Beatrice walked into the kitchen and with one look at Anne’s face knew she was upset. With her whole heart and soul, she wanted to ask what was wrong, but she dared not undo the delicate start they’d made in their relationship. It was absolutely wonderful to have Anne staying with her and Franklin, but she longed for the time when they were truly friends, close and loving friends who shared confidences. So Anne would have to be the one to make the first move.
“Something smells delicious in here,” she said, shedding her jacket. “Tell me it isn’t something fattening.”
“Is fettuccine Alfredo fattening?”
“My God, yes.” Beatrice crossed the kitchen as Anne turned off the gas. She dipped a finger for a quick taste and, closing her eyes, sighed with pleasure. “Please tell me you’re never going to leave.”
“I’ve made a pecan pie, too,” Anne said, looking toward the door. “It’s Dad’s favorite. Where is he?”
“There’s a city council meeting. He always likes to attend in the rare hope that something interesting will happen. He’ll love it when he comes home to find you’ve made this lovely dinner.”
“I like to cook when I’m upset.”
Beatrice’s smile gentled with concern. “Did something happen?”
Anne moved to the teapot and poured a cup for each of them. “Buck is here,” she said quietly.
“Here?” Beatrice looked around as if he might be hiding in the pantry.
“He chartered a plane and now he’s here in Tallulah.” She handed a cup to Beatrice. “I drove up and there he was, parked in the driveway.”
“Ah.” Beatrice smiled with understanding and took a seat at the table while Anne went to the fridge for lemon. “I’m surprised he didn’t get here sooner.”
Anne sank into a chair. “Really? Because I couldn’t have been more surprised, considering how he hates Tallulah.”
“He misses you.”
Anne smiled softly into her tea. “I actually think he does.”
“And he’s more concerned over losing his wife than whatever it is that has kept him from visiting Tallulah.” Beatrice reached for a slice of lemon. “To tell the truth, I’ve been wondering about that myself.”
“It has always been like pulling teeth to get him to talk much about his family,” Anne said, stirring absently with a spoon. “I knew he had hard feelings toward his mother, but from the little he told me, I thought it was probably old-fashioned sibling rivalry, that Pearce was probably Victoria’s favorite son and Buck resented it. That happens sometimes, doesn’t it?” She looked up into Beatrice’s eyes. “I was an only child, so I always imagined it would be wonderful to have a sister or a brother. And I would have been happy to share my parents, or so I told myself.”
Beatrice smiled. “I think that’s a pretty common fantasy for an only child. But you say he told you something tonight that puts a different face on it?”
“A cruel face.” With her elbows on the table, Anne cradled her teacup in both hands. “What it boils down to is that when John Whitaker died, Victoria decided that Pearce was his primary heir. Which would have been okay with Buck, he tells me, as long as he could manage the cotton crop. He claims Pearce never had any interest in doing that.”
“Buck is right,” Beatrice agreed. “Pearce never cared a flip about Belle Pointe as far as farming it goes. He’s a lawyer, first and foremost.” She paused, stirring her tea. “Actually, he’s best suited for exactly what he’s set on now, a career in politics. It was Buck that folks expected to step in and manage Belle Pointe when John Whitaker died, but instead of doing that, he chose to pursue his baseball career.”
“No, Beatrice. He didn’t choose a career in baseball. Buck was in his last semester of college and, just as you thought, he planned to put his education to practical use running Belle Pointe, but Victoria had other ideas…and they didn’t include Buck.”
“What does that mean?” Beatrice asked, frowning.
“Victoria practically disinherited him. She flatly rejected the life he’d worked and trained for, essentially closing the doors to Belle Pointe in his face. That was when he turned to baseball.”
“How is that possible? He’s John’s son, same as Pearce. John wouldn’t have disinherited him.”
“He wasn’t written out of the will, but for some reason Victoria didn’t want him at Belle Pointe. At least, that’s the way Buck told it to me tonight. She wanted Pearce to run Belle Pointe and she wanted Buck to find his place in the world elsewhere.” Anne set her cup down with a clink. “I was shocked. What kind of mother is she to do that?”
