it was too soon to tell. If she needed looking after, then Callie was the one to do it. If, on the other hand, she was simply looking for a place to retire, why then, what better place than the home where she’d once lived as a girl? The plain truth was, Callie was lonesome in that big old house. And family was important. Now that Grandpop was gone, and her parents didn’t need her—not yet, at least—she was free to look after whichever family member needed her most.
It was the perfect answer for both of them. Once Manie was back in Yadkin County, where Rileys had lived since they’d crossed the Yadkin River on a ferryboat, driving a mule-drawn cart, she’d forget all about the Langleys.
Langleys. To hear her talk, you’d think they were second cousins to God, or something. In the week her aunt had been there, Callie had heard more than enough about their wonderful oil wells, their beautiful mansion and their fancy, exclusive, rich-man’s club. At the age of sixty-nine, according to Manie—seventy-two, according to Grandpop—poor Aunt Manie was still slaving away for the last of her precious Langleys. She’d described him as sweet, sensitive and vulnerable, with women trying to marry him for his money.
There was nothing sweet, sensitive, or even decent about a man who would allow a woman to work years beyond retirement age when she had a perfectly good home to go back to and a niece willing and able to look after her.
Besides, he sounded like a wimp. While the term sensitive might apply to old Doc Teeter, the man Callie had worked for ever since she was sixteen years old, she couldn’t see it applying to a rich, middle-aged bachelor. The man was obviously spoiled rotten. Probably one of those playboys who had their picture taken for People magazine with models and actresses draped all over him.
Well, Callie was calling the shots now. She hadn’t worked for a family practitioner all these years without learning a thing or two about handling people. Male, female, rich, poor, young or old, they were all the same when they were sick and scared. She stopped in Odessa for a chicken sandwich and a glass of iced tea, placed a call to her parents’ downtown loft in Winston-Salem and happened to catch her father in. Even though she disapproved of their lifestyles and some of the wild company they kept, she worried about them.
“Daddy? I’m in a place out in Texas called Odessa. It’s not too far from Royal, so I guess I’ll be getting in late this afternoon. Are you and Mama going to be home for a while? I worry about you when you’re on the road.”
“We’re heading out for Nashville come morning. I’ve got a big craft show this weekend, and the Possums are going to make a demo.”
“Oh. Well, call me when you know where you’ll be staying, all right? I gave Mama Aunt Manie’s number. And remember to take your pills with you, and don’t forget to walk at least a mile a day. I know it’ll be hot, but if you set out first thing in the morning—I know, I love you, too, Daddy. You be sure and go with Mama to those clubs, y’hear? You know what kind of people hang out in those places.”
Callie didn’t even know herself, not firsthand, but she’d heard things and read things, and her mama wasn’t exactly famous for her common sense. She had to trust her father to look after them both, which didn’t give her a whole lot of confidence, but she didn’t know what else to do. They were both in their middle fifties, but neither of them had a lick of common sense.
Had she remembered to bring Grandpop’s old photo albums?
She had. They were packed with the tube of Moravian cookies and the Moravian sugar cake, which was squashed and probably starting to mold, but it had seemed like a good idea at the time. Reminders of home, of childhood. It couldn’t hurt.
Lordy, she was tired. She’d never driven any farther than Raleigh, and now here she was, striking out across the country like a pioneer. Not that the interstate was any wagon trail. Not that her little red car was any covered wagon, either, but all the same, she felt proud of herself for setting out to rescue an elderly relative in need.
The Riley women—at least those who’d been born Rileys—might be short on looks and weird on names, but according to Grandpop, they had never lacked for gumption when something needed doing.
And Callie had convinced herself that Manie needed rescuing. She had the house all ready. She had taken her time looking for a new job after Doc retired, knowing she’d be heading west for a week or so, but as soon as they were back and settled in, she’d set out and find something that suited her.
Hank was tired when he got back from Midland. The unscheduled trip to his corporate headquarters, as it turned out, had been timely. He had an outstanding board of directors, but as Badge One, he occasionally found it necessary to question what he considered a risky move. Nine times out of ten, he was proved right. The tenth time served to keep him humble.
Greg Hunt was standing by the massive fireplace under the life-size portrait of old Tex Langley when Hank walked in. There was a private entrance to the second floor, but it was seldom used. The two men met in the middle of the room.
“Got a minute?”
“Sure, come on upstairs.” A close friend, Greg also served as his personal attorney, but Hank had a feeling this was about something entirely different. “You mentioned a situation. What’s up?” He led the way toward the broad staircase. There was an elevator, but like the private entrance, it was seldom used.
“I’d better fill you in on the background first, then we can take it from there.”
Hank poured his friend a drink, lit his own cigar and settled in to listen. He’d learned a long time ago that a moment of distraction during a briefing could spell disaster down the road.
“You remember my mentioning a woman named Anna?”
“Real looker? You had something pretty heavy going with her a while back? Family’s European and big on rules?”
“Yeah, well I forgot to mention her family name. She’s Anna von Oberland, of the Osterhaus von Oberlands. Crowned heads of a small European country. They’re pretty big on arranged marriages.”
“The hell you say. You’re marrying into royalty?” Hank stumped out his cigar and leaned forward.
“If it were that easy, there wouldn’t be a problem. They’ve got her in exile. I’m not even sure how she managed to get a call through, but thank God she did.”
Hank waited. Greg was a lawyer. The information would emerge in the proper form, at the proper time.
“You’ve heard of Ivan the Terrible?”
Hank nodded. Greg scowled. “From what I hear, this guy who’s determined to marry her is a dead ringer. Prince Ivan Striksky of Asterland, who’s interested in expanding his holdings any way he can. Marrying Anna is easier and cheaper than a full-fledged invasion. Did I mention she has a son? She’s also the guardian of her late sister’s twins, which is probably going to mean a separate mission as I understand they’re being held in another location. Getting all four of them out of the country is going to take some tricky maneuvering and a whole lot of luck.”
“Count me in.”
Greg drained his glass, sighed and leaned back in his chair.
“I already have. I’ll get back to you after I talk to the others.”
For
