A Woman of Fortune (2 page)

1

F
OUR
M
ONTHS
E
ARLIER

Claire wrapped the apron ties around her waist and gazed out the window. In the distance, a small army of men assembled large white tents. Catering trucks littered the horizon, and she could see smoke drifting from the barbeque pit, where in a few hours, beef briskets would be slow-roasted until tender, and hundreds of T-bone steaks grilled to smoky perfection.

Like in past years, come dusk, a steady stream of chrome-laden trucks and shiny black limousines would ease through the gate leading to Legacy Ranch, continuing well after uniformed servers marched across the lawns, carrying the first trays of lobster canapés. Snagging an invite to the Masseys' annual barbeque bash was akin to receiving the Hope Diamond in a Christmas stocking. No annual event in all of Texas—not even the Cattle Baron's Ball—was more widely anticipated.

“Where would you like the flowers placed, Mrs. Massey?”

Claire turned to find a guy in a green and white T-shirt holding a clipboard. “Oh . . .” She wiped her hands on her apron. “Let's take them right on out back. Just give me one minute.” She picked up a pâté mold from the counter and turned to her housekeeper. “Margarita, would you place this in the refrigerator for me?”

“Sure.” Margarita stopped chopping, took the mold, and headed for the walk-in cooler.

“Here, this way.” Claire waved for the young man to follow as she walked through the French doors leading to the back portico.

Every year, Tuck shook his head and wondered why his wife involved herself in these types of details. “Isn't that why we maintain a staff and hire caterers?” he'd patiently remind her.

He was right, of course. Margarita was fully capable of orchestrating all the party preparations, and Claire usually let her. But she didn't care what her husband and three grown children thought—even a woman of her financial means was entitled to spend time in the kitchen if she chose, no matter how many staff they employed.

Claire stepped into the morning sun and shaded her line of vision with a raised hand. “Was Mr. Larsen able to get the hydrangeas I ordered?” she asked the young man with the clipboard.

“Got the shipment this morning, in all the way from Oregon. Blue and white, just like you specified.” He motioned a delivery truck into place, then jumped up on the landing platform and opened the truck's back door. He pulled out a sample vase filled with blooms and held them up for her approval.

Pleased, she awarded him with a quick smile. “They're perfect!” She pointed. “See the pillars on either side of the portico?”

“Yeah.”

“That's where I'll want them. There, and on either end of the buffet tables and at each of the bars.” Claire motioned to the manicured lawn, past the pool area, where the tables and equipment were being set up. “The smaller floral arrangements are for the tables where the guests will be seated for dinner.” She reached out and caressed the bursts of periwinkle-blue blossoms.

“Sure thing, Mrs. Massey.”

“You can call me Claire.” She smiled and turned just in time to see her sleepy daughter step through the door, steaming coffee in hand.

“Isn't everything turning out lovely, sweetie?”

“Sounds like a small war going on out here.” Lainie surveyed the activity and shook her head. “I still don't understand why you don't have a catering service do all this, Mother.”

“Because I enjoy it. Your father is going to be so pleased, don't you think?”

“I think Dad has more important things to think about.”

Claire swallowed the sting of her daughter's remark. “I just want everything perfect.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Margarita in the kitchen marshaling a spur of activity. “Oh, good. The cake's here.” Claire brushed past Lainie to where two women were entering through the service door, balancing a large multitiered cake frosted in white and covered in perfectly spaced dots the exact color of the blue hydrangeas. At the top, a replica of the Legacy Ranch logo was centered just so, surrounded by tiny cattle made of marzipan.

Claire clasped her hands. “Oh yes—that's just what I had in mind.”

“Do you want the cake placed in the cooler, Mrs. Massey?”

“Yes, but let's plan to set it out at least an hour before we cut it, okay, Margarita? I don't want everyone biting into ice-cold cake.”

Lainie slugged into the kitchen, flip-flops slapping the tiled floor. “Morning, Margarita.”

“Good morning, Miss Lainie.” The older woman surveyed the girl in the baggy sweats and T-shirt, hair pulled back. “Looks like you stayed out a
leetle
too late last night.” She wiped her hands on her apron and winked. “'Bout time you kicked those heels up a little.”

Lainie threw a loving but impatient look at their housekeeper. “I wasn't ‘kicking up' any heels. Reece and I attended a fund-raiser gala for the Dallas Symphony last evening. Reece's mother is on the board. We joined his parents and the Mannings for dinner afterward.”

Claire looked up. “The Mannings?”

Lainie took a sip of her coffee. “Major contributors to Reece's campaign.”

“Ah-yee, amiga.” Margarita waved her hand. “You need some fun in your life.” The older woman turned and headed outside. Claire couldn't have said it better herself.

“Where's Dad?”

“He had to go to the office for a little while.” Claire walked to the sink to wash her hands. “Would you call your brother later and remind him to be here by five o'clock?”

