Men to Trust

“They have a little boy. Doesn’t she think his father has any right to see the child?”

“They’re still arguing about custody.”

“What a pity.”

“People should think hard about having children,” Violet said with conviction, “and they shouldn’t ever be accidents.”

“That’s just what I’ve always said,” Mrs. Hardy replied. “Have a good day, darling.”

“You, too. The phone’s right here and I’m going to write down Mr. Wright’s number in case you need me.” She penciled it on the pad next to the phone, smiled, and went to get her purse.

Duke Wright lived in a huge white Victorian house. Local gossip said that his wife had wanted it since she was a child, living in a poor section of Jacobsville. She’d married Duke right out of high school and started to college after the honeymoon was over. College had opened a new world to her eyes. She’d decided to study law, and Duke stood by and let her have her way, sure that she’d never want to leave Jacobsville. But she got a taste of city life when she went on to law school in San Antonio, and she decided to work in a law firm there.

Nobody understood exactly why they decided to have a child in her first year as a practicing estate lawyer. She didn’t seem happy about it, although she had the child. But a live-in nurse had to be employed because Mrs. Wright spent more and more time at the office. Then, two years ago, she’d been offered a position in a well-known law firm in New York City and she’d jumped at the chance. Duke had argued, cajoled, threatened, to try to get her to turn it down. Nothing worked. In a fit of rage, she moved out, with their son, and filed for divorce. Duke had fought it tooth and nail. Just this month, she’d presented him with divorce papers, demanding his signature, which also required him to remit full custody of his five-year-old son to her. He’d gone wild.

To look at him, though, Violet thought, he seemed very self-possessed and confident. He was tall and bronzed with a strong face, square chin, deep-set dark eyes and blondish-brown hair which he wore conventionally cut. He had the physique of a rodeo star, which he’d been before his father’s untimely death and his switch from cowboy to cattle baron. He ran purebred red angus cattle, well-known in cattle circles for their pedigree. He had all the scientific equipment necessary for a prosperous operation, including high-tech methods of genetic breeding, artificial insemination, embryo transplantation, cross-breeding for leanness, low birth weight and daily weight gain ratio, as well as expert feed formulation. He had the most modern sort of operation, right down to lagoon management and forage improvement. He had the most modern computers money could buy, and customized software to keep up with his cattle. But his newest operation was organic ham and bacon that he raised on his ranch and marketed over the Internet.

Violet was staggered at the high-tech equipment in the office he maintained on his sprawling ranch outside town.

“Intimidated?” he drawled, smiling. “Don’t worry. It’s easier to use than it looks.”

“Can you operate it all?” she asked, surprised.

He shrugged. “With the average duration of secretarial assistance around here, I have to be able to do things myself,” he said heavily. He gave her a long look and stuck his lean hands in the pockets of his jeans. “Violet, I’m not an easy boss,” he confessed. “I have moods and rages, and sometimes I blow up when things upset me. You’ll need nerves of steel to last long here. So I won’t blame you if you have reservations.”

Her eyebrows arched. “I worked for Blake Kemp for over a year.”

He chuckled, understanding her very well. “They say he’s worse than me,” he agreed. “Okay. If you’re game, we’ll give it two weeks. After that, you can decide if it’s worth the money. That’s another thing,” he added, smiling. “I pay better than Kemp.” He named a figure that made Violet look shocked. He nodded. “That’s to make it worth the aggravation. Come on, and I’ll show you around the equipment.”

It was fascinating. She’d never seen anything like the tangle of spreadsheets and software that ran his empire. Even the feed was mixed by computer.

“Not that you’ll have to concern yourself with the organic pork operation,” he added quickly. “I have three employees who do nothing except that. But these figures—” he indicated the spreadsheet “—are urgent. They have to be maintained on a daily basis.”

“All of them?” she exclaimed, seeing hours and hours of overtime in statistics before her.

