Where There's Smoke (18 page)

She'd expected nothing else, really.

Even her own parents had condemned her.
 
They never had shared a warm relationship with their only child, but it had been especially strained since the scandal.
 
They certainly couldn't understand why she would want to set up her medical practice in an out-of-the-way place like Eden Pass, Texas, particularly since that was Tackett territory.

"They need a doctor there," Lara had told them when they voiced their incredulity over her decision.

"Doctors are needed everywhere," her father had argued.
 
"Why go there?"

"Because she always places herself in the worst possible situation, dear."
 
Her mother spoke softly but coldly.
 
"It's a habit she's acquired strictly to annoy us.

Her father added, "Taking the path of least resistance isn't a crime, Lara.
 
After all that's happened, I would think you'd have learned that."

They would have been aghast if she'd told them the real purpose behind her move to Texas, so she didn't confide it.
 
Making a futile attempt at self-defense, she'd said, "I know it won't be easy to establish a practice there, but it's the best opportunity I've been offered."

"And you have only yourself to blame for that, and for all your other misfortunes.
 
If you had listened to your mother and me in the first place, your life wouldn't be in shambles now.

She could have reminded them that they had encouraged her to marry Randall Porter.
 
Even before meeting him, they'd been impressed by his credentials.
 
He was charming and urbane and cosmopolitan.
 
He was fluent in three languages and held a promising position in the State Department, an attribute they liked to throw up to their society friends.

They still regarded Randall as a saint for remaining married to her after the spectacle she'd made ofherselfwith Senator Tackett.
 
Would it make any difference to them, she wondered, if they knew how unhappy she'd been with Randall long before he introduced her to Clark?

Uncomfortable with her memories, Lara retraced her steps to her car and was about to get in when she became aware of a sound coming from overhead.
 
Looking up, she spotted an airplane.
 
It was nothing but a blinking dot of light on the horizon, but it came closer, flying low.

In fact, it was cruising at a dangerously low altitude, barely clearing the treetops of the forest bordering the pasture.
 
The aircraft was small a single-engine plane, she guessed, with her limited knowledge of aviation.

It swooped in low over the pasture and crossed the road about a hundred yards from Lara's parked car.
 
She sucked in her breath as the plane approached the far woods.
 
Only seconds before it reached the tree line, the plane's nose reared back at a drastic angle as it went into a steep climb, then banked to the left and gradually ascended to a safer altitude.
 
Lara watched it until she could no longer see the lights.

Would someone be crop dusting at this time of night?
 
Would chemicals be dusted over pastures where cattle were grazing?
 
No, this had to be a stunt flyer.

"Fool," she muttered as she got into her car and turned on the ignition.

Of course, most considered her a fool for coming to Eden Pass and effectively waving a red flag at the Tacketts.
 
But when one has absolutely nothing to lose, one isn't so shy of taking tremendous risks.
 
What could the Tacketts say or do to her that hadn't already been said and done?

Once they had met her demand, she would gladly leave them to their town.
 
In the meantime, she didn't care what they thought of her.
 
She must, however, get them past their aversion even to talk to her.
 
But how?

Jody was unapproachable.

Key was snide and abusive, and she didn't welcome subjecting herself to more of him until absolutely necessary.

Janellen?
 
She had sensed in Clark's sister a spark of curiosity before Jody interceded.
 
Could that curiosity be a chink she could use to pierce the Tackett armor?

It was worth a try.

Janellen was vexed with herself.
 
She'd designated today to pay bills and had organized her desk accordingly.
 
But when she reached for the folder in which she filed their accounts payable, she remembered having taken it to the shop the day before, wanting to compare the invoices with the equipment they had received to make certain that everything was in order.
 
It wasn't like her to be so absentminded, and she chastised herself for it as she drove the mile from the office to the shop, as the workers called it.

The shop was actually uglier than the headquarters.
 
As the company grew, the original building had been added onto several times to accommodate an ever-increasing inventory of equipment, supplies, and vehicles.
 
Since it was Saturday, the building was deserted.

Janellen pulled her car around back and parked near a rear door that opened directly into a tiny cubicle of an office.
 
Here the men had access to a telephone, refrigerator, microwave, coffeemaker, bulletin board, and individual pigeonholes labeled with their names into which Janellen placed their paychecks twice a month.

Using her key, she let herself in and, ignoring the pin-up calendars and the odor of stale tobacco smoke, she moved behind the metal desk where she remembered last having the folder.
 
When she found it, she tucked it under her arm, and was about to leave when she heard movement beyond the door that connected the office with the garage.
 
She opened the door and was about to call out when the unusual situation stopped her from speaking.

The oversized garage door was closed and the building, having few windows, was dim.
 
A pickup had been squeezed between two Tackett company trucks.
 
Into the pickup one of her men was loading small machinery, pipe, and other supplies that were the tools of their trade.

