CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

 

Claire put a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide with shock. They were sitting on oil! At last she knew what her father’s surprise was. She looked at the man, who was watching her with some amusement. “Mr. Thomas, I’m just so surprised I can’t think clearly. Where did you find the oil?”

“Come on. I’ll show you.”

He took her down the road to a rocky area that had never been farmed. Staring down at the rough terrain, he walked around it, moving some rocks with the toe of his heavy boot, then bent down. “Here it is. See this seepage of oil between these rocks? You’ve got an underground reservoir in this area.”

“What do I need to do to bring up the oil?”

“Depends on how you want to handle it,” he said. “Your pa wanted to do it all himself, but he didn’t have the money to hire the roughnecks and lease the rig, so he told me to hold off until he could raise it. Most people just sign a mineral lease and let an oil company bring in the well. The company would pay you about one-eighth of the value of each barrel of oil they produce.”

Only an eighth? Claire frowned in thought. Her father had never trusted anyone to handle his finances. Should she follow his example? “How much money would it take to do it myself?”

Hank looked at her skeptically. “I don’t know that you’d want to tackle that yourself, ma’am. It’s an awfully big undertaking. You’d need to hire a crew of roughnecks and lease the rig, and neither the men nor the machinery comes cheap.” Hank scratched his sideburn. “Give me a piece of paper and a pencil and I’ll calculate it for you.”

Claire took him back to the house and showed him to her father’s study. While Hank worked at the desk, Claire paced, one hand rubbing her forehead as she contemplated what an oil strike would mean. Now she understood why her father had thanked his forefathers for buying the land! And now she understood why he hadn’t wanted anyone to know. If Boothe had found out, he would have moved heaven and earth to foreclose on Bellefleur.

Oil! Claire still couldn’t believe it. She was rich! She wouldn’t have to fear losing her home or going hungry. She would never have to depend on anyone ever again!

Claire came to a sudden halt as another startling thought occurred to her. She wouldn’t have to marry Tyler. The oil would be her security.

The thought of never again seeing that handsome face, nor hearing that deep, husky voice, broke Claire’s heart. Yet now she had so much to consider -- so much more at risk. As her husband, Tyler would be entitled to use the oil money at his discretion. There was no law to protect her from that. What kind of security would she have then?

The question was one of trust.

Claire pressed her lips together. If she married him, she’d have to trust him.

“Here’s what I come up with,” Hank said, breaking into her thoughts.

Claire walked to the desk and took the paper, her eyes widening in shock. Hank pointed to the first number. “That’s what your pa owed me from last year,” he explained. “The next figure is what it would take to hire a crew for two months’ work. And the third is the cost of leasing the rig. You understand, these are all estimates. Equipment breaks down and has to be fixed, and that can cause delays. Sometimes you pay for men to sit and wait.” He paused to point to the last figure. “There’s your total amount, and that’s just for starters.”

Claire slowly shook her head in amazement. No wonder her father hadn’t been able to afford it! “That’s a lot of money, Mr. Thomas.”

“Yes, ma’am, it is -- but you could get it back one thousand times over. Of course, you can take the worry out of it and sign a mineral lease.”

The thought of sitting on so much wealth made Claire dizzy. Her instincts told her to hire a crew and bring up the oil herself, but how would she raise enough money? “Will you be in town for a few days so I can get back to you?”

Hank scratched his sideburn again. “Tell you what, I’ll stay in town for another day. If I haven’t heard from you by then, I’ll leave an address where you can wire me.”

Claire walked him to the door. “Thank you so much, Mr. Thomas, for coming back.”

He lifted his hat and was on his way. As Claire stood on the porch, watching him ride off, Lulu came up the walk carrying the empty basket. “Who’s the cowboy?” she called.

“Hank Thomas. He’s an oil driller.” Claire heard the screen door squeak and turned as Emily stepped outside. Her little face was tense with worry.

“Cee Cee, what’s going to happen to the crops?” she asked.

“Nothing, Em, why?”

“Won’t all that oil ruin them?”

“Were you eavesdropping again?” Claire shook her head in chagrin. “No, Em, the crops are fine. The oil is down too deep to hurt them.”

“Oil?” Lulu cried. “You found oil?”