“One with her own private agenda,” Beatrice said, looking thoughtful. “Or so it appears. Although I can’t imagine what it could be. Buck would be an asset to Belle Pointe. Pearce lives in the big house, but it’s only a house to him. His heritage as a Whitaker looks good on his résumé and now that he’s in a full-fledged political campaign, you can believe he’ll make sure the voters know it.” She was shaking her head. “Shoving Buck out of Belle Pointe makes no sense.”
“I know. But whether it does or not, Victoria now has changed her mind. With Pearce distracted by the demands of his campaign and Buck injured and out of baseball for the duration, she suggested that he could put his time to good use by managing this growing season.”
“Really?” Beatrice blinked in surprise. “I thought Will Wainwright managed Belle Pointe.”
“Not anymore. He’s decided to retire.”
Beatrice sat back and thought for a moment. “Well, I’m beginning to see why Victoria has had to change her game plan. She’s up a creek without a paddle.”
“Looks that way.”
Beatrice heard something in Anne’s voice. “So, what did Buck tell her?”
“A flat no.” Anne fiddled with her spoon, then smiled at Beatrice. “He wouldn’t admit it, but I think he’s tempted.”
They shared a moment of amusement as the sound of chimes striking the hour came from the front room. Then Anne sighed. “Frankly, my head is just spinning with all this,” she told Beatrice. “I always thought Buck was lucky to have such a big family, but of course it depends on the family, doesn’t it?”
“Yes. Having a big family isn’t always a blessing,” Beatrice said. “I should know.”
“At least you know,” Anne replied. “You can look down a long line of relatives and see all kinds of interesting things, family likenesses, personality traits, body types. Dad must have told you that I was adopted. I know nothing about my birth parents and lately I’ve been toying with the idea of doing some research to try and find them.”
“Are you really that curious?” As Anne thought, Beatrice chose her next words carefully. “There may be things you learn that hurt you…or someone else.”
“I suppose so. On the other hand,” Anne argued, “I might learn that there is some genetic cause that I didn’t carry my baby to term.”
Beatrice sighed and reached over, covering Anne’s hand. “It’s not uncommon for a first pregnancy to end in a miscarriage,” she said gently.
“I know that. But I was told the accident didn’t cause it, so I can’t help wondering if there’s something else. I remember once having a science project where we each had to draw a family tree and I didn’t have one. Oh, I could have done my adoptive parents and I did but, deep inside, I really, really wanted to know how my biological family tree would look.” She twiddled with a paper napkin, then smiled up at Beatrice. “My mother was very understanding about it. I don’t think she would be upset to know I’m thinking of pursuing it.”
“From all I know about Laura, she was a lovely person,” Beatrice said.
“She was. And now that she’s gone and Dad is remarried and so obviously happy, I can’t see any reason not to pick up where I left off in the eighth grade.” She grinned. “I know it won’t be the same as being part of a family, that’s not what bothers me. But I’d just like to know.” She paused, searching Beatrice’s face. “Is that so wrong?”
“Of course not.” Beatrice rose from the table with her cup in hand and went to the sink. “If it’s troubling you so much, you have every right to search.”
Anne got up to carry her cup to the sink. She stood for a moment watching as Beatrice opened the door of the dishwasher. “Do you think it will upset Dad when he finds out I’m doing this?”
“Maybe…” Beatrice smiled. “But he loves you too much to ever say no.”
The lodge was a raised West Indies-type dwelling with wide steps ascending to a covered porch or gallery, as some called it, that encircled the house. Raised high off the ground to prevent the possibility of flooding, it overlooked the Mississippi River. The lodge was the place where he’d come of age as a Mississippi boy. Buck had found it a perfect escape from the conflicts that made life a misery at Belle Pointe.
It was the site of some of his best—and worst—memories. He’d learned to swim in the river at the lodge and he’d perfected the art of fishing, camping and canoeing. He’d hunted dove, turkey, quail and ducks here. He’d bagged his first deer when he was nine years old not fifty yards behind the lodge. And it had been here that he’d first seen death up close and personal.
Finding the door unlocked, he shook off memories, good and bad, and pushed it open, shaking his head at the arrogance of his family in thinking it unnecessary to lock the place as no one would dare vandalize Whitaker property. With his knee killing him after climbing twenty-six steps to the porch, he dropped his duffel just inside the door, closed it, and leaned back against it.
