Titans (30 page)

He would wait for a more appropriate time to return the skull, Sloan decided. There might never be a need for it to come to light. A recent discovery of fossils in Utah had drawn the attention of the Carnegie Museum of Natural History by word of the finder alone. Samantha might be as fortunate. He loved the girl across the table with all his heart, in childhood his best friend, now to become his lover and wife, and he would risk nothing that would cause her to doubt it.

D
aniel Lane walked out of the Morris Keaton Brownie camera shop in downtown Dallas, a smug grin revealing a sharp bicuspid. He had not known if the owner, recommended as an expert in rescuing damaged film, but who sold and worked with a simpler and less expensive camera, would be able to salvage the roll in Samantha Gordon's Kodak. Daniel had thought he might have to mail it to the film company in New York and wait a month for the results, but the expert had lived up to his reputation.

“Not very interesting material,” the man had said when he turned over the 2¼-by-3¼-inch photographs. “They're just various shots of a dried-up animal head and one of a skinny fellow on a big steer.”

“Well, now, their interest depends on who's looking at them,” Daniel drawled. “Thanks very much. You've been a lifesaver.”

That phrase wasn't exactly true, Daniel thought as he exited the shop. In Todd's case, these pictures could be a life destroyer, a career breaker at the very least. Todd was to have mailed Samantha Gordon's Kodak to New York. Instead he'd thrown it into the Trinity River, the reason obvious. The pictures could substantiate the girl's claim of a prehistoric burial ground in the area Todd was hot to drill. His and Sloan Singleton's motive to keep quiet about the skull was the same, which meant that they could be in cahoots. All along, Daniel had wondered how Sloan had ended up in possession of the skull. He wasn't the sort to go digging around for fossils even to please Samantha. Todd must have given it to him. The geologist learned about Samantha's discovery the day he was photographed on the steer at Windy Bluff. Daniel couldn't figure when he and Sloan conspired, but he had proposed to Samantha the day after Billie June saw him wag the artifact into the kitchen, right after the date listed on these photographs.

Well… well… well…

The Gordon girl's father had backed off from leasing his land for oil drilling, a decision that made the theft of the skull pointless and scuttled Todd's first attempt to bring in a gusher. From gossip around the office, it wouldn't matter if the photographs told a tale one way or the other; the rancher would have no drilling on what his daughter believed to be hallowed ground, and the photographs seemed to bear out her conviction. Daniel was no archeologist, but the shots of the fossil remnant from every angle sure looked as if it could be the partial skull of a dinosaur.

He must find out if Sloan Singleton still possessed the skull, and that discovery might come tomorrow, Saturday. Billie June was taking the first train out of Fort Worth in the morning to be in Dallas by breakfast time. At first when she'd informed him of her plan to move to Dallas on the pretense of studying music at the Sarah B. Morrison Academy, he'd panicked. His job was going great. He had a comfortable apartment, a growing wardrobe, a reliable horse, and a two-seater trap he'd bought used and refurbished to look like new. He'd been able to stash away some sizable money, thanks to his increase in salary and his 10 percent share of the sales of his lathe invention. He'd deliberately moved slowly, living frugally, getting his bearings at Waverling Tools, studying investing, and learning his way around Dallas before spreading his wings too soon. When he was more firmly settled, he'd branch out into a grander manner of living, a style that included women.

And now into the slow, purposeful flow of his life would come the arrival of Billie June. Billie June residing in Dallas, where she would expect to see or hear from him every day, was not part of his plan at all.

But Daniel had to admit that when he would return from their midway rendezvous every other Saturday, meeting these days in a hotel where they had a standing reservation, he missed her. Daniel found thoughts of her occupying his mind for days afterward. He'd see something in a shop window and think to himself that Billie June would like that. He'd rehash in memory her wit and sense of humor, the gist of their conversations, the artistry of her lovemaking, and realize that unconsciously his gaze had strayed to the calendar to check the days remaining until he saw her again. He enjoyed her company so much that occasionally he forgot the motivation that had caused him to seek it. His thirst for revenge weakened. After all, Sloan Singleton was Billie June's brother, and, despite their differences, she loved him. He was family.

But Sloan Singleton's collusion with Todd had renewed his desire to take down Mr. High-and-Mighty Big Britches. He was sorry he had to use Billie June as a means to do it. He was fond of the woman and dreaded the inevitable day when he would simply not show up at their rendezvous spot, answer her mail, or take her telephone calls. When he had everything he needed from her, he would leave her and put his plan into action. What he hadn't counted on was Billie June showing up on his doorstep.