“Not by hand,” he replied. “All the cowboys are computer literate, even the old-timers. They feed the information into handheld computers and send it to the mainframe by internal modem, right from the pastures,” he told her.

She just shook her head. “It’s incredible,” she replied. “I hope I’m smart enough to learn all this, Mr. Wright.”

He smiled approvingly. “There’s nothing I appreciate more than modesty, Miss Hardy,” he replied. “You’ll do fine. Ready to get started?” “Yes, sir!” she replied.

It was a short day, mainly because she was so busy trying to learn the basics of Duke Wright’s agricultural programs. She liked him. He might have a bad reputation, and she knew he could be hard to get along with, but he had saving graces.

She managed not to think about Mr. Kemp all afternoon, until she got home.

Her mother smiled at her from the sofa, where she was watching her daily soap operas. “Well, how did it go?” she asked.

“I like it!” Violet told her with a big smile. “I really do. I think I’m going to work out just fine. And, besides that, I’m going to be making a lot more money. Mama, we might even be able to afford a dishwasher!”

Mrs. Hardy sighed. “That would be lovely, wouldn’t it?”

Violet kicked off her shoes and sat down in the recliner next to the sofa. “I’m so tired! I’m just going to rest for a minute and then I’ll see about supper.”

“We could have chili and hot dogs.”

Violet chuckled. “We could have a nice salad and bread sticks,” she said, thinking of the calories.

“Whatever you like, dear. Oh, by the way, Mr. Kemp came by a few minutes ago.”

Violet’s world came crashing down around her ears. She’d hoped to not even hear his name, at least for another few days.

“What did he want?” she asked her mother.

The older woman picked up a white envelope. “To give you this.” She handed it to Violet, who sat staring at it.

“Well,” she murmured. “I guess it’s my final pay.”

Mrs. Hardy muted the television set. “Why not open it and see?”

Violet didn’t want to, but her mother looked expectant. She tore open the envelope and extracted a check and a letter. With her breath in her throat, she slowly unfolded it.

“What does it say?” her mother prompted.

Violet just stared at it, unbelieving.

“Violet, what is it?”

Violet drew in a breath. “It’s a letter of recommendation,” she said huskily.

Chapter Two

“I can’t believe he actually gave me one,” Violet said huskily, her heart racing from just the thought that he’d backed down that far. “I didn’t ask for it.”

“He told me that,” her mother replied. “He said that he felt really bad about the way you left, Violet, and that he hoped you’d be happy in your new job.”

Violet looked up at her parent, hating herself for being so happy with these crumbs of Kemp’s regard. “He did?” She caught herself. “Did you tell him where I was working?”

Mrs. Hardy shifted on the sofa. “Well, dear, he looked so pleasant and we had such a nice conversation. I thought, why upset the man?”

Violet laughed helplessly. “What did you tell him, Mother?” she asked gently.

“I said you were working in a local office for a very nice man, doing statistics,” she said with a chuckle. “He didn’t actually ask where. He started to, and I changed the subject. He said Libby and Mabel were splitting your work for the time being. He’s going to advertise for a new secretary,” she added.

Violet sighed. “I hope he’s happy with whichever poor soul gets the job,” she said.

“No, you don’t. I know you hated to leave. But, dear, if he doesn’t feel the same way, it’s a blessing in the long run,” her mother said wisely. “No sense eating your heart out.”

“That’s what I thought when I quit,” Violet admitted. She got to her feet, putting the letter and check back in the envelope. “I’ll go fix something to eat.”

“You could make a pot of coffee,” her mother suggested.

Violet gave her a glare. “You don’t need to be drinking caffeine.”

“Don’t we have any decaf?”

It reminded Violet too much of her ex-boss, and she wasn’t enthusiastic. But her mother loved coffee, and missed being able to drink it. She didn’t know about the coffee wars in Kemp’s office, either. Violet forced a smile. “I’ll see,” she said, and left her mother to the soap opera.

