Iron Rods: 1 (Strip Club) (2 page)

He didn’t know why Cotton bolted, but the answer didn’t
matter. The club was in financial difficulty and its manager was in Mexico.
Bennett couldn’t have planned a better disaster if he’d tried. With all this
hell breaking loose, surely Lyle would see the time had come to close the strip
club. Tearing down the old building would finally put a close to the worst
chapters of his life, and the property could be developed into something that
would really make them some money. Luxury high-rise condos would be nice. Iron
Rods was located on the part of South Congress knee-deep in transition from
run-down to renovated. Building something elegant and sophisticated there could
only be a huge step for the betterment of the neighborhood. Anyone who saw the
situation differently would have to be crazy.

He glanced at his father, feeling as though he might be
looking crazy square in the face.

Bennett wheeled the bicycle back to the garage, letting Lyle
finish out the call in private. He rested the bike frame against a wall,
entered the house and headed straight for the kitchen. An energy-draining yawn
stopped him in his tracks.

Coffee. He needed coffee. Nectar of the gods. After the
long, sleepless night he’d had crunching numbers and trying to make sense of
the records from the club, the blacker and stronger the brew, the better.

Pausing as he rounded a corner, he stared at his worn-out
reflection in an oversized mirror taking up the entire side of a hallway wall.
How could he possibly be Lyle Truitt’s son? They looked nothing alike.

Though now almost completely gray, Lyle’s shoulder-length
hair had once been blond. Bennett’s short mane was nearly black, like his
mother’s. The old man stood under six feet tall with a medium build. Bennett
had grown to six four by the time he turned seventeen and had broad shoulders,
plus a large stature like his mother’s father. Ice-blue eyes were the only
similarity he and his father shared. Well, that and their unusually small ears.

His father was day and Bennett was night in more than just
looks. Their personalities, polar opposites in every way, had caused a great
deal of friction between them for years. The fact his father asked him to take
over the position of Chief Financial Officer for the business still bewildered
Bennett. When Lyle had explained he eventually wanted Bennett to assume the
role of Chief Executive Officer after he retired, Bennett had actually looked
around the room for a hidden camera.

His half-wild, absentee father planned to put him in charge
of the family business. Considering Lyle had shown little interest in Bennett
from the time his mother had left Austin for New York, the job offer seemed as
farfetched as asking Justin Bieber to play for the New York Knicks. Then again,
when had his father done anything that really made any sense? Now that Bennett
was in, the Truitt Holdings Company would be more profitable and respectable
than ever. At last he’d receive the recognition and respect from Lyle that he’d
never been given.

“Oh honey, there ain’t a single strand out of place. You’re
perfect in every way. You always have been.”

Anne’s voice, soft and sweetly Southern, floated from the
dining room. Bennett turned from his reflection and took in the woman who had
tolerated his father’s insanity and rough edges for the last twenty-one years.
Long blonde-and-silver hair caught up in a messy bun and wearing white linen
trousers and a flowing blouse, Anne looked like a fifty-five-year-old angel who
had lost her wings. In many ways, she was. Lyle might be an irritant, but his
lovely wife had always been a balm.

“You’ve always been too kind.” In four long strides, he
crossed the distance between them, then picked her up and swung her around.
“You are by far the best thing I’ve seen all day.”

“Since you’ve probably only seen your daddy, I’m not sure
how much of a compliment that is.” She swatted him on his arm. “Now put me down
before you and your big muscles crush me.”

“Only if you promise to doctor me up a cup of coffee. I want
an Anne special.”

She stared down at him, bright eyes sparkling. “Must have
had one devil of a night to want a shot of whiskey in your coffee. Not like you
to drink so early in the morning.”

“Trust me, as soon as Lyle and I figure some things out, I’m
going back home and sleeping the next twenty-four hours straight.” He carefully
lowered Anne to her feet. Despite deep weariness taxing every muscle in his
body, he reached behind her ear and withdrew a rose he’d placed up his sleeve
before leaving his car. “No wonder you smell so good,” he said, handing her the
stem.