The smell of the place instantly took him back in time. The musty scent of a closed house, but overlaid with something lemony, whatever his mother ordered for the care of the pine floors and wood trim. Leather-upholstered furniture. Kerosene for the hurricane lamps, in case of an electrical outage. Candle wax. The past.
He took up the duffel and without looking much at anything, without turning on a light, went straight through the big front room to one of the smaller bedrooms radiating out from it. He reached for the tail of his sweatshirt and pulled it over his head, tossed it on the floor. Taking care to favor his knee, he took his pants off and without even checking to see if the bed was made with clean sheets—with any sheets—he elevated his knee on a pillow, grabbed the blanket folded at the foot of the bed and with a relieved groan, lay back. In less than a minute, he was asleep.
He came awake the next morning to the sound of a car. He was still for a beat or two, hoping that whoever it was wouldn’t stop, then cursed under his breath when he heard footsteps on the porch. He guessed it was Pearce. He should have known his brother would waste no time trying to rope him into his campaign.
He rolled out of bed and on his way to the bathroom swept up his pants and duffel. It wouldn’t hurt Pearce to cool his heels. Standing under hot spray, he found to his relief that his knee seemed okay. He could even put a little weight on it. Maybe he could make do with a cane instead of the crutch. Luckily, he’d brought a couple with him.
The visitor was not Pearce. It was his mother.
Victoria stood at one of the windows in the great room, which put bright morning sun at her back and in Buck’s face. “Word reached us at Belle Pointe that you were here at the lodge,” she said, making no move to cross the room and greet him. “I’m happy you changed your mind, but it would have been nice to let us know you were heading this way. How’s that knee?”
“Coming along…with physical therapy daily,” he told her. “I figured I can be tortured in Tallulah as well as in St. Louis.” He spread his hands, moving toward her. “Don’t I get a hug, Ma?”
It was Buck doing the hugging, but she tolerated it. “Did you get one from your wife?” she asked, smoothing her hair.
He ignored that, hoping her remark was a shot in the dark. “I apologize for not calling, Ma. It was late when I finally got here, so I just crashed.”
She looked around the lodge slowly. “Here? Why not at the Marshes’ with your wife?”
His mother was the last person he wanted to know about his marital problems. “I’d offer you breakfast, but I haven’t had a chance to stock up on groceries yet,” he said, reaching for a cane. “But if memory serves, there’s always coffee. Join me in the kitchen?” At her nod, he swept out an arm for her to precede him.
The kitchen had always been his favorite room at the lodge. It was a fully equipped Viking showplace, but the brand and expense of the appliances weren’t what made the place special to Buck. It was the hours—years—he spent as a boy in masculine harmony with the men who’d gathered at the lodge to hunt and fish and hang out. In this kitchen, he’d cleaned fish and dressed game alongside his father and his father’s friends, men Southern born and bred and passionately devoted to preserving a way of life unheard-of beyond the boundaries of the Mississippi Delta.
He pulled out a chair at the round oak table in the center of the room. “Sit down, Ma. I’ll have it ready in a jif.”
He found the coffee can in the freezer and the coffeemaker tucked neatly in the pantry. When it was brewing, he turned and got a good look at his mother in morning light. She was sixty on her last birthday and for the first time, he saw that she was beginning to show her age. But not enough that she’d allowed herself to go gray or to get fat. As long as he could remember, she’d been a regular client at an expensive salon in Memphis, but no salon could give her that trim figure or that air of culture and class. It was discipline and a never-flagging determination to rise above her birth in a working-class family, a fact that she despised and was never mentioned by anyone who wanted to keep his head.
Leaning heavily on the cane, he pulled out a chair and sat down. “Is it wise for you to be up and about with your injury?” Victoria asked, frowning.
“It’s okay. I’ll be doing some physical therapy with a personal trainer while I’m here. You remember Ty Pittman, don’t you?”
“Oscar’s boy? Of course.”
“He’s a top-notch PT. I’ve called him and he’s agreed to come out to the lodge and work with me as long as it takes.”
“It sounds as if you don’t plan on going back to St. Louis right away.”
“I’m here until the knee is back to normal. Anne’s keen on visiting with her dad and getting to know her new stepmother. Anyway, it looks as if I’m out for the season.”