Samantha heard the rattle of the brass lid of the mailbox and opened the door before the blue-and-gray-uniformed postal carrier could drop in the daily mail. Two black stars on his sleeve testified that he had delivered mail for the U.S. Postal Department for ten years, all of them servicing the street of her mother's town house, and he'd become a family friend. Today was Friday, when the carrier altered his route and made his delivery in the morning rather than the afternoon, a boon for Samantha.

“No package for me, Mr. Mason?” she asked.

The mail man handed her the day's correspondence and shook his head. “You were expecting a package, Miss Gordon?”

“For days now,” Samantha said. Today was July twentieth. If Todd had mailed her Kodak over a month ago, as he'd said, it should have been returned to her by now.

The man's gaze beneath the brim of his regulation military hat made popular by Teddy Roosevelt's Rough Riders expressed regret. “I'm sorry for your disappointment. Maybe it will be here by Monday.”

“I doubt it, Mr. Mason, but thank you.”

Samantha closed the door, nauseous from a surge of awful realizations. Her photographs would never see the light of day. There would be no team coming to Las Tres Lomas from the American Museum of Natural History in New York or from any other university's department of archeology willing to spare and financially support an excavation crew over several years' work. She could discount assistance from the Peabody Museum of Natural History at Yale, as Todd had never again mentioned contacting his friend who worked there. The cost of a private excavation would be prohibitive, even if a team of experts was available to hire. Just as important, there would be no photographs to justify the sacrifice her father had made on her behalf to forgo drilling at Windy Bluff.

Mildred came down the hall to collect the mail to take upstairs to Estelle. “I've never seen a face that long on a hound dog,” she said. “What's wrong?”

“A good friend has betrayed me.”

“Few knives cut deeper. Anything to be done about it?”

“Yes,” Samantha said. She shouldn't jump to conclusions, accuse Todd unjustly, but she could not quiet her suspicion that her Kodak had never left Dallas. There was only one way to find out. She must confront Todd directly. No matter what his mouth said, his eyes would betray the truth. They had a way of shifting and his ears moved back when he attempted to lie, as Ginny was learning in their marriage. “I know when he's not being completely honest with me, and that's a good thing for a wife to know,” she'd giggled, “but Todd would never fib about anything
big
.”

Well, Samantha would see. She would not bother calling Rochester, New York, run up an enormous long-distance telephone bill to speak to a clerk who would have her wait interminably while he located and checked the paperwork, then risk being disconnected to boot. Long-distance service was sketchy at best. No, her answer would come simpler, faster, and more accurately from Todd Baker.

“Mildred, will you please go tell Jimmy to harness the carriage,” Samantha said. “I want him to drive me to the train station. I'm taking the eleven o'clock to Dallas rather than the later one, and… I need a favor from you.”

“You have only to ask, Miss Sam.”

Samantha had to get word to Sloan that she would not be meeting him at the depot at two o'clock as planned. She could not risk leaving the message with Millie May or Billie June by telephone, because they did not know that Samantha would also be going to the auction and would be meeting their brother at the station. She would have to send Mildred with a note to give to him before he boarded the train. They would meet up at the hotel. A later train to Dallas would give Samantha little time to get to the office of Waverling Tools before it closed. She preferred to confront Todd at his desk rather than to show up on Saturday at his home with Ginny present. Her matron of honor was already aware of the cooling relationship between her husband and her best friend. “You can understand Todd's disappointment when he was told your father had changed his mind about drilling, can't you, Samantha?” she'd said, a touch of frost to her tone. “Todd was all but
promised
the opportunity to prove his expert knowledge about the presence of oil on your ranch, and then to have the rug pulled right out from under him…”

When Samantha explained, Mildred said in surprise, “Mr. Sloan is taking the two o'clock to Dallas as well?”

“Yes,” Samantha said, her look level, “but my mother is not to know.”

“And so she won't, not from me. I hope you packed that pretty nightgown you got for your birthday.”

Samantha carried the mail to her mother's room, where she sat addressing final wedding invitations, and told her that she'd decided to take an earlier train to Dallas to meet privately with Todd at his office before it closed. She would not have time on Saturday when she would be at the auction. “I need to clear up a misunderstanding between us before the wedding,” she said.

“A very good idea,” her mother agreed, only vaguely aware of the strain between her daughter and the geologist. Samantha and Neal kept much of the ranch's business from her, but she did not object, since she had little interest in the day-to-day affairs of Las Tres Lomas other than its survival.