Claire laughed at the expression on Lulu’s face, then gasped as she found herself enveloped in a big bear hug.

“Sweetie pie, this is your lucky day!” Lulu cried, kissing her on the forehead. “Come here, angel!” she called, pulling Emily into the fold.

“Claire?” Mrs. Parks asked, standing at the door. “Did I hear you right?”

“Yes, Mrs. Parks. We’re going to be rich!”

 

Shortly before noon that day, John Oldham walked into the cramped office of the prosecutor and looked around. The office was located in an old building that also housed the town treasurer and clerk’s office. A young man came out of a back room. “Did you want to see Mr. Jamieson?”

“Yes, sir. Tell him John Oldham is here to see him about the Jenssen matter.”

Before the young clerk could relay the message, Lawrence Jamieson came out, a startled look on his face. “Mr. Oldham!” he said, holding out his hand. “This is a surprise.”

Oldham shook his hand. “How are you, Jamieson?”

“Fine, thank you, sir. Please come in and sit down.”

Oldham followed him to an even smaller room crowded with books, stacks of files, legal pads, and transcripts. While Jamieson sat at his tiny desk, Oldham took the only other seat available -- an old ladder-back chair, the type normally used in kitchens. Jamieson, obviously awed by the senior attorney’s presence, seemed embarrassed by his humble surroundings.

“I appreciate your seeing me on short notice,” Oldham began, trying to put the younger man at ease. “I didn’t have a chance to talk with you in court the other day. You seemed to have disappeared after the hearing.” He paused to let the prosecutor squirm a bit. “This case troubles me, Mr. Jamieson. I hope you appreciate the enormous responsibility I have in representing Mr. Jenssen. His freedom, as well as his life, may well be at stake here.”

“I do appreciate that, sir. But I’m not sure what it is I can do for you.”

“For one thing, produce those witnesses, so I can take their depositions. I’ve had my investigator trying to locate them, but they seem to have vanished into thin air, if they ever existed at all.”

Jamieson pushed to his feet, looking flustered. “You’re not trying to tell me that I made the whole thing up, are you?”

“Now, now, Mr. Jamieson,” Oldham soothed, holding up his hands, “take it easy. I realize you’re not the one who developed this case, but ultimately you’re going to have to prosecute it. And in doing that, you’re going to have to produce those witnesses. Right?”

Jamieson stared at him for a moment, then slowly sank down, a look of misery on his face. The truth of the matter had finally sunk in. If he didn’t have witnesses, he didn’t have a case.

“Here’s what I suggest,” Oldham explained. “Talk to the sheriff and find out what this is all about, and then you and I can meet again and start our discovery in earnest. All right?”

At Jamieson’s nod, Oldham rose. “Good. Let’s meet in, say, a week.” He walked out, a satisfied smile on his face. That young prosecutor had a long career ahead of him. Oldham was betting on the fact that he wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize it.

 

At four o’clock that afternoon, Wilbur Simons burst into Reginald Boothe’s office, breathing heavily. Boothe looked up in surprise. “What is it, Sheriff?”

“Trouble, Mr. Boothe,” he said, panting. “Lawrence Jamieson came to see me today. He has to produce the witnesses who gave those statements about Jenssen.”

“Well, then, find them, Sheriff, and bring them in.”

“I tried. They won’t come.”

“What do you mean?” Boothe demanded angrily. “You told me they were all lined up. You paid them, didn’t you?”

“I told them I would pay them if they had to testify. Now they’re saying there’s not enough money to get them to testify.”

“Well then, if they won’t do it, find others who will, damn it!”

Simons shook his head. “I’ll try, Mr. Boothe, but I don’t think it will work. Something has scared those men.”

“Or someone,” Boothe muttered. “Go back down there, Sheriff, and try again. And find out who that someone is.”

He waited until the sheriff had gone, then he slowly swivelled his chair toward the window. Money would get those men to cooperate. Greed always won out.

 

It was dark when Tyler pulled the buggy to a stop in front of the house. He let Jonas out and led the horse back to the stables. His assistant hadn’t said a word to him all day, beyond what was absolutely necessary, and it was starting to wear on Tyler’s nerves. Bone tired, he rubbed down the horse and gave her some feed, then headed back to the house. He had been looking forward to coming home to Bellefleur all afternoon, but delays on the river had stretched his long day well into the evening hours.