Anne let out a laugh. “You and your magic tricks.” She
brought the small bud up to her nose and breathed in. “It’s lovely. Thank you.”

“You deserve something special. It’s the least I can do.”

“I don’t know about that, but I’ll take it anyway.” She
placed the rose in a juice glass with water and set it on the counter. “Lyle
still outside?” Anne asked while retrieving a coffeepot from stove. She poured
the black gold into a Texas-sized cup, then added a shot of Jack Daniels from
the bottle she kept in the pantry.

“In the driveway. He’s on the phone with Cotton.” Bennett
drew out one of the sturdy wood chairs around the kitchen table that had once
been the door to an old mission. Feeling bone tired, he allowed himself to
collapse onto the seat.

The last time he’d pulled an all-nighter he’d been up to his
neck in long legs and satin with one of the most gorgeous and sophisticated
socialites New York had to offer. What a difference two months made. Now he was
deep in the heart of Texas, and the most refined thing he’d seen since moving
to the Lone Star State he’d found in a sugar bowl.

Anne’s pink-encased iPad rested on the table the next seat
over. He glanced at the screen. “What’s this?”

She waved a dismissive hand at the tablet and placed the
steaming mug on the table before him. “Only a silly idea.”

“The one thing I can safely say is there’s nothing silly
about you. You’ve got more brains than Lyle and me combined.” The statement
couldn’t be more true. Anne was a long-standing member of Mensa. A bona fide
genius. One of many reasons he adored the blonde beauty.

He patted the seat of the nearby chair. “What’s going on in
that clever mind of yours?”

The muscles around her mouth moved. She started to speak,
stopped, shook her head and then drew in a breath. “I want a dog. A big dog. A
great big dog.”

When she finished speaking, a sly smile spread across her
lovely face and she relaxed. She actually looked relieved to have said out loud
what was on her mind.

Bennett expected his stepmother to say something about
organizing a local canine rescue group or chairing a lavish fund-raising event
for the humane shelter. He never dreamed she’d wanted a dog. In all the summers
he’d come to stay with Anne and Lyle, he had never seen a pooch on the ranch.
Not even so much as a little Chihuahua. They had owned, at one time or another,
just about every other kind of domestic animal, as well as some not so
domestic. The zebras and llamas had been particularly odd. But never a dog.

“I thought Lyle didn’t like dogs.” He pulled the tablet
closer. On the screen a humongous furry face with the head of a horse and drool
falling from its jowls stared back. “Is that a Mastiff?”

“Yes,” she said almost apologetically. “That’s Zena. She’s a
full-blooded English Mastiff. She was rescued from an abusive owner and is now
being fostered by a family in Bastrop. Isn’t she beautiful?”

There were many words that popped into his mind like
huge,
slobber
and
why
, but beautiful wasn’t one of them. He shuffled
through the pictures of the dog on the site. Zena was extremely good-looking
and appeared healthy, if weighing about one hundred eighty pounds could be
considered healthy for a full-grown Mastiff.

“You want to fill me in on why you’re looking at dogs the
size of ponies?” he asked.

Anne retrieved the iPad and stroked the edge of the plastic
case with the pad of a finger. “You know how your father is. If he’s not at
work, he’s off biking or camping or kayaking or some such thing. And since
Camma left for college last fall—” She stopped and shrugged her shoulders.
“Well, it’s pretty quiet around here.”

That his half sister insisted on going to Texas A&M
University rather than the University of Texas tickled Bennett no end. Lyle, a
loyal UT supporter, had done everything within his power to change Camma’s mind
about her choice of schools. She had stuck to her guns, hell-bent on becoming a
veterinarian.

“Nest feeling empty these days?”

Anne nodded, the movement releasing some of the wavy strands
from her loose bun. “Since Camma let us know she’s planning on staying in
College Station for the summer session, I’ve been thinking about getting a
little canine companionship. I haven’t talked about it with your father yet.”

