried to reconstruct their conversation at the paleontology lecture last March…

I could not help but notice that you seemed to believe you knew me when Barnard and I joined you, Mr. Waverling, then decided not. Am I correct?

To a degree. The color of your hair reminds me stunningly of someone I used to know.

Then I hope it evokes a pleasant memory.

Unforgettable ones.

Samantha glanced at Nathan. Did he know the woman to whom her hair reminded his father stunningly of someone he used to know, the woman whose memory he had not forgotten? It didn't matter now. She was no longer curious as to who that might be, no longer desired an incidental encounter with a stranger who might say,
You look so familiar, especially the color of your hair. Are you related to so-and-so?

Her thoughts were interrupted by Benjy calling them to the blanket. “Nathan,” he said, “ye'd best get Zak to shake himself before he joins us. Come, Rebecca, let me fix yer plate.”

They arranged themselves on the blanket, the earth warm beneath it. Samantha expressed that the chicken looked delicious. On a cattle ranch, they didn't get the opportunity to eat much fowl. She had never enjoyed picnics on the ground. Gnats and ants were an irritant, and balancing a plate in her hand a challenge, but somehow today the company of the entertaining little group made the annoyances unnoticeable.

“
Benjy!
”
Rebecca raised her voice authoritatively. “Pudding, please!”

“You don't want to eat your chicken first, Rebecca?” Nathan suggested.

“Pudding first, and then the chicken,” Rebecca said decisively then demanded in a shriek, “
Benjy!
Where's my spoon?
”

“Ah, now lass, let Uncle Benjy tell ye a thing or two about spoons,” the coachman said. He ladled a scoop of pudding onto Rebecca's plate and picked up a spoon. “With a spoon, ye take too much into yer mouth all at once, see?” Benjy demonstrated and afterward took up a fork. “With a fork the food lasts longer if ye dip only the tips into it, like this.”

Rebecca looked skeptical and took the fork he handed her. They all watched as she carefully dipped the tips of the utensil into the pudding and quoted, “
‘Pudding and pie,' said Jane. ‘Oh, my!' / ‘Which would you rather?' said her father / ‘Both,' cried Jane, quite bold
and plain.
”

Samantha looked at Nathan, and he answered the question in her glance. “My sister responds in poetry. It is her way of communicating.”

“Her way is charming,” Samantha said. “She has quite a fine mind to hold all those verses.”

“She's brilliant,” Benjy said, savoring a nibble of his chicken leg. “Her mind just thinks differently from the rest of us.”

They heard a rider approaching at a gallop from the direction of the ranch house. Samantha sighed. “My father, Neal Gordon,” she said, brushing crumbs from her lap, prepared to meet his ire.

Neal noted the spread picnic fare and halted his paint a distance away to prevent soil and turf from landing on the food. He dismounted hurriedly and approached with his hand held out to Nathan. “Good afternoon,” he said. “Sorry to be late to greet you, but”—he cast an annoyed glance at Samantha—“nobody came to get me when you arrived.”

Samantha said in a playful tone, “I wanted my time with Nathan before you took over, Daddy. I thought it best, and I was right.”

“Come join us in a picnic, Mr. Gordon,” Nathan invited.

“Aw, Nathan!” Benjy muttered low in protest.

Nathan ignored him. “We have plenty,” he said to Neal.

But Neal Gordon was not interested in food. “Actually, what I'd like to have is your opinion, Mr. Waverling. Can this… supposed cemetery of old bones—” he waved an arm to encompass the area around the twin boulders of Windy Bluff “—be spared if we drill for oil over there?” He pointed in the direction beyond the underground spring.

“No sir, it cannot,” Nathan answered, “and, Mr. Gordon, I go by the last name of Holloway, not Waverling. Holloway is my stepfather's name. He raised me. I've just recently come to live with and work for my father.”

Neal's arm fell. He stared at Nathan as though he'd suddenly pointed a gun at him.

Nathan said, “But, like I introduced myself when we met, just Nathan will do.”

When Neal, stiff and unmoving, continued to stare, Samantha took his arm. “Daddy? What has happened to you?”

“I—I don't know,” Neal said. He ran a hand over his face. “For a few seconds there, I… I seemed to lose my train of thought. I guess I was bowled over by… by the disappointing news.” It wasn't possible, he thought, shock deafening his ears to all sound. These things didn't happen. The young man he'd invited onto his land was Samantha's twin brother and… that must mean that… Trevor Waverling was her father.