As he came around the front of the house, he saw Claire sitting on the swing, her feminine form outlined by the glow of lamplight through the parlor windows. He smiled to himself. It felt good to see her waiting for him.

“Hello,” he said, coming up the porch steps.

“Hi.” She gave him a tentative smile as he walked towards her. “I have some news.”

“About Gunter?” he asked, sitting beside her. When he saw the sparkle of excitement in her eyes, however, he knew it wasn’t about Gunter. She had learned about the oil.

“A man came to see me today -- a wildcatter.”

Tyler raised his eyebrows, pretending surprise. “What did he want?”

“My father discovered an oil seepage last fall and hired Mr. Thomas to investigate,” Claire said, barely able to contain her excitement. “We’re sitting on an oil field! My father wanted to set up an oil rig and bring up a well, but he didn’t have the money.”

“Don’t landowners usually lease their land to oil companies and let them do it?”

“My father always had to do everything himself,” Claire replied. She took a deep breath. “Now I have a decision to make: I can lease the land, and only make a profit on one-eighth of every barrel of oil brought up, or I can hire a crew and equipment and do it myself.”

“How much money will that take?”

The excitement in her eyes faded. “Thousands of dollars. I have the figures inside. But that’s not my only money problem. My father never paid Mr. Thomas and he’s asking for his money. And the farmhands have to be paid, too. I probably should lease the land, even though it goes against my better judgment.”

Tyler studied her anxious face. Claire was not asking him for help, so why did he feel obliged to be her hero again? The problem was, other than a small savings account, he didn’t have any money either. All he had was his boat. He rubbed his jaw as he pondered the matter. “Would you mind if I took a look at the figures?”

“Of course not.”

Tyler watched Claire hurry into the house, then he stood up and walked to the railing. He hated pretending he didn’t know about the oil, but if Claire discovered otherwise, she would never trust him again.

Hearing the door hinges squeak, Tyler turned as Claire swept across the porch, her pale blue dress glowing almost white in the moonlight. “Here,” she told him, handing him the paper.

He let out his breath. Damn! That was a whole lot more than he was expecting.

Claire clasped her fingers together anxiously. “What do you think?”

As Tyler looked at her, the stories about her childhood popped into his mind. Claire was counting on the oil to secure her home, as well as her future. He tilted her face up to stare deep into her eyes. “I think it’s a lot of money -- but we’ll find a way to do it.”

His reward was the warmth shimmering in her eyes. She was willing to accept his help. She was starting to trust him again.

“There’s only one condition,” Claire told him, her face suddenly serious. “Whatever you do, I don’t want Reginald Boothe involved in any way.”

“Agreed. I’ll go talk to Jonas and see if he has any ideas.” He started to walk away, then returned to give her a resounding kiss. Her amazement made him grin, and the pleased look in her eyes warmed him all the way to his toes.

Inside, Tyler knocked twice on Jonas’s door. “Are you in there, Jonas?”

“Sorry, he’s not available,” came the snide comment.

“Jonas, this is important.”

There was a long pause, and then a reluctant, “Very well. Come in if you must.”

Tyler walked in and shut the door. Jonas was sitting against propped pillows, absorbed in a book. Straddling a chair, Tyler waited for his assistant to look up, and finally said irritably, “All right, Jonas, I apologize.”

Jonas snapped the book shut. “What do you want?”

“I have a problem. Claire wants to bring up the oil herself and I offered to help.”

“You don’t have any money.”

“I know that.” Tyler raked his fingers through his hair. “She’s counting on me, Jonas.”

“I take it she still wants to marry you?”

“Yes. I talked to her yesterday evening. We’ve set a date in two weeks.”

“However did you pull it off?” Jonas asked dryly.

Tyler put his finger to his lips to warn Jonas not to speak, tiptoed to the door, opened it quickly and looked out. Emily was nowhere in sight. “We decided it was in our mutual best interests,” he said quietly.

Jonas opened his book, looking extremely perturbed. “I see.”

“How am I going to come up with the money?”

“Don’t look at me,” Jonas said. “I have a little saved, but certainly not enough to finance an oil rig. Ask the bank for a loan.”

“What would I use as collateral? All I have is the LADY LUCK.”