Bennett’s jaw clenched. Even Anne was a victim of his
father’s inattentiveness. “If Lyle would spend time with you like he should,
you wouldn’t need a dog.”

Anne closed the cover of the tablet, pushed it to the side
and then placed her soft, tiny hand over his. “Your father is who is he is. I
knew he had a type-A personality and a strong need for plenty of elbow room
before I agreed to marry him all those years ago. I wouldn’t have him any other
way.”

The slamming of a door sounded from the garage, followed by
heavy, clopping footsteps. Moments later Lyle swept into the kitchen, his face
the same dark shade of red as his cycling jersey. His mustache had uncurled and
lay limp at the sides of his lips.

“Butter my ass and call me a biscuit. That son-bitch Cotton
done stole my money and run off to Mexico. Said he was dying of cancer and only
has a few months to live. Wants to spend his last days getting drunk on the
beach and letting some pretty
señorita
take care of him.” Lyle tossed
his helmet on a counter. “I can’t believe it. After all these years, I can’t
believe he’d do that to me.”

Anne pointed to Lyle’s bike shoes. “The metal clips on those
things are going to ruin my wood floors, Lyle Truitt. You take them off right
now then come and sit down. You look like you’re on the verge of having a heart
attack.”

“Oh.” He straightened as though having just been chastised
by a headmistress at a boarding school. Chagrin instantly changed his stern
features. “Sorry, Anne.” Without another word, he sat down and removed the
offending footwear. The old man’s brilliant wife had trained him well.

Capitalizing on his father’s distraction, Bennett moved in
for his pitch. He wouldn’t find a better chance to persuade Lyle to demolish
the strip club. “Having Cotton leave might be a gift in disguise. Iron Rods
hasn’t made money, real money, in years. The building is in a neighborhood
that’s up and coming in Austin, and the property couldn’t be any more prime. We
have the potential of making an incredible amount of money if we tear down that
old building and replace it with luxury condominiums. The—”

Lyle’s hand shot out, cutting Bennett off. “My answer is no.
I ain’t having it. This conversation is over.”

“The economy is on the rise,” Bennett pushed through. “The
timing couldn’t be more perfect.”

The old man placed a palm on each knee and leaned forward.
His chest swelled and contracted several times before he spoke. “Here’s my two
cents on the matter. You can’t toss a horseshoe in Austin without finding an
old building getting torn down and a shiny new one coming up in its place. I
drive down some streets and don’t recognize where I am anymore. Those old
buildings are a part of Austin’s history, its culture. They are a big chunk of
what makes Austin Austin. Once those places are gone and pretty apartment
buildings and banks ’n’ such take over, a person won’t know they’re in Austin
anymore. They could be in any big city.”

“We could design a building that will be an Austin landmark.
A prominent, distinctive structure that will enhance the flavor of the city.”

“Am I talking to the wall here?” Lyle’s voice rose with each
word. “I said my answer is no. I want to preserve Austin. It’s perfect just the
way it is.”

“All I’m asking you to do is think about it.”

The scowl on his father’s face marked the end of the
discussion, but at least Bennett had planted a seed of the idea in in his head.
As Iron Rods continued its inevitable decline, the topic would come up again.
Eventually even Lyle would see the logic in replacing the dying club with
something more profitable.

And with fewer memories.

“In the meantime,” Bennett changed the subject, “we need to
figure out who is going to manage Iron Rods until we can hire Cotton’s
replacement.”

Lyle angled closer, blue eyes narrowed and piercing. “I’m
looking at him.”

The sight of flashing lights from two fire engines and
firefighters milling about on the sidewalk met Tatum Reynolds as she pulled
into her designated spot. The scene did not make for a happy ending to what was
already an extremely crappy day. Neither did the haze of gray smoke lingering
outside the open front door and first floor windows of her townhouse.