The first few days out of Kemp’s office were the hardest. She couldn’t forget how she’d looked forward to every new day, to each morning’s first glimpse of her handsome boss. Her heart had jumped at the sound of his voice. She tingled all over when, rarely, he smiled at her when she finished a difficult task for him. Even the scent of a certain masculine cologne could trigger memories, because he always smelled of it. She felt deprived because her life would no longer contain even a casual glimpse of him. She was working for his worst enemy. Not much likelihood that Kemp would turn up on Duke Wright’s ranch in the near or distant future.

But as time passed, Violet slowly fell into a routine at Duke’s ranch. The spreadsheet programs were easy to use once she learned what the various terms meant, like weight gain ratio and birth weight. She learned that Duke used artificial insemination to improve the genetics of his cattle, selecting for low birth weight, good weight gain ratios for offspring and lean cuts of meat in the beef cattle offspring that would eventually be generated by his purebred herd sires and dams.

She was fascinated to find that science was used to predict leanness and tenderness of beef cuts, that genetics could manipulate those factors to produce a more marketable product for consumers.

She was fascinated by the various pedigrees and the amount of history contained in his breeding programs. It was like an organic history of Texas just to look back over the first herds that had contributed to Duke’s formidable beef concern. He kept photographic records as well as statistical ones, and she found the early beef sires short, stocky and woolly compared to modern ones. It graphically showed the progression of genetic breeding.

Her duties were routine and hardly exciting, but she made good wages and she liked the people she worked with. Duke had full-time and part-time cowboys, as well as a veterinary student who worked one semester and went to school one semester. He had three people who did nothing but work with his Internet Web site that sold his premium organic ham and bacon products.

But Violet’s job was separate from that of the other workers. There was a new storefront that Duke had just opened in Jacobsville to market his organic pork. There was also a modern office complex adjacent to the enormous barn, where the production and lab staff were located. The barn, in addition to containing the pride of his purebred cattle herd, his expensive seed bulls, there was also a climate controlled room where the frozen sperm and embryos were kept for artificial insemination. The procedure itself was conducted in the barn. Purebred embryos from superior herd sires, as well as straws of semen from champion bulls who were now long dead, were kept in vats of liquid nitrogen. These were placed in surrogate mothers who might be Holsteins or even mixed breed cattle rather than the purebred heifers he also sold along with each new crop of yearling bulls from purebred sires.

Violet had a passing acquaintance with the employees who ran the lab, one of whom was a graduate biologist named Delene Crane, a young woman with a quirky sense of humor. They were nodding acquaintances, because she didn’t have much free time to socialize. None of the staff did, for that matter. Routine at the ranch was chaotic because spring was the busiest time for everyone, with calves being born and recorded and branding in full swing.

She knew that Duke used not only hot branding, but also had computer chips on plastic tags that dangled from the ears of his cattle. These chips contained the complete history of each cow or bull. The information was scanned into a handheld computer and sent by modem to Violet’s computer to be compiled into the spreadsheet program.

“It’s just fascinating,” Violet told Duke as she watched the information updating itself on her computer screen from minute to minute.

He smiled wearily. He was dusty. His chaps and boots were dirty and blood-stained because he’d been helping with calving all day. His red shirt was wet all over. His hair, under his wide-brimmed Stetson, was dripping sweat. His leather gloves, tight-fitting and suede-colored, were dangling from the wide belt buckle at his lean waist over his jeans.

“It’s taken a lot of work to get this operation so far,” he confessed, his eyes on the screen as he spoke, his voice deep and pleasant in the quiet office. “And a lot of cash. I’ve been in the hole for the past year. But I’m just beginning to show a profit. I think the pork operation may be what finally gets me in the black.”

“Where are the pigs kept?” she wondered aloud, because she’d only seen cattle and horses so far. In addition to the cattle herd, Duke maintained a small herd of purebred Appa-loosa horses.