“What exactly is the situation with you and Anne?” she asked, watching as he elevated his injured leg. “Don’t bother telling me everything’s fine. If everything was fine, you wouldn’t be sleeping here at the lodge. It doesn’t appear that she’s simply visiting her father and Beatrice. Is this a formal separation?”
“I don’t mean to sound disrespectful, Ma,” he said, “but I’m not discussing my personal life.”
“That may be, but you’ll soon find that everyone else in Tallulah will be doing exactly that. As I mentioned when I called you last week, it will look odd when people realize the two of you are staying in separate locations.”
“Then it’ll just have to look odd,” he said shortly. “That’s the way it is.”
“Yes, yes.” She waved away his irritation. “However, to keep gossip down, it would be best for you and Anne to come to Belle Pointe, I think.”
“No, thank you,” he said.
She gave him a familiar disapproving frown, the one he remembered from the time he was about four years old and then daily until he walked away from Belle Pointe. “You always were too quick off the mark, Buck.”
A glance at the pot told him the coffee was almost ready. He stood up. “It comes in handy when I’m pitching,” he said.
“Do you want to be the object of gossip?” she demanded. “Are you trying to call attention to yourself? That’s exactly what will happen if you’re here at the lodge and Anne is with the Marshes. It’ll create a firestorm of speculation. Gossips will say your career is over, that your marriage is on the rocks and that there’s probably more scandal just waiting to surface. God knows, we have our share of gossips here.”
“I’m not staying at Belle Point while I’m here, Mother. And neither is Anne.” He opened a cabinet door. “As for gossip and speculation, bring it on. I’m used to it.”
“But is Anne?”
Soft beeps from the coffeemaker saved him having to answer. “You still take yours without cream and sugar, I assume,” he said as he took two mugs down from the cabinet. “There might be sugar, but—”
“Black is fine,” she told him, watching as he poured. “And you’re right, what’s going on in your marriage is none of my business. Whatever the reason you’re here in Tallulah, it’s fortuitous. Now you’ll be able to lend us a hand at Belle Pointe. It couldn’t have worked out better. Also, I expect—”
“Ma, I told you before, don’t count on me to do Will’s job. I’ll help you find someone to replace him, but—”
“You just told me your knee is fine. What will you do with yourself after your daily physical therapy sessions, pray tell? We need you at Belle Pointe. Mother Nature doesn’t wait. The time to plant is now. If your father were here, he’d expect you to put aside hard feelings for the good of Belle Pointe.”
“Hard feelings.” He stared at her, wondering if she really expected that a few words wiped out years of bitterness and hurt.
Seeing his expression, she waved an impatient hand. “Take a few days to think it over, Buck. It’s probably best for you not to put stress on that knee too soon anyway. Meanwhile, you’ll also be able to participate in Pearce’s campaign. Nothing physical in that. Anne’s article in the Spectator should come out in the next edition. I’m not wholly supportive, as you can imagine. His—”
“You don’t like the idea of Anne writing about him?”
“No, no, you misunderstand. Politics has a way of consuming an individual and Pearce’s first responsibility must be to Belle Pointe. However, there are advantages. There’s power in a senatorial seat. Doors are opened, opportunities present. But Whitakers have been planters first and foremost, so once he wins the seat I don’t want Pearce to lose sight of his heritage.”
No, we mustn’t lose sight of Pearce’s precious heritage. “You sound as if he’s already won.”
“Well, of course. He has the Whitaker name and the prestige that comes with it. I can’t imagine his opponent giving him any real competition.”
Knowing Pearce, Buck guessed he would trade heavily on that name, too, as well as the Whitaker wealth. Pearce’s political philosophy aside, his brother looked good, he had a first-class education, a beautiful wife and with the blessing of their influential mother, he would probably make a formidable candidate. But so would Jack Breedlove.
“I take it you think there’s no chance that his opponent will win?”
“Jack Breedlove? In the senate?” There was no mistaking the look of distaste on her face. “Hardly.”
Like Claire’s parents all those years ago, Victoria didn’t consider Jack’s blood blue enough when compared to Pearce. But Buck recalled Jack’s tenacity and focus when they played baseball together. Raised by a single mom, he was forced to juggle practice and games around a job. It was still a mystery why he hadn’t snagged a college scholarship. Instead, when they graduated, he’d joined the army. Buck had always wondered if Jack’s decision had anything to do with the fact that Claire’s folks busted up their romance.