Though her accident-prone roommate had started enough blazes
to consider permanently adding the fire station’s number to their cell phone
speed dials, coming home and finding this all too common spectacle still
managed to fill Tatum’s belly with a nauseating mixture of fear, dread and a
touch of good old-fashioned irritation.

Damn it! Not again.

Tatum removed her key from the ignition. She rested her
forehead against the steering wheel and waited several long seconds for the
engine of the old truck to finally sputter out while silently offering a prayer
for her sanity and her roommate’s safety. Hopefully Heather had been through
enough of these scrapes to escape without harm. There were no ambulances among
the emergency vehicles. That had always been a good sign in the past. Chances
were her roomie was absolutely fine.

Everything Tatum owned, on the other hand, was probably not.
If history repeated itself, her bedding and every stitch of clothing she owned
would reek of smoke. She’d have to wash everything two or three times just to
get the smell out. Her many tutus and dance costumes would need to be dry
cleaned, again.

She groaned. Add another expense to her already mountainous
pile.

Between her college loans, her truck note and her maxed-out
credit cards, her debt equaled that of a small country. If she didn’t find a
job soon—a real job she’d trained for, not just working at Java Buena as an
assistant manager—she’d have to take some drastic measures. Exactly what those
measures might be, she hadn’t a clue and didn’t want to think about.

A knock on her car door startled her and she yipped as she
sat up straight. She glanced at a fireman outfitted in full bunker gear waiting
for her to roll down her window. Little did he know her POS clunker of a truck
no longer had the ability to function at even that basic level. Instead, she
opened the door, ignoring the ear-splitting screech of the rusted hinges and
untangling all six feet of her frame as she ambled out. To her surprise, she
had to look up to meet the firefighter’s eyes.

“Good evening, ma’am. Do you live in this complex?” the
fireman asked while bright flashes of alternating blue and red light danced off
the reflective tape trimming his insulated suit.

“Yes. I’m in the one that’s on fire.” She pointed at the
condo just as three firefighters carrying fire extinguishers exited. Though
their faces appeared solemn and serious, the slight shaking of their heads
suggested a hint of bemusement. “Is my roommate okay? How bad is the damage?”

“Your roommate wasn’t injured. The fire has been contained.”
He motioned her forward and guided her through the mayhem in the parking lot.
“It appears someone left a hot pad under a baking pan in the oven. The pad
ignited, but the fire was isolated to the stove.”

Tatum stopped mid step, not believing her ears. “Did you say
a pot holder in the oven is what caught fire? A
pot holder
?”

“Yes ma’am.” The firefighter nodded. “We’ve just issued an
all clear. You’re safe to go inside.”

Asking the fireman if she
had
to go into the townhome
she shared with Heather tempted her as if she were a bank robber staring at an
open vault of money, but Tatum held her tongue. Now wasn’t the time to be
sassy. Goodness knew her roommate must be scared, if not frantic. But Lord love
a damn duck. Heather had nearly burned down the place trying to bake a pot
holder. A freakin’ pot holder!

As much as she loved her friend, Heather’s penchant for
mishaps and disasters was enough to make anyone consider packing up and moving
to the relative safety of the streets. At least there a person stood a fighting
chance at survival.

The acrid stink of hot pad flambé intensified with each
stride Tatum took toward the condo. By the time they reached the door, her eyes
burned. She coughed and swallowed a mouthful of pungent air.

“The smoke is gone, but it’s going to smell in there for a
while.” The fireman smiled, revealing a brilliant set of teeth. “Keep your
windows and doors open for a few more hours. You’ll be fine.”

He stood directly under her porch light. For the first time,
Tatum had a good view of the firefighter, who couldn’t be much older than
herself. Maybe thirty. Strong, straight nose, dimpled and violet-eyed, he had
the kind of look that conveyed warmth and confidence. His face communicated
simple phrases like “Trust in me” and “I’ll take care of you.” The bunker gear
he wore only added to the overall protector-of-mankind effect. He epitomized
everything a scared person would want to see in a public servant sent to save
lives.