Samantha threw a few more items into her one piece of packed luggage and carried it downstairs. The pretty, unworn nightgown lay folded among her things, and she thought she ought to be excited about the night ahead rather than angry about the upcoming confrontation with Todd. She had looked forward to being with Sloan on the train, just the two of them. It was hard to find time and space and privacy on their ranches to be alone. The endless distractions of work and responsibilities and the presence of Sloan's sisters, her father, the household staffs, and cowhands made intimacy impossible. But she must put to rest this issue of her camera before she could fully relax in Sloan's arms tonight. By then, she would know the truth of its fate, and that would determine her decision to make the sacrifice for her father that he had made for her. If she learned that all evidence of her discovery was lost, she would withdraw her objection to drilling for oil at Windy Bluff.

S
amantha presented herself to the receptionist at Waverling Tools and introduced herself. A brass nameplate with the engraving
AGATHA BEARDSLEY
sat on her desk. “I'm here to see Todd Baker,” Samantha said, “but I prefer not to be announced. We're friends. I'd like to surprise him.”

The middle-aged Miss Beardsley, immaculately and professionally attired in a navy blue dress with a white collar, had worked for Trevor Waverling's father long before the introduction of the telephone switchboard behind the counter. She had been secretly in love with Edwin and had never quite recovered from Jordan Waverling's death. She was aware of the Gordon name and that it was associated with a career disappointment for the company's budding geologist. She hesitated before responding to Samantha's request but then reflected that perhaps Miss Gordon had come to extend an olive branch. She compromised.

“I'm afraid Mr. Waverling would object to that, but why don't I escort you down to Mr. Baker's office rather than ring his bell to summon him here?” she suggested.

“A fine idea,” Samantha said.

Samantha followed Miss Beardsley's tall, straight back down the corridor, the fragrance of the gardenias on her desk drifting after them. Where in the world were gardenias to be found in the middle of July? she wondered. Their snow-white arrangement, spilling from a green vase on the mahogany counter, added another flourish of elegance to the order, cleanliness, and fine furnishings of the reception room. Already impressed with the exterior of the building, Samantha would not have expected to find such refinement in the office of an industrial complex. She passed a large and grand office and was surprised to find standing beyond the open door the man introduced to her last March as Trevor Waverling, Nathan Holloway's father. Her appearance drew his attention from the reading material in his hand, and their gazes held briefly, Samantha recalling the memorable blue of his eyes, so like his son's. She nodded, wondering if he recognized her, then passed on in the receptionist's wake to Todd Baker's office.

Trevor drew thoughtfully to the door and watched Samantha walk down the hall. She was wearing a light summer traveling suit with a small hat that left much of her hair exposed. He observed her pause behind his receptionist as Miss Beardsley knocked on the door of Todd's office, his attention caught by the curiously familiar shape of the young woman's nose and chin. He had recognized her. As a matter of fact, Samantha Gordon had remained like a shadow in his memory ever since they'd been introduced the evening of the paleontology lecture. He was not sure why. She was too young to stir him sexually. He preferred mature women, and this girl looked no older than Nathan. Her hair and skin reminded him of Millicent Barrows before she became Millicent Holloway, but her bearing, graceful posture, the way she held her head resembled someone else whose face and name he could not place.

Todd took his time answering the door—he could be such an arrogant little prick, Trevor thought—and then came a surprised exclamation of “
Sam! What are you doing here?
”
Trevor wondered that himself. He had thought her business with his geologist finished. He had been about to leave his office to collect Nathan and leave early when he remembered a report he meant to take home. But for that delay, he would have missed seeing the girl. His mother was hosting a dinner party that evening for the sole purpose of introducing her grandson to a young woman she deemed fit to become Mrs. Nathan Holloway. Trevor approved. Reconsidering his departure, Trevor returned to his desk and sat down, remembering Millicent.

With her, he'd enjoyed the greatest sex he'd ever known. He had warned her many times of the danger of getting pregnant, but she had said she didn't care.
I want your babies, Trevor
, she'd said,
and I want them all to look like you
.

He had thought that sentiment surprising, since Millicent was so enamored with her own beauty. He had tried to break off his lust for her, because he had no intention of marrying a woman so shallow, but it proved too great until the time came when he had the excuse to leave. He didn't blame her for hating him. She'd believed she'd loved him, and Trevor was now convinced she had. Only love can breed a hatred as strong as the loathing Millicent felt for him.