“I wouldn’t be so fast to write Jack off,” he warned.
“He’s a decent chief of police, I’ll grant that,” Victoria said, brushing at a tiny speck on her sleeve. “But he’s simply not senatorial material and I’m confident the people in this jurisdiction will recognize that. So you see…” She touched a napkin to her lips, “it’s important that you take care while you’re here, Buck. If there’s trouble between you and Anne, you must see to it that you keep a low profile so as not to give Breedlove a chance to throw mud.”
“What if I decide to endorse Jack instead of Pearce?”
She gave him a cold look. “That is your idea of a joke, I assume.”
He turned and poured the remains of his coffee in the sink. “Yeah, it was a joke, Ma.”
“I wish you would stop calling me that,” she said irritably. “When will you ever grow up?”
“Oh, I don’t know…Mother. Maybe when I stop playing a game for a living and get on with life in a real job.” They’d rubbed each other the wrong way for thirty-seven years. And still did.
“You can see that it’s important to keep up appearances,” she told him, ignoring his sarcasm. “If you and Anne won’t stay at Belle Pointe, perhaps we could avoid speculation if you’re seen coming and going.” She tapped a finger against her lips, thinking. “Bring Anne to dinner on Sunday night. She and I have already discussed a visit to Belle Pointe. I’ve been remiss in not setting a day and time. Things are just so hectic right now.”
“Of course. I welcomed her to Tallulah the moment I heard she was here. But as I was saying, if you’re together at Belle Pointe, people will see all is well in the family. And you will have endorsed Pearce by that time.”
“Two things, Mother.” He leaned against the counter with his arms folded across his chest. “If I endorse Pearce, it won’t be because he’s my brother or that you expect it. It’ll be because I’ve decided he’s the best man for the job. And as for bringing Anne to dinner at Belle Pointe, I can’t promise that. I’ll have to ask her.”
“She’s promised me and she’s a woman of her word. And of course you’ll endorse Pearce. Don’t be ridiculous.”
He sighed and changed the subject. “How is Claire these days? Is she looking forward to being Mrs. Senator Whitaker?”
“She could very well be Pearce’s Achilles heel in this election,” Victoria said with a small frown. “Lately she seems…well, without purpose. It’s distressing.”
“She’s a wife and mother,” he said. “That’s purpose enough for many women. Paige is…what now, thirteen, fourteen?”
“Fourteen. And when you see her, you’ll know what I mean. She’s impossible. But I can’t say I’m surprised. Pearce is extremely busy with his law practice, his responsibilities at Belle Pointe and his campaign, so he’s simply unable to be father and mother to her. And, apparently, expecting Claire to become a responsible parent is like expecting a butterfly to morph into an eagle. She was a flighty teenager and she’s a flighty woman. Why Pearce didn’t see that before marrying her I’ll never know.”
“Maybe he was blinded by the fact that her daddy is president of the bank.”
She gave an offended sniff. “Claire will settle down eventually. She knows the consequences otherwise. And Paige is already facing the consequences of her foolishness. After making a failing grade in honors English, she now spends three afternoons a week at the Spectator to bring up her grade.”
“What can a fourteen-year-old girl do at a newspaper?”
“She can sweep floors, if nothing else,” Victoria told him. “I don’t care what tasks she’s assigned. She must learn there are consequences for bad behavior.”
Life at Belle Pointe was still just one big screwed-up mess, Buck thought wearily, unchanged from the time he was trapped there. Anne had always been fascinated by his family and here, by his mother’s invitation, she’d get an up close and personal look at the Whitakers. No doubt, the meal would be a travesty of what a real family dinner should be, but he wasn’t passing up any chance to be with his wife. All he had to do was persuade her to go with him.
Ty showed up later that day and after poking and prying, pronounced Buck in less than first-class shape for the demands that would be placed on him when he started practice next season in St. Louis. He outlined a punishing regimen and then left after arranging for the installation of the equipment he considered necessary and which he’d already bought with Buck’s money. When he showed up at the lodge two days later, the room was outfitted and looked as professional as anything Buck would have access to back at the Jacks facility in St. Louis.
Now, sprawled flat on his back on a floor mat, sweating and in pain, he was barely able to lift one finger—his third—to give his PT a crude insult. “And for this I’m paying you?” he muttered to the huge black man.