“I suppose you’ll have to use that,” Jonas said with a sniff.

Tyler shook his head. “Never. Not my boat. You know how I feel: that boat is my life.”

“And what is Claire?”

“That’s not a fair question.”

“Perhaps not -- but it’s one you’re going to have to answer sooner or later.”

Tyler paced across the room. What if it turned out there was no oil field, or just a small pocket of oil? They could drill ten wells and come up dry. Could he risk his boat?

He paused at the window to look across the rolling land to the river, where moonlight glistened on the water. He understood Claire’s love for Bellefleur; he felt the same way about the LADY LUCK. But this was her big chance to secure her future. Could he disappoint her?

“Maybe there’s a way to help Claire without risking my boat,” he told Jonas. “She has the option of leasing the land to an oil company. She’d only get a percentage of the oil profits, but she also wouldn’t be taking any risks. If I can convince her that’s the wisest course, I’ll only need to help her out with the driller’s costs and the farmhands’ wages.”

“And where will you get that money?”

“I have some cash put aside in a bank in Mount Vernon,” he said.

“All right -- I’ll take the LADY LUCK for you tomorrow so you can work on business here at home.”

Tyler leaned against the window frame and watched the light play across the rippling surface of the water. Home.

It was beginning to feel like home.

 

The hour was late when Tyler walked down the hall to his room. Seeing a faint light beneath Claire’s door, he paused. Should he let her know now what he and Jonas had discussed, or wait until morning? He pictured her opening the door in her night dress, her long black hair unbound, and his blood pulsed hot and thick. He tapped softly.

In a moment, the door opened. Claire was hastily pulling on her wrapper, covering her diaphanous, white night dress, but not before he’d had a tempting glimpse of rose-colored nipples and the dark shadow between her legs. His groin tightened as his gaze swept up to her face. A pink blush tinged her creamy cheeks, and her silky hair fell gracefully around her shoulders. He met her cobalt blue gaze and swallowed hard. His hands clenched to keep from reaching for her. “I just wanted to tell you that Jonas and I discussed your situation.”

She moved back into her room. “Come in.”

Tyler stepped inside and looked around. Her dresser against the near wall was lined with framed photographs of her family. The lamp next to her bed cast a soft, golden glow on the pink and green wallpaper. The pale green bedcover was turned down invitingly and her pillows were propped against the tall, wooden headboard. A book lay open nearby. She had been in bed.

Tyler’s eyes met Claire’s. All he could think of was how much he wanted to lay her down on that bed and make love to her.

“What did Jonas think?” Claire asked eagerly.

Tyler swallowed again, his throat so dry he had to clear it to speak. “There’s risk involved. We may find only a small pocket of oil. A lot of money could be spent drilling for little profit.”

Claire’s eagerness turned to dismay. Her brows knitted and her fingers twisted together. “Do you think that’s likely?”

Tyler hadn’t meant to alarm her and now hastened to put her fears to rest. “I’m not the expert -- Mr. Thomas is. But my policy has always been to minimize risk. That’s what I’m suggesting you do.”

“You’re right,” she said, before he could elaborate. “I have to minimize the risk. Why involve an oil company if there’s only a pocket of oil? This is something I have to do myself.”

That wasn’t what he meant at all. Tyler started to explain, but the utter determination in Claire’s face stopped him. He knew exactly how she felt and what a lonely position it was. She needed his support. Gently, he gripped her shoulders. “We’ll do it together.”

Claire’s features softened and her eyes filled with love. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Tyler’s heart twisted in agony. If only he could return that love.

He ran his palms slowly, sensuously, along the soft line of her jaw to her temple. With growing desire, he traced her eyebrows with his fingertips, then threaded his fingers in her hair, feeling the heavy, silken texture of it. Lifting an ebony lock to his nose, he closed his eyes and inhaled the soft rose scent that clung to it.

When he opened his eyes again, there was a tortured look on Claire’s face that squeezed his heart. Suddenly he wanted to show her that he cared about her, that he desired her. He could give her that much.

His hands moved down her long, slender neck to cover her breasts, feeling the firm, supple mounds with their hard buds beneath his palms, their taste and texture still vivid in his memory. Claire’s pupils widened, and Tyler expected her to pull back in alarm, but then he saw a spark of desire flicker to life in her eyes. His blood coursed through his veins, thickening his manhood. It would be so easy to lock the door and make love to her, to teach her what real passion was.