“Far enough away that they aren’t easy to smell,” he replied with a grin. “They have their own complex about a mile down the road. It’s remarkably clean, and purely organic. They have pastures to roam and a stream that runs through it all the year, and they’re fed a carefully formulated organic diet. No pesticides, no hormones, no antibiotics unless they’re absolutely necessary.”

“You sound like the Harts and the Tremaynes and…” she began.

“…and Cy Parks and J. D. Langley,” he finished for her, chuckling. “They did give me the idea. It’s catching on. Christabel and Judd Dunn jumped on the wagon last year.”

“It’s been very profitable for them, I hear,” Violet replied. “Mr. Kemp handles all the paperwork for the Harts and Cy Parks…” She bit her tongue as his face hardened and the smile faded. “Sorry, boss,” she said at once.

He moved jerkily. “No harm done.”

But she knew how he felt about Kemp. She opened a second window on the computer screen and diverted him with a question about another procedure.

He explained the process to her and smiled. “You’re a diplomat, Violet. I’m glad you needed a job.”

“Me, too, Mr. Wright,” she replied, smiling.

He pulled his hat down over his eyes. “Well, I’ve played hooky as long as I can,” he said with a grimace. “I’ll get back to work before Lance comes in here and lassos me and drags me back out to the pasture. You go home at five regardless of the phone, okay?” he added. “I know you worry about your mother. You don’t need to do overtime.”

“Thanks,” she said, and meant it. “It’s hard for her to be alone in the evening. She gets scared.”

“I don’t doubt it. Oh, if you get a minute,” he added from the door, “call Calhoun Ballenger and tell him I’m sending him a donation for his campaign.”

She grinned. “I’ll be happy to do that! I’m voting for him, too.”

“Good for you.” He closed the door carefully behind him.

Violet made the call, finished up her work, and left on time. She had to run by the post office on the way home to put Duke’s correspondence into the mail.

As luck would have it, Kemp was in the lobby when she walked in the door, having just put a last-minute letter into the outgoing post.

He stopped short when he saw her, his pale blue eyes narrow and accusing. She was keenly aware that her lipstick was long gone, that her hair was sticking out in comic angles from her once-neat braid, that one leg of her panty hose was laddered. She couldn’t run into him when she looked neat and pretty, she thought miserably. To top it all off, she was wearing white jeans that were too tight and a red overblouse with ruffles that made her look vaguely clownish. She ground her teeth as she glared back at him.

“Mr. Kemp,” she said politely, and started to go around him.

He stepped right into her path. “What’s Wright been doing to you?” he asked. “You look worn to the bone.”

Her thin eyebrows arched as she registered genuine concern in that narrow gaze. She cleared her throat. “It’s roundup,” she replied.

He nodded understanding. “The Harts are breaking out in hives already,” he mused, and almost smiled. “They’ve had some problems with their exports to Japan as well. I suppose the cattle business is wearing on the nerves.”

She smiled shyly. “Everybody’s rushing to record all the pertinent information for every new calf, and there are a lot of them.”

“He’s opened a meat shop here in town,” he remarked. “It sells organic hams and sausage and bacon.”

“Yes. His employees run a Web site, too, so that he can sell his pork on the Internet.” She hesitated. Her heart was racing like mad and she felt her knees weakening just from the long, shared looks. She missed him so much. “How…how are Libby and Mabel?”

“Missing you.” He made it sound as if she’d left him in a bind.

She shifted to the other foot. If they’d been alone, she’d have had more to say about the accusing look he was giving her. But people were coming and going all around them. “Thank you. For the recommendation, I mean.”

He shrugged. “I didn’t think Wright would take you on,” he said honestly. “It’s no secret that he hates having women around the ranch since the divorce.”

“Delene Crane works with him,” she replied, curious. “She’s a woman.”

“He’s known Delene since they were in college together,” he told her. “He doesn’t think of her as a woman.”