“Top dollar,” Tyrone Pittman said, grinning. “And I’m worth every penny.”
“Maybe,” Buck snorted, “but it wasn’t in the bargain for you to cripple me further before you whipped me back in shape.”
“Shape?” It was Ty’s turn to snort. “Shape I found you in, buddy, there could have been no treatment. Beats me how you were throwin’ them fastballs to the competition. Muscles in your arms are plain mush. You want the Jacks in the Series next year, we gotta get that arm in shape.”
“Hello? I hired you to fix my knee, not my arm.” Wincing, Buck managed to roll into a sitting position. “Shit, man, I’m aching in places I didn’t even know I had!”
“Keep that knee straight and that compress in place,” Ty ordered, placing a hand on Buck’s sternum to force him back down on the mat. “And tomorrow when I come out here for our session, I want to see you giving a hundred percent. You were out in space somewhere today, Buck.”
He stayed down, knowing Ty was right. “I’ve got a lot on my mind,” he told Ty, throwing an arm over his face.
“Then it’s a good thing I’m here,” Ty said, as he went about collecting towels and equipment. “You know how women tell everything to those hairdresser guys—so to speak—and when they leave the beauty shop, they’re not only beautified, but they’re rejuvenated? How about you think of me as your hairdresser and tell Daddy.”
Eyes closed, Buck could only smile. Luring Ty away from his job in Memphis was the best idea he’d had since deciding to come to Tallulah. Better than being a fine physical therapist, he made Buck laugh. “Which is it, beautician or daddy-confessor?”
“Whichever.” Ty shrugged. “You got trouble, I got time.”
“Will Wainwright is retiring at Belle Pointe and Pearce is busy campaigning,” Buck said, eyes still closed. “My mother wants me to manage the crews this season.” He thought better of sharing his troubles with Anne.
With his back to Buck, Ty stood before an open cabinet to ask, “Did you forget how it’s done?”
Buck gave a short laugh. “No. And I never met a cotton seed that I didn’t want to plant. But I got over it.”
“What does Pearce being busy campaigning have to do with anything? He doesn’t manage Belle Pointe. Miz Victoria does.”
“Not without Will.” Buck was more alert now, noticing something about the way Ty stood at the cabinet, too still. Tense. Keeping his knee straight as ordered, he raised himself on one elbow. “Not being around during planting season for a number of years, I’m out of touch, but I could pick it up. That’s not what worries me. Besides, I’d have folks like your daddy to see that I didn’t screw up.”
“Not my daddy, you wouldn’t,” Ty said, closing the cabinet with a snap. Turning, he met Buck’s eyes. “Did you forget he doesn’t work at Belle Pointe anymore?”
“Are you serious?” There wasn’t a piece of equipment in use at Belle Pointe, no matter how sophisticated, that Oscar Pittman couldn’t operate. “Where does he work now?” Buck asked, thinking he must have found a better job. He wasn’t old enough to retire.
“He’s a greeter at Wal-Mart.”
“You’re kidding me. Why?” Buck stared in amazement. Nothing short of a catastrophic injury would have forced Oscar to leave Belle Pointe. “Did he have an accident on the job?”
“No accident,” Ty said shortly. “Unless you’d call a runin with Pearce an accident.”
“What the hell are you saying, Ty?”
“Maybe you oughta ask Pearce, not me. I’m not exactly unbiased here.”
“I’ll ask Pearce, damn right, but later. I’m asking you now. What happened?”
“It was picking season last year. Pearce was working the crews long hours, which is nothing unusual. They go in at daylight, they’re sometimes there after dark. Lights on those big combines are good as daylight now.” He leaned against a contraption designed for torture. “Two things were happening. The price of cotton was falling in the market and it didn’t look like Belle Pointe’s yield was going to be graded top-notch.”
Buck’s frown grew darker. “Which is something I warned my mother about a few years ago,” he muttered. “Smart planters are cooperating with scientists to develop new seeds, new ways to—” He stopped. “Never mind that. What happened?”
Ty gave him a hard look. “Are you telling me you don’t know?”
Buck shrugged. “I haven’t paid much attention to the goings-on at Belle Pointe since I left over fifteen years ago, Ty. Just tell me what happened.”
