to leave.
He seized the opportunity to duck into the small room where he washed his battered hands and splashed cool water on his face. As he stood before a large decorative mirror, he reviewed the day’s damage. Dark smudges beneath his eyes, hair askew, clothes limp and wrinkled. He looked as disheveled as he felt. A strong cup of Earl Grey with lemon would help him endure the afternoon. He considered going out to the car for his jacket and tie, but hadn’t the energy.
“When in Rome,” he reminded himself of his best friend Sig’s advice to blend in rather than stand out. So far everybody he’d encountered was in laborer’s attire so there was no need to drag back on the wool jacket that had been so appropriate twenty-four hours ago in fog-dampened London.
Back in the reception area he stepped close to a wall of framed photos that seemed to chronicle the growth of the company. Interspersed with aerial shots of the huge stores were smiling faces of employees at various gatherings. Casey’s eyes flashed at him from several of the pictures as she stood arm in arm with people who resembled her too much to be anything but family members. They appeared to be a large and cheerful lot.
“Barrett, if you’d like to join them, the other men are waiting for Casey in the conference room.” The assistant motioned toward the double doors at the end of the reception area.
“Super,” he agreed.
She went before him and pulled one of the doors wide. It was immediately clear his lack of more professional attire was a blunder. Three men were grouped together at the far side of the room, impeccably dressed in summer-weight suits and gleaming leather cowboy boots. Three wide-brimmed straw hats hung behind them on a rack made of some deceased animal’s antlers.
“Gentlemen, this is Barrett Westbrook of Westbrook Partners, Esquire.” Savannah made the introductions. “Barrett, may I present Doc Mosley, George Duncan and Manny Fernandez. Keep an eye on your wallet around these three. They’re known as the Cowboy Cartel and they’ll make a partner out of you quicker than you can sing ‘The Eyes of Texas.’”
“Well done, little lady.” The man identified as George winked at Savannah, a woman less than half his age. “Nice to meet ya, Westbrook. Put ’er there.” He thrust out a tanned and weathered hand.
Barrett extended his palm upward but before he could explain his injuries George had him locked in a grip that nearly induced tears. Doc stepped forward next and clasped with equal fervor. By the time Manny ended his bone-crushing assault, Barrett’s hand was numb. He gently flexed his fingers and slipped his right hand into his trouser pocket, determined not to check for bleeding.
“Would you like lemon in your tea, Barrett?” Savannah stood at a sideboard with her back to the men.
“Yes, please. And milk if you have it.”
Her dark head turned as she lifted a glass filled with ice and amber liquid. “It’s cold tea and it’s already sweet. I hope that’s okay since it’s the only way to drink it here in Texas.”
“Yes, of course. Even better after such a warm day.”
“Yeah, doggie.” Doc slapped a beefy hand on Barrett’s shoulder. “You can’t ask for nicer weather than this. Bet the water’s eighty in the bay today.”
Barrett’s concern for his hand abated. “Eighty degrees Fahrenheit?” That was a Roman bath compared to the ocean temperature back home. He had to find a marina where he could rent a sailboat. Suddenly a short stay in Texas held some appeal.
“Marine report said eighty-one.” Manny nodded.
“Perfect for specks. You fish, Westbrook?”
“Not since I was a youngster on holiday with the family. My grandpa fancied a bit of wading with a surf rod. I myself am partial to a sail over an outboard motor.”
“How ’bout joining us anyway?” Manny extended the invitation. “We’re making a run out to Trinity Bay. I’ll put you on a mess of trout. What do ya say?”
Barrett glanced toward Casey’s assistant who waved away his question before he voiced it.
“Casey’s booked solid in the morning. She can’t possibly see you before lunch anyway. Go enjoy yourself.”
Barrett would much rather skim over the waves than dangle a hook beneath them but it would be inhospitable to reject the kind invitation. Besides, he might discover something of value from these chaps.
“If you’re sure it’s not an imposition, I accept.” Barrett nodded. “It’s very generous of you to offer.”
Doc began to make a sound that Barrett could only surmise was laughter. The man displayed all of his teeth and tossed his head, not unlike a braying donkey. The odd sound was infectious and Barrett felt a smile pulling at his mouth though he had no earthly idea why.
“What does your friend find so amusing?” he had to ask.
George spoke up. “The idea of Moneybags Manny being generous is something to laugh about all right.”
“Hey, wait a minute now.” Manny pretended to be offended.
“Save it for the company, dubs.” George waved away Manny’s objection. “There’s not a charitable bone in your body, and you know it. You still have ninety cents of the first dollar you ever made and I’ve watched you pinch a penny hard enough to make Lincoln yelp.”
“Westbrook, this old cuss is just inviting you along so he’ll have a chance to outfish somebody for a change.” Doc elbowed Manny in the ribs.
“Well, there may be some truth to that.” Manny’s eyes glinted. “At the very least you’re in for a nice boat ride in the morning.”
Barrett nodded, sensing that more was in store for him than a boat ride.
“I see you gentlemen have been introduced.”
All heads turned toward the soft voice. The lovely creature gliding toward them in a chic navy suit, crisp ivory blouse and snakeskin pumps was a stranger.
Or was she?
“That’s a fact, Miss Casey,” George answered for the group. “And you left us alone just long enough for Manny to scare up a fishin’ trip.”
“Imagine my surprise.” When the dark-haired beauty smiled, turning azure-blue eyes on Barrett, he was no longer uncertain of the newcomer’s identity. Casey Hardy definitely responded well to a good scrubbing. She was stunning.
“Barrett, we’re pleased you could join us today. Shall we get right to work?”
She took her seat at the head of the small conference table. The men flanked her on both sides and Savannah sat at her right, tapping on a laptop keyboard.
While Casey and her contractors conducted business, Barrett listened and sipped tea sweet enough to make his teeth ache. To Casey’s credit, the meeting was to the point and efficient. She was clearly in charge, insisting on corrective action when a quality concern was brought to her attention. The men showed the young woman sincere respect and when the meeting adjourned each packed his attaché case with a list of directives from Casey Hardy.
“Where