She took a quick peek at his ring finger. Bare as the day he
was born. Did firefighters wear rings when they went out on calls?

“Thank you, Officer—” Tatum allowed the word to drag out.
Nothing like the obvious to get a man’s name. But then again, when could she
ever be accused of being subtle?

The fireman reached up and tipped the brim of his helmet as
though it were a Western hat. “Just call me Officer Murphy, ma’am. Glad we
could be of help.”

Tatum barely suppressed a sigh. A cowboy
and
a
firefighter all rolled up into one six-foot-something package. Oh yes, God did
exist and she had exquisite taste.

Tatum unabashedly gazed into the purple fields of his amazing
peepers. “Officer Murphy, if I can ever return the favor, don’t you hesitate
for even one minute to ask. You hear?”

Yes, she was an incurable flirt. Who wouldn’t be after years
of putting off men to pursue a dream of being a professional dancer? Between
going to college and graduate school, practicing choreography for auditions and
working at Java Buena, who had time for dating? Unfortunately, now that she was
out of school and had more time on her hands, the dating pool had dried up to a
tiny puddle. Despite her height, she practically had to hit a guy over the head
to get him to notice her. Getting one to take the next step and ask her out
seemed more difficult than executing a perfect fouetté on the dance floor.

It wasn’t as though she wanted to get serious with anyone.
If her luck finally turned and she got a job with a dance company, she’d need
to pick up and leave with little notice. Not exactly the kind of lifestyle that
long-term relationships could be built around. She’d done her best to avoid having
to choose between love and a career. That kind of gut-wrenching decision was
one she hoped she’d never have to make. But going on a date or two, not to
mention a little sex now and again, would be nice.

Where were the strong John Wayne-types who thought nothing
of being bold and taking what they wanted…like her? Were men her age so
insecure they couldn’t bring themselves to date a girl who didn’t need to wear
high heels and had a little fire in her? Or were there so many attractive women
in Austin that guys didn’t need to look her way?

Just like her dance career, her personal life seemed doomed
to fail before it could even begin.

“Yes ma’am. I’ll do that,” the fireman responded. His smile
grew into a full-on grin.

Satisfied he clearly understood her message, she turned and
plowed into Heather, who wrapped her arms around Tatum’s waist and squeezed
with the ferocity of a climber holding on to the side of a cliff.

“I’m so, so sorry. I really am. I was trying to make you a
special dinner. It was an accident. I tried to be so careful this time.”

At least that’s how Tatum interpreted Heather’s
unintelligible, rapid-fire sentences blended with hiccupping sobs.

Seeing her roommate less than her happy, jolly self pulled
at Tatum’s heart. How could anyone hold a grudge against someone so freakin’
pretty and kindhearted? The woman had practically cheered Tatum through some of
the most trying months of her life.

“I know. I know. It’s all right. Everything’s fine.” Tatum
returned the hug and petted the long, loose curls flowing down Heather’s back.
“I want you to tell me what happened, only slower this time. Okay?”

Heather sniffed back tears and nodded into Tatum’s shoulder.
When her roommate gathered enough composure, she stepped back and produced a
final full-body shudder. Even with her big, doelike eyes reddened and face
flushed from crying, Heather still maintained her model looks. Her inability to
be anything but beautiful at any given moment was maddening. Little wonder she
had men climbing over themselves just to speak with her.

“You got a letter from the Orteil Dance Company.” Still
sniffing, Heather walked to the kitchen table and picked up a slightly smudged
envelope. “I didn’t know if it had good news or bad, so I decided to make
dinner as a way to commiserate or celebrate.”

“The Orteil Dance Company?” Mentally pushing aside the most
miserable twenty-four hours she’d had since slipping on the floor when
auditioning for the American Ballet Theatre in New York, Tatum crossed the room
and carefully plucked the linen envelope from Heather’s fingers. Finally some
news from an audition she’d had over three months ago and cost more money to
get to than she made in two weeks.