“What? Do I look like Max's keeper?” Lainie refilled her coffee.

“Oh, don't be that way. He'll probably get here in plenty of time. I just want to be sure.” Claire opened the cupboard and drew out her own mug, walked over, and poured herself some coffee.

“I invited Reece's parents to stay over in the guest house after the party tonight. I hope that's okay.” Lainie grabbed a banana from the fruit basket next to the coffeepot and turned to the door.

“You did? Well, sure—of course.” Claire studied her daughter's back as she blew through the doorway and out of sight.

Great. Just what she needed. It wasn't that she disliked Andrew and Glory Sandell. It was that Reece's parents—and especially his mother—always seemed to have ulterior motives. Like her dad used to say, “Those coyote pups may look cute . . . careful, they're anything but.”

That was how she felt whenever she was in a conversation with Glory Sandell. Lainie's future mother-in-law appeared charming enough, but Claire worried if she left her hand extended a little too long, Glory might just bite it.

By five o'clock, the party had barely started and the lawns were crowded already. Near the dance floor, Claire spotted a couple of Dallas Cowboys players, the producer of
Good Morning Texas
, and a stunning woman who had been Miss Texas in the mid-nineties,
whose carefully doctored looks could still trump those of some of the much younger women at this party.

Several yards away, a slender brunette wearing five-inch stilettos and a tight silver dress waved. “Great party, Claire.”

Claire raised her glass, barely able to hear over the helicopter landing on the pad behind the barns. “Hey, Sharon,” she called back. She'd met the owner of the wildly popular exercise studio, Milana, in Dallas several years back after Tuck suggested they both might lose a few pounds before their trip to Aruba. Claire had made a weekly trip downtown for Sharon's popular yoga class, which Tuck teased was populated by women with air-brushed complexions who practiced born-again matrimony—leaving starter marriages behind to worship more lucrative marital prospects.

Speaking of Tuck, where had he taken off to? Claire scanned the crowd for her husband. Failing to spot him, she headed toward her oldest son. Garrett and his wife, Marcy, were talking with Sidney McAlvain, owner of a large gas and oil conglomerate headquartered in Houston. Sidney had his arm around a tall blonde nestled beside him. Rich men seemed to have no trouble finding what Lainie called
arm candy
, even short bald guys with cigar breath.

At one of the parties held in their Dallas Cowboys skybox, Sidney once bragged there was nothing more profitable than black gold. Tuck had laughed. “You're absolutely right,” he said. “As long as that black gold has horns and eats grass.”

Sidney must have agreed. Tuck later confided his friend had written a check investing nearly twenty million dollars, becoming the proud owner of several herds of Kansas Holsteins. Less than a year later, Tuck maneuvered his friend's investment into a tidy sum.

That was how Tuck operated. No one knew the cattle market like her husband.

Just last month, the host of one of those cable news networks reported few were more successful than Tuck Massey at turning a profit. After the show aired, the telephone never stopped ringing.

Not that she should complain. After all, she had a charismatic
husband who loved her, and they'd raised three great children. Being Tuck Massey's wife came with a lot of perks.

“Hey there, everybody.” Claire leaned forward and accepted a slight kiss on her cheek from her daughter-in-law, who was dressed in a pretty tangerine-colored sundress that offset her auburn hair. “I hope y'all are having a great time.”

Sidney puffed heavily on his cigar, sending a cloud of smoke her direction that made her eyes water. Discreetly, she stepped back as the man's manicured fingers flicked ashes on the grass at their feet. “Claire, you and Tuck have done it again. I keep thinking this party can't get any better. Yet somehow you Masseys top the year before.”

The blonde shifted her tight dress and let out a nervous giggle. “I can't believe I'm here. I mean, really. I've read about these barbeques for years. I'm so honored to attend.”

Claire saw Marcy's gaze drop to the blonde's neckline and the surgically enhanced chest captured within the fabric. In a wise move, Garrett trained his eyes on the woman's face.

Amused, Claire gave Sidney's companion du jour a welcoming smile. “We're so happy you could join us.” She extended her hand and paused. “Uh . . .”

Sidney pulled the cigar from his mouth. “Daisy,” he said.

His date smiled broadly. “Daisy Anheuser. No relation to the beer family,” she quickly added before leaning back into Sidney's arms.

“Where are you from?” Marcy asked, disapproval evident across her features.

“I'm from Ohio. Grew up around Cincinnati. But I live in Dallas now.”

Sidney slipped an oyster from a tray being passed by one of the servers. “Where's my favorite cattle meister?” He blew cigar smoke, then slurped the raw oyster and placed the empty shell back on the tray.

Claire winced and placed her hand on Garrett's arm. “I was just wondering the same. Could you please excuse us? I have a missing
husband to find.” She gave Sidney and his date a pinched smile. “Enjoy the evening.”