Cupping her face, Tyler brought it to his, kissing her gently, then with deepening urgency. He pulled Claire against him, melding her soft contours to his as he coaxed her lips open. Plunging his tongue into the sweet, wet warmth of her mouth, Tyler knew he had to have her.

Claire struggled against the tide of passion that swept her along, but Tyler’s sensuous assault on her mouth broke down her defenses. Her skin tingled where his fingers touched, her breasts swelled, her body throbbed, her desire flared white hot -- and her heart overflowed with love. She wound her arms around his neck, standing on tiptoe, pressing passion-hardened nipples against his solid chest as Tyler slid his hands down the curve of her waist, over her hips, to cup her bottom. Leaning against him, Claire felt the evidence of his arousal and her own spun out of control.

He quickly closed the door. Then, with a primal growl that made her body throb, Tyler swept her up and carried her to the bed. Untying the sash at her waist, he parted her robe and unfastened the buttons of her night dress. Claire shivered as the cool air touched her heated flesh, then she gasped when his mouth covered her breast. As he teased one nipple and then the other, he raised her gown and ran his hand between her thighs until they parted. Claire’s eyes closed and her back arched as he stroked her faster and faster, until she gasped and cried out for relief.

Leaving a trail of hot kisses down the smooth plane of her stomach to her inner thighs, Tyler further inflamed her passion by sampling her feminine mysteries, leaving Claire panting with need. At first scandalized, she soon abandoned herself to the wanton sensations, until her thoughts were as uninhibited as his actions.

Quickly, Tyler shed his clothing and covered her with his body. His hot, turgid flesh burned the tender skin of her belly. She felt him probe her slick folds, seeking entrance. Imagining the feel of him inside her, Claire lifted her hips to welcome him, but suddenly tensed. Should she give Tyler her most precious gift -- a gift that by rights should be given to her husband? Did she trust him? Her instincts warned her not to – but her heart said otherwise. Tyler had pledged his help, knowing the risks. Surely that meant he loved her.

Claire met Tyler’s expectant gaze and opened her arms – and her heart – to him. She felt him gently ease inside her, holding her until she adjusted to his size. Slowly, he stroked her, gradually increasing the rhythm until her pulse beat in time to it; until every muscle, every nerve, every thought was focused on their joining. Her fingers dug into his back as the tension built. He captured her mouth in a powerful kiss, and Claire moaned as the pressure built. As it exploded into a thousand shock waves of pleasure, she cried out.

For a long moment she held him tightly, afraid to let him go, fearing that her soul-shaking experience had been one-sided. But when Tyler lifted his head to gaze at her, Claire was sure that what she saw in his eyes was love. He kissed her tenderly, then got up and pulled on his clothing.

As Claire donned her night dress and smoothed her tousled hair, Tyler came up behind her and put his arms around her. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he murmured in her ear.

For a long time afterward, Claire sat at her window recounting every moment of their love-making. She had been right to trust her heart.

 

After a quick breakfast, Claire sought out Hank Thomas at The Good Fortune Inn. She found him lounging on the front porch talking with the inn’s owner, a potbellied, talkative man in his early fifties named Cyrus Haines.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” Claire said, climbing the steps to the long porch.

“Miss Cavanaugh,” both men said, rising.

“Mr. Thomas, we have some business to discuss.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

After Cyrus quietly excused himself and left the porch, Claire sat on a wicker chair next to Thomas. “I’ve decided I’m going to finance the oil rig myself.”

Thomas raised his eyebrows. “You sure you want to do that?”

“Definitely. My fiancé, Tyler McCane, is going to help me get the financing.”

“Is that the fellow who owns the riverboat?”

Claire smiled. “Then you do know him.”

“Not personally, but I met his assistant, Polk, on my trip here to Fortune.” Thomas’s eyebrows knitted in bewilderment. “We talked at some length about the oil on your land. I’m surprised he didn’t tell you.”

Stunned, Claire could only stare at him. If Jonas had known about the oil strike, then so had Tyler. Yet he had pretended not to know.

A sharp pain sliced through her heart. She had given herself to Tyler believing he loved her. Once again she had been played for a fool.