She rubbed a thumb over the embossed return label while a
butterfly the size of an emu fluttered wildly in her belly. The Orteil Dance
Company was her last shot for the casting season. The last remaining hope to
finally get a foot in the door with a professional dance company. Though they
might be the worst dance company in the United States, she was already
twenty-six and the point of caring what company she landed a job with had long
passed.

After a day of spilling hot coffee on a customer, having her
register come up seventy-five dollars short and returning home to a house on
fire, surely her run of bad luck had ended its horrible course.

The message she now held had to be good news.

It
had
to be.

Heather clasped her hands in front of her chest. “Are you
going to open it or just fondle it?”

Tatum stared at the envelope, rereading the return address.
“I’m afraid to.”

Her roommate’s large eyes narrowed. “I’ve waited three hours
since coming home to find out what that letter says. The suspense is killing
me. Open it.”

“That’s easy for you to say. You’ve never been broke in your
life. You’ve got a good job designing clothes, something you went to college
for. If this isn’t a job offer, I’m done. The chances of me working as a
professional dancer anywhere beyond some mom-and-pop theatre in Nowhere, Texas,
where I’ll starve because they won’t be able to pay a decent salary is zip.
Zilch. Nada. Instead of fulfilling my life’s ambition, I’ll be serving up
cappuccinos at Java Buena.”

“Will you listen to yourself? This may be your big break.
You won’t know anything until you open the envelope,” Heather chastened, her
eternal optimism ever gushing. “Here, give that thing to me. I’ll do it.” She
moved closer, threatening to yank the envelope out of Tatum’s grasp.

“No.” Tatum pulled it closer. “I put my big girl panties on
this morning. I’ll do it.” Hands trembling, she ran her finger beneath the back
flap and pulled out the letter. She cleared her throat where her pounding heart
had lodged itself, each beat dully thudding in her ears.

“Dear Ms. Reynolds,” she started, then licked her dry lips.
She sucked in a breath for courage. “The Orteil Dance Company thanks you for
your audition. Your skills as a dancer are exceptional and your Master of Dance
degree is commendable. However, we regret to inform you—” She stopped speaking
aloud as the printed words sank in with sickening finality.

Orteil didn’t want her.

Tatum felt for the side of the table with her free hand and
leaned against it, not trusting her wobbling legs to keep herself upright. Her
mouth filled with the bitter taste of defeat. An overwhelming sense of despair
swelled within her like a rising tide and threatened to drown her from the
inside out.

She was done.

A failure.

A giant loser.

A crushing force sank deep within her chest as she reread
the letter, word by painful word. The moment she’d done everything within her
power to prevent had finally hit. The awkward young girl who had seen the
beautiful and tall Darci Kistler dancing in
The Nutcracker
on television
and dreamed of performing onstage in gorgeous costumes just like her hero now
had to come to terms with reality. A sad reality she hadn’t counted on.

We regret to inform you…

With more pressure than she intended, Tatum bit her lip to
keep the betraying flesh from quivering. The pain, sharp and lasting, was
welcome though. It reminded her that she would not cry. No, not this time.
Crying was for quitters, and her parents hadn’t raised their children to be
quitters. They had taught her and her brother to look for the bright side of
things. Find the silver lining. Believe deep in their hearts that when a door
closed, a window opened somewhere.

But she’d had so many doors slam in her face, the
possibility of finding even a peephole with light shining through seemed
impossible. Her life and career, it seemed, resided in a windowless,
pitch-black cave, the likes of which would eat away at her soul if she let it.

Tatum watched while the rejection letter slipped from her
fingers onto the linoleum tabletop. Her once brilliant future, at least the
brilliant future her dance instructors had forecasted, slipped from her fingers
too.

Closing her eyes, she looked into the depths of her heavy
heart. What she saw there wasn’t pretty. Disappointment, anger, loss,
embarrassment and grief all churned together like raw hamburger meat. She also
noticed a complete lack of surprise lurking in the dark shadows.