If he'd known she was pregnant when he left her, their lives would have taken a different course. He would have married her and allowed their union to meet its inevitable end. Once Trevor learned of Nathan's existence, it was Leon, his stepfather, he'd kept an eye on for abuse, not his mother. It had never occurred to him that Millicent would be the one to disown the boy emotionally. Her son was the child of Trevor Waverling, the love of her life. Fool that Trevor had been not to realize that love in the heart of a narcissist like Millicent can curdle into hate, and but for the affection of his stepfather, Nathan would have been left out in the cold. Nathan had said that Samantha Gordon was a fine, intelligent young woman who had been especially tender and kind to Rebecca. No similarity to Millicent there. Nathan had liked her.

A knock on the frame of Trevor's open door interrupted his mulling. He swiveled his chair away from his view of the Trinity to find his son in the doorway. “Ready to call it a day?” Nathan asked. “Lord help us if we're late for Grandmother's party.”

“Samantha Gordon is down in Todd's office,” Trevor said. “I think I'll just hang around to hear why.”

“Good heavens, Samantha!” Todd cried. “What an unexpected pleasure. Come in!”

Samantha glanced over her shoulder at the receptionist and nodded. The woman's eyebrows arched at her dismissal, but she took it with professional dignity and marched off down the hall. Samantha gazed piercingly at Todd. “My camera has not arrived.”

“Oh, uh, well, it will soon, I'm sure.”

“I'm sure not.” Samantha read the truth instantly in the swerve of Todd's glance, the backward jerk of his ears. She stepped forward. “Todd, I don't have to tell you how important those photographs are to science. Where is the camera?”

Todd moved back from the pierce of Samantha's gaze. “Why—why would you think I know where it is?”

“Because you never mailed it. Where is my Kodak?”

“Samantha, I don't know what you're talking about. Honestly I don't.”

“Your eyes… the wiggle of your ears say you're lying.”

“My—my what?” Todd lifted his gaze to stare over her shoulder and his mouth opened wider. “Oh, my God!”

Samantha turned to see what had electrified his attention. Trevor Waverling had entered the room. “What's going on here?” he said. “May I be of assistance?”

“Perhaps,” Samantha said. Todd remained speechless.

With a gracious gesture, Trevor invited Samantha to take a chair before Todd's desk while Todd flopped limply into his. Before Samantha finished explaining her suspicions and Todd denying them, Trevor had perceived that his geologist was lying. Nathan had already had his doubts about the fate of the camera as well, and with justifiable reason, it appeared. Todd had been so desperate to sink a well on the Gordon ranch that he'd eliminated the competition of the artifact that he must have believed authentic. He might have been responsible for the disappearance of the skull, too.

Trevor was torn over how to handle the situation. His first impulse was to fire the geologist for putting the company in legal jeopardy, but on what evidence? It was his word against the girl's suspicions, and Todd's scheming had come to nothing. Neal Gordon had put an end to his hope of making a name for himself at Las Tres Lomas, so Todd had been handed his just desserts. And did Trevor want to let go a truly hardworking, credentialed geologist, newly married, or allow this situation to be a lesson learned this early in his career, especially when his boss made it clear that his eyes would be upon him from now on? The camera was lost, the skull apparently vanished. What was done was done.

“Let's go straight to the horse's mouth and telephone the Eastman Kodak Company to find out when the camera was mailed from New York,” he said finally.

“Or if it was ever received,” Samantha said, the comment directed at Todd.

“What mailing address did you give, Todd?” Trevor asked.

Todd's Adam's apple bobbled. Trevor noticed his complexion was the color of white turnips. “I used the address of the company.”

“I'll have Miss Beardsley get right on it. Miss Gordon, why don't you wait in my office? You'll be more comfortable there, and I'll have my secretary bring refreshments. Todd, you're not to leave until we get to the bottom of this. Understood?”

“Yes sir,” Todd said, slumping further into his chair.

Without another word, Samantha rose and followed Trevor out of the geologist's office, where she caught a glimpse of the wedding photograph of her matron of honor smiling alongside her husband.

Trevor saw her seated in one of the sumptuous office chairs with Nathan for company before he left to give instructions to his receptionist and an order to Jeanne for iced tea and cookies. He returned and observed without interrupting the conversation between his son and the pretty daughter of one of Fort Worth's most prominent ranchers. Trevor noticed her hands, the shape of the fingers and delicate wrist structure, as she explained to Nathan that she was in Dallas to attend a horse auction and would be staying at the Strathmore. Politely, she asked about Rebecca and Zak, and Nathan inquired how her wedding plans were coming along.