Interesting, she mused, because Delene wasn’t a bad-looking woman. She had red hair and green eyes and a milky complexion with a few freckles. She froze out the cowboys who gave her flirting glances, though. She was also strictly business with Duke, so maybe it was true that he didn’t think of her as a romantic prospect. She wondered why Delene didn’t feel comfortable around men…

“How’s your mother?” Kemp asked abruptly.

She grimaced. “She does things they told her not to do,” she lamented. “Especially lifting heavy stuff. The doctors said that she still has a tendency toward clots, despite the blood thinners they give her. They didn’t say, but I know that once a person has one or two strokes, they’re almost predisposed to have more.”

He nodded slowly. “But there are drugs to treat that, now. I’m sure your doctor is taking good care of her.”

“He is,” she had to agree.

“Your mother is special.”

She smiled. “Yes. I think so, too.”

He looked past her. “It’s clouding up. You’d better get your letters mailed, so you don’t get soaked when you leave.”

“Yes.” She looked at him with pain in her eyes. She loved him. It was so much worse that he knew, and pitied her for it. She glanced away, coloring faintly. “Yes, I’d better…go.”

Unexpectedly, he reached out and pushed back a long strand of black hair that had escaped her braid. He tugged it behind her ear, his gaze intent and solemn as he watched her heartbeat race at her bodice. He heard her breath catch at the faint contact. He felt guilty. He could have been kinder to Violet. She had enough on her plate just with her mother to care for. She cared about him. She’d shown it, in so many ways, when she worked with him. He hadn’t wanted to encourage her, or give her false hope. But she looked so miserable.

“Take care of yourself,” he said quietly.

She swallowed, hard. “Yes, sir. You, too.”

He moved aside to let her pass. As she went by, a faint scent of roses drifted up into his nostrils. Amazing how much he missed that scent around his office. Violet had become almost like a stick of furniture in the past year, she was so familiar. But at the same time, he was aware of an odd, tender nurturing of himself that he’d never had in his adult life. Violet made him think of open fireplaces in winter, of warm lamplight in the darkness. Her absence had only served to make him realize how alone he was.

She walked on to the mail slots, unaware of his long, aching stare at her back. By the time she finished her chore, he was already out the door and climbing into his Mercedes.

Violet watched him drive away before she opened the door of the post office and went outside. It was starting to rain. She’d get wet, but she didn’t care. The odd, tender encounter made her head spin with pleasure. It would be a kind thought to brighten her lonely life.

There was a lot of talk around town about Janet Collins. She’d gone missing and Libby and Curt were the subject of a lot of gossip. Jordan Powell had been seen with Libby, but nobody took that seriously. He was also seen with old Senator Merrill’s daughter, Julie, doing the social rounds. Violet wondered if Libby felt the rejection as much as Violet felt it over Kemp. Her co-worker had a flaming crush on Jordan in recent weeks, but it seemed the feeling wasn’t reciprocated.

Violet’s mother seemed to be weakening as the days passed. It was hard for Violet to work and not worry about her. She’d started going back to the gym on her way home from work three days a week, but it was only for a half hour at a time. She’d splurged on a cell phone and she kept it with her all the time now, just in case there was ever an emergency when she wasn’t home. Her mother had a hot button on the new phone at home, too, so that she could push it and speed-dial Violet.

She had her long hair trimmed and frosted, and she actually asked a local boutique owner for tips on how to make the most of her full figure. She learned that lower cut blouses helped to diminish a full bosom. She also learned that a longer jacket flattered wide hips, and that straight lines made her look taller. She experimented with hairstyles until she found one that flattered her full face, and with makeup until she learned how to use it so that it looked natural. She was changing, growing, maturing, slimming. But all of it was a means to an end, as much as she hated to admit it. She wanted Blake Kemp to miss her, want her, ache for her when he looked at her. It was a hopeless dream, but