“Shit happened,” Ty said dryly. “To bump up the profit line for the year, Pearce stopped paying the men overtime. Come in at daylight, work fourteen, sixteen, eighteen hours for regular pay, they were told. My daddy didn’t like it, so next thing, they all walked out, shut the place down and—”
“And Oscar was blamed,” Buck guessed.
“You got it. Fired him outright the next day and told the rest of them that unless they got their black asses to work they’d be fired, too, that field hands were a dime a dozen in the Delta and he could pick up the phone and have every man-jack of them replaced.”
“I’m guessing it worked,” Buck said.
“Yeah, it worked. Put down the uprising pretty efficiently and my daddy was the only person not invited back to work as usual.”
Buck raked a hand through his sweat-soaked hair. “Jesus, Ty, I never knew a thing about this. You should have called me.”
“You said it yourself, Buck. You’ve been absent from Belle Pointe too many years. The men stopped expecting help from you a long time ago.”
Buck winced, but let that pass. “You’re saying my mother went along with this all the way?”
Ty’s expression was priceless. “Pearce makes a decision and Miz Victoria disputes it publicly? What planet you been livin’ on, man?” He straightened up suddenly, slapping his thighs briskly. “Hey, I’m supposed to be listening to your troubles and here I am unloading more shit for you to worry about. Let me get the hell out of here before I think of something else.”
“I’m checking into this before the sun sets,” Buck told him. “Anne and I are having dinner at Belle Pointe tomorrow night. I don’t suppose Pearce has changed his overtime policy for this upcoming season, has he?”
“I don’t suppose,” Ty said. He put out a hand to hoist Buck to his feet. “You do those exercises I showed you today, five sets, between now and next session, okay?”
“Yeah, okay.” Reaching absently for a towel, Buck draped it around his neck. “Funny thing, my mother asked me to help her out this season. With Wainwright gone, I’ve made a couple of calls trying to replace him, but this puts a different face on it. When she first mentioned it, I didn’t think there was anything on the planet that would tempt me to do it…until now.”
“I bet you the cost of a new BowFlex that she didn’t clear it with your big brother,” Ty said.
“I bet you’re right.” He rubbed the towel over his face, then looked up at Ty. “Speaking of family, how’re you settling in? Is Lily okay leaving Memphis?”
“She is now that she knows it’s for a good cause.” Ty opened a bottle of water for himself. “Saving your rear just might turn out to be a nice opportunity for me. I’ve been talking to a couple of orthopedic people who’d refer patients if I set up a facility here. Tallulah isn’t big enough for a full physical therapy operation, so patients have to travel to Memphis for treatment.”
“Who’s paying to set up all that expensive equipment?” Buck asked.
“Three guesses,” Ty said with a grin. He screwed the cap back on the bottle. “Here’s the way I look at it. After I’ve whipped you into shape, what’ll you do with all this equipment?”
“Sell it and get some of my money back?”
“Yeah. To me. For about half what you paid for it. Then I’ll move it into this sweet little space I’ve located near the hospital and be open for business.”
“I’ve created a monster,” Buck muttered, holding back a smile. But it would feel good to help Ty set up in business.
Ty began collecting towels. “By the way, where’s your pretty wife? I saw her going into the Spectator offices a couple days ago.” He looked around the lodge, clearly absent of any sign of a woman. “I don’t see anything telling me she’s sleeping here.”
“She’s staying with her daddy.”
“Oh, man, that’s not good.”
“No. It’s another thing weighing on my mind.” He handed Ty the towel. “I don’t know which one will be easier to fix, the situation at Belle Pointe or my marital trouble.”
“Get your priorities straight and they’ll both be fixed,” Ty said.
“How’s that?”
“I’ll leave it to you to figure out.” Ty shrugged into a jacket and scooped up the duffel he used to carry some of his stuff. With his thumb and forefinger crooked like a pistol, he aimed at Buck and said, “I’ll see you next time, my man.”
“Yeah.” With the use of his cane, Buck saw Ty to the door and stood watching thoughtfully as he drove away. It was no surprise that Pearce had a mean streak. No one knew Pearce’s dark places better than Buck. But ousting an employee as valuable as Oscar Pittman was stupid as well as mean. Buck leaned back against the door and closed his eyes. If Pearce became a senator, could he be trusted with the power that came with the office?