He was checking the items against a list that he carried in the breast pocket of his shirt.
 
Consulting it one last time, he climbed into the cab of the pickup.

Janellen scrambled from her hiding place and rushed forward to block his exit, placing herself between his bug-splattered grille and escape.

"Miss Janellen!"
 
he exclaimed.
 
"I .
 
. . I didn't know you were here."

"What are you doing here on a Saturday morning, Muley?"

His face turned red beneath his tan, and he tugged on the bill of his cap with the blue Tackett Oil logo on it.
 
"You know as well as I do, Miss Janellen, that I ran my route this morning."

"After which you're officially off."

"Just thought I'd get a head start on Monday morning.
 
Came by to pick up some stuff."

"With the garage door shut and all the lights out?"
 
She pointed at the back of the truck.
 
"And you aren't loading that equipment into a company truck, but your own pickup, Muley.
 
You're stealing from us, aren't you?"

"That's old equipment, Miss Janellen.
 
Nobody's using it."

"So you decided to help yourself."

"Like I said, nobody's using it.
 
It's going to waste."

"But it was bought and paid for by Tackett Oil.
 
It's not yours to dispose of."
 
Janellen drew herself up and took a deep breath.
 
"Take the things out of the truck, please."

When he was finished, he hooked his thumbs into his belt and faced her belligerently.
 
"You gonna dock my pay or what?"

"No, I'm not going to dock your pay.
 
I'm firing you."

He underwent an instantaneous attitude change.
 
His thumbs were removed from his belt loops.
 
His hands clenched into fists at his sides.
 
He took two hulking steps toward her.
 
"The hell you say.
 
Jody hired me and only she can fire me."

"Which she'd do in a heartbeat when she found out you were stealing from her.
 
After she cut off your hand."

"You don't know what she'd do.
 
Besides, you can't prove a goddamn thing.
 
For all you know, I was going to offer to buy this stuff from you.

She shook her head somewhat sadly, feeling betrayed.
 
"But you didn't, Muley.
 
You made no such offer.
 
You sneaked in here on a Saturday when you didn't think anyone would be around and loaded the stuff into your pickup truck.
 
I'm sorry.
 
My decision is final.
 
You can pick up your last check on the fifteenth."

"You rich bitch," he said with a sneer.
 
"I'll go, but only because I think this company is in deep shit.
 
Everybody knows Jody is on her last leg.
 
You think you can run this company as good as her?"

He snorted.
 
"Nobody ever takes you seriously.
 
We laugh at you, did you know that?
 
Yeah, us guys come in here after our shifts and talk about you.
 
It's amusing how you're trying to take over for your mama cause you ain't got nothing better to do with your time.

Like fuck, for instance.
 
We've got a running bet, you know, on whether or not you've still got your cherry.
 
I say it's in there as solid as cement.
 
Even if you are heir to all that Tackett money, who'd want to fuck a woman so brittle she'd break when you mounted her?"

Janellen reeled from the ugly insults.
 
Her ears rang loudly and her skin prickled as though stung by a thousand fire ants.
 
Miraculously, she held her ground.
 
"If you're not out of here in ten seconds, I'll call Sheriff Baxter and have you arrested."

He flicked his middle finger at her and got back into his truck.

He turned on the motor, gunned it, and shot from the garage like a rocket.

Janellen stumbled to the switch on the wall and quickly lowered and locked the garage door, then ran into the office and locked that door, too.

She crumpled into the chair behind the desk and, bending slightly from the waist, hugged her elbows.
 
She'd stood up to a two-hundredthirty-pound brute, but now that it was over, she was shaking uncontrollably and her teeth were chattering.

In hindsight, confronting Muley had been foolish.
 
He could have harmed her, even killed her, and never come under suspicion.
 
It would have been believed that a vagrant thief had killed her perhaps the one who had broken into the Winstons' home.

She rocked back and forth on the cracked vinyl cushion.
 
What had possessed her to challenge him?
 
She must have a bravery gene she didn't know about.
 
It had produced that spark of temerity when she'd needed it.

It took her a half-hour to calm down.
 
By then she had begun to realize the ramifications of her impulsiveness.
 
Her spontaneous decision to fire Muley had been correct.
 
Now, however, she must inform Jody.
 
She had little doubt that Jody would back her decision, but she dreaded telling her.
 
Perhaps she wouldn't tell her until she had found a replacement.
 
But how would she go about doing that?

It wouldn't be easy to find a man as qualified.
 
Muley was a good pumper Bowie Cato.

His name sprang into her mind and caused her heart to flutter.

She'd thought about him a lot, more than just in passing, more than was decent, more than she liked to admit.
 
Frequently she'd found herself daydreaming about his bowlegged gait and recalling the way his brown eyes viewed the world with a sad cynicism.