A Woman of Fortune (3 page)

She hooked her arm inside Garrett's and they walked with Marcy past the pool. Claire's eyes scanned the crowd. Seeing no sign of Tuck, she voiced a not-so-subtle complaint. “Doesn't your father know we're hosting a barbeque? Where could he be?”

“I think I saw him head toward the office with his banker.” Garrett slipped his hand onto Marcy's back. “But that was over half an hour ago, right, honey?”

Claire stopped walking. She jutted her chin. “During our party?”

A server stepped forward. “Caviar, Mrs. Massey?”

She directed her attention to the black beluga roe on the silver platter. Using the tiny pearl-handled spoon, she scooped a small mound onto a toast point and slipped the rare and very expensive delicacy into her mouth.

With a frown, Claire waved over one of the catering managers. “The caviar is several degrees too warm.” She placed her hand on his forearm. “I'm afraid the outside temperature is working against us.”

“Yes, Mrs. Massey. I'll certainly take care of that right away. My apologies.” The man in the black tuxedo snapped his fingers at another waiter, then spoke into a lapel microphone. Seconds later, two men scurried from the direction of the house, carrying trays of shaved ice.

“Look, go check on your father, would you, Garrett? And if he's out there, tell him I send a message. This is no time for business. Not during the party.”

Claire watched Garrett and Marcy continue on, maneuvering through pockets of guests. As they faded from sight, she packed up her angst and headed in the direction of the house.

“It's a shame Baker had to pull out of the race. Fighting cancer doesn't work very well on the campaign trail. But Reece Sandell will make a fine senator . . .” Governor Jackson let his words fade as Claire approached.

“Claire, dear—what a lovely party.” The governor's wife clasped her hand.

“Thank you, Mrs. Jackson.” Claire brushed the woman's cheek with a kiss before greeting her white-haired husband. “Governor.”

Suddenly, Tuck was at her side. He patted Governor Jackson's shoulder. “Glad you could make it, John.”

“Hey, there you are.” The governor's eyes lit up. He extended a blue-veined hand and gave his host an enthusiastic handshake.

A huge grin on his face, Tuck waved over one of the servers with a wide swipe of his hand. “Now, you two, listen up. I don't want either one of you to be shy when it comes to dishing up for dinner.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “In addition to the T-bones, we had several cases of the filets you raved about last year prepared special. And,” he added, “there's a case for you to take home.”

Mrs. Jackson eyed the barbeque pit appreciatively and rewarded her host with a smile before sliding a tall glass of sweet tea from the tray offered by a white-gloved server, who then turned to the governor. “Sir? Would you care for something to drink?”

Last election cycle, television pundits claimed John Jackson was past his prime, causing him to slip in the polls at a dangerous rate. Tuck stood up at the Cattle Baron's Ball and endorsed John as a friend to Texas ranching, garnering the wavering candidate enough support to win the election, just barely. The act placed Tuck on a pedestal in the governor's eyes, which should bolster Reece's run for election. “It's all about relationships,” Tuck often reminded his boys.

Claire took in the scent of her husband's cologne as he leaned in and kissed her. “So, where've
you
been, mister?” Her voice teased, but she hoped her eyes sent a more serious message.

“Schmoozing.” Tuck winked at the governor and his wife. “If you two will pardon us, Claire and I must greet a few hundred guests.”

Out of earshot from the governor and his wife, Tuck apologized. “Sorry, babe. I didn't mean to get tied up. You know nothing could keep me from our party for long.”

She squeezed his hand. “Yeah. Uh-huh. You've been spending way too much time out in the offices lately. Today is for you to relax and enjoy yourself.”

As they neared the pit, the air filled with an intoxicating aroma of beef cooking over mesquite. Tuck patted one of the cooks on the shoulder. “Hey there, Charlie. Those steaks are looking mighty good.”

“Thank you, Mr. Massey. We'll be ready to serve up the first round of this'n here beef in about ten minutes.”

“Mmm, can't wait.” Tuck gave the old pit master a smile of approval.

Claire felt a tap on her shoulder. “Mother, may I speak to you a moment?” There was an unusual urgency in her daughter's voice. Claire offered up an apology and followed Lainie.