“If what I suspect of Todd is true, I'll be short a matron of honor.” Samantha sighed. “She is Todd's wife.”

“A pity you have no sisters to step in, Miss Gordon,” Trevor remarked politely. “I understand you're an only child.”

“That is correct, Mr. Waverling, or at least no sisters that I know of. I was adopted at four days old.”

“Really? I never ask a lady's age, but I'm allowed to guess. I put you at twenty, my son's age.”

Samantha nodded. “Your guess is right. I turned twenty last March.”

“Me, too,” Nathan said. “March twenty-third.” He shot Trevor a wry glance. “I'll never forget the day.”

“That's the date of my birthday, too!” Samantha exclaimed. She smiled at Nathan. “What a coincidence!”

“Yes, quite a coincidence,” Trevor mused, his gaze upon the girl intensifying. He felt the thump of his heart in his ears. It had just dawned on him. The familiar features he'd noticed reminded him of his mother. “Forgive my curiosity, Miss Gordon,” he said, interrupting a question she was putting to Nathan, “but have you any knowledge about the location of your birth?”

It was a startlingly personal question that drew the appropriate reactions of surprise. “Why, I—no,” Samantha stammered. “It's not a subject my adoptive parents have ever discussed with me.” She paused, then volunteered, “From what little I know, I'd guess I was born up north, close to either side of the Red River.”

“And… you know this how, may I ask?”

His interest—or her good manners—seemed to compel Samantha to answer. “I have reason to believe the doctor who delivered me practiced in Marietta, Oklahoma Territory, close to the border.”

Trevor nodded. “I am acquainted with the place. Do you know the doctor's name?”

“Yes…” Samantha answered, visibly puzzled and a little disconcerted by his questions. “Dr. Donald Tolman.”

They were interrupted by Miss Beardsley who reported that the Eastman Kodak Company of Rochester, New York, had no record of a camera received from the address of Waverling Tools in Dallas, Texas.

“Send Todd to me,” Trevor ordered.

Todd arrived, nervous and pale, and flashed a look at Samantha that promised never to forgive her for her accusations.

“I'm afraid we have bad news for you, Todd,” Trevor said, and nodded to his receptionist. “Tell him, Miss Beardsley.”

Todd listened, growing paler until anger daubed his cheeks with color. “Well, it's not my fault the package didn't arrive. I mailed the damned camera, and I can prove it!” he sputtered.

A swell of silent incredulity met this disclaimer. Frantically, Todd dug around in the breast pocket of his suit and removed a yellow postal receipt. His face reflecting deep injury, he handed it to Trevor. His employer read it and stared amazed at Todd. “Why the hell didn't you show this to us earlier?”

“I just now found it, Mr. Waverling. I didn't think I'd need to keep it so I carelessly misplaced it. I… I was afraid that if I said I had a postage receipt for the package, then couldn't find it, I'd look even worse in your eyes.”

Nathan spoke up. “Why didn't you list the cost of the postage on your expense sheet, Todd?”

Todd blinked at him. “You've been inspecting my expense sheets?”

Trevor clapped his geologist's shoulder. “Let's not get off track here. Todd, we owe you an apology. This receipt solves the mystery, and I hope clears up any misunderstanding between you and Miss Gordon.”

Samantha was standing. “I'd like to believe it does,” she said, her stiff face and unyielding glare suggesting doubt to the contrary.

With wounded but charitable grace, Todd inclined his head in acceptance of the apologies. “Then if you'll excuse me, I will get back to my work,” he said.

On his way to his office, Todd repulsed the urge to skip. It had worked, and he'd had the satisfaction of seeing egg on their faces in the bargain, the reason he'd delayed producing the postal slip until they were sure of his guilt. He'd figured he would have to account for the missing camera and had prepared for it. At the post office on Monday, June eighteenth, he'd dutifully handed over to the clerk the wrapped package of the Kodak addressed to the company's headquarters. He paid the eighty cents for postage and left. Minutes later, he was back at the clerk's window. “I'm sorry,” he said, “but I've changed my mind. May I have back my package? I've decided not to mail it.” He'd then pocketed the eighty cents along with the receipt that would clear him of what he'd inevitably be accused. His only regret was that he did not submit a voucher for the eighty cents. That would have been proof of the pudding, but unlike some employees he could name, he was not one to request reimbursement from the company for expense money he did not spend.