Once they were a safe distance from being overheard, Lainie explained. “It's Max.” She nodded over at the table where her younger brother sat, arm draped sloppily over the blonde seated to his right, who was looking a bit annoyed.

“Oh, goodness.” Claire waved for Lainie to follow, but before they could make their way to Max, Glory Sandell wedged herself in between the two women and their destination, blocking the line of sight to where Max was more than enjoying the party.

“Claire, you're fixin' to put us all to shame. This party is”—she hesitated—“uh, quite the show.”

“Thank you, Glory.” Claire graced the woman with one of her most brilliant smiles, then looped her arm with Glory's and strolled a few steps, maneuvering away from the blasts of laughter coming from Max's table.

“Glory, I wanted to tell you about the new cake decorator I've discovered. He's wonderful.” Glory tried to glance over her shoulder, but Claire pressed on. “You might consider him for Reece's upcoming fund-raiser. In fact, Lainie, why don't you take Glory and show your future mother-in-law the cake?”

Lainie picked up on the opportunity. “Oh yes. You
have
to see this gorgeous creation before they cut it.”

Claire took a few more steps with them, pointing out that the smart little bakery was located in the Market District, right next to the café they'd lunched at last month, the one that served the to-die-for risotto with chanterelle mushrooms.

With Glory Sandell safely commandeered, Claire scurried to Max's table, which thankfully was now vacant except for her son and the girl.

“Max?”

“Hi, Mom.” He grinned up at her. “Mom, this is Bridget. She's the new love of my life.” He snorted out a giggle. “I'm gonna marry her.”

“Hi, Mrs. Massey.”

“Bridget.” Claire gave the young woman an apologetic smile before extricating her son's arm from the girl's accommodating shoulder.

“Do you need any help, Mrs. Massey?” Bridget asked.

Claire saw Margarita heading their way. “No, I think we're good.”

Minutes later, with Margarita's help, Claire successfully wrangled Max away from the crowd mostly unnoticed, then across the side yard and into the door leading to the east wing of the house.

“Max, for goodness' sake. What if your father had seen you like this? Or worse, one of those reporters?”

“What do you think would happen, Mom?” Her son hiccuped. “Oh,
that's
right. I might be the black sheep of the family. Baaa . . .”

Claire tightened her grip. “Max, that's enough.”

“Get it, Mom? Black sheep. Like you said were on Grandpa's farm—in the old days?”

“I can get him from here, Mrs. Massey.” The stout housekeeper slapped at Max's hand as he attempted to pinch her cheek. “Enough of you, young man.”

“Margarita, would
you
marry me?” he teased, his words slurring.

“I'm gonna marry that hind end in a minute. You're not so grown I can't still bend you over.” Margarita placed her more than ample
arms around his shoulders and guided him past the leather sofa and down the hallway to the first-floor guest quarters.

Claire followed close behind. “Thank you, Margarita. I don't know what I'd do without you.”

“No problem. Now get back out there. They'll be cutting the cake soon. Oh, and . . .”

“Yes?”

“Miss Lainie is nearly beside herself.”

Claire nodded and assured her housekeeper she would report back to her anxious daughter as soon as possible that all was well. She gave Margarita a quick pat on the shoulder and headed back to the party.

What was Max thinking? Her son had never used this kind of indiscretion. She only hoped Tuck hadn't seen. Things were tense enough between the two of them as it was.

Tuck adored his son. But unlike Garrett, who rarely stepped outside his father's expectations, Max never measured up. As his teen years melted into young adulthood, he'd simply quit trying, instead finding his own path.

Max was a writer. A gifted one—despite the fact he was currently on his third unpublished manuscript since he'd dropped out of college over a year ago. He traded free room and board at home for a two-room loft above the offices of the
Longhorn Weekly
, a small alternative newspaper where he earned rent and a meager paycheck and authored a regularly featured editorial column on the dearth of contemporary politics in America—his destiny, she supposed, given he'd interrupted dinner one evening many years ago with the question, “Daddy, are we
democraps
or
repelicans
?”

While she and Tuck had concealed their laughter, Lainie had daintily placed her fork down, given her little brother a stern look, and responded, “We're
Texans
, silly.”

Claire smiled at the memory, then slowed her pace as Tuck's voice drifted from the door of the study. He sounded angry.

“Tuck?” she said from the doorway.

Tuck glanced in her direction. “Look, I gotta go. I'll call you on Monday. Yes, uh-huh. We'll discuss all this then.” He ended the call and slid his phone in his jeans pocket. “Hi, honey.”

“Tuck, who was that?”

“One of our buyers from Amarillo. Nothing to worry about. Just business.”

Claire studied her husband's face. He looked like an armadillo hit by a cattle truck. “You sure?”

“Oh, you know these guys,” Tuck said a little too quickly. “Always complaining they don't make enough money.” He slipped his arm around her waist and led her out into the hallway. “As if millions weren't enough.” He forced a smile.

Outside, they made their way to their designated places at the head table, where Claire discreetly turned her attention to Jana Rae, who was seated at her right. “I'll tell you, there are times when managing this family is a full-time job.”

Jana Rae nodded. “I don't think too many people noticed Max. Everybody's attention has been on pretty boy.”

Claire followed her gaze to a table nearby, where Reece Sandell pulled out a chair for Lainie. A photographer clicked several shots of the couple. Claire nudged her friend's arm and responded in a low voice. “Shh, somebody will hear you.”

“Well, it's true,” Jana Rae whispered. “I mean, look at that guy. No doubt he's cut from a politician's bolt of cloth.” She took the linen napkin and placed it in her lap. “If his teeth got any whiter, Lainie would have to wear sunglasses.”

Claire whispered back, “You're only getting away with those remarks because you're my best friend. Besides, I've never seen Lainie happier.”

After the last of the meal was cleared, the crowd made their way to the dance pavilion. Claire followed Tuck to the stage, where he cleared his throat and leaned into the microphone. “Excuse me, everyone. Can I have your attention?”

Their guests quieted.

“I'd like to thank y'all for coming out for the Legacy Ranch annual barbeque.” Over a ripple of applause, Tuck slipped his arm around Claire's waist. “Once in a while, a fella gets luckier than he deserves.”

“That's called
grace
,” Pastor Richards shouted from near the front of the crowd. Several people laughed, including one of Tuck's fellow elders at Abundant Hills Church, where Claire had chaired the annual missions gala for the last couple of years.

Tuck nodded. “Yeah, that's right. Can't believe the big guy upstairs trusted a guy like me with such a pretty thing.” He gave Claire a squeeze. “Seriously, though, I want to tell y'all how much my family means to me. As some of you know, my oldest son Garrett recently took over the ranch operations here. And with any luck, he and that pretty wife of his, Marcy, will be making me and Claire some grandbabies soon.”

Laughter broke out again.

“My son Max, on the other hand—he tossed my advice aside and joined the media. A fine profession, I suppose.” Tuck cleared his throat in an exaggerated manner and pointed to the business reporter from the
Dallas Morning News
.

The reporter smiled and waved.

Tuck cleared his throat a second time, his eyes filling with emotion. “And now my baby girl is getting married. And to the future senator from Texas, no less.”

A roar of applause erupted. Near the front of the crowd, Reece pulled their daughter tight against him.

“Lainie, sweetheart, may you always love one another as much as I love your mother.” Tuck squeezed Claire before lifting his glass. “After nearly thirty years of marriage, my heart still skips a beat every time I look at this gal.”

Claire leaned into the microphone. “And after thirty years of marriage, I can't believe that tired old line of his still works.”

The crowd responded with laughter. Tuck took Claire's hand and led her from the stage. She cupped her left palm around Tuck's
shoulder and placed her other hand in his. Together they held everyone's attention while they two-stepped around the dance floor as Lady Antebellum played their popular tune “I Run to You.”

After the last note played, Tuck escorted Claire to where Garrett and Marcy stood applauding. Her husband grinned. “That's how it's done, Son.”

Tuck lifted Claire's hand and lightly kissed her palm. The intimate gesture made her feel warm all over, or perhaps it was the balmy Texas evening—she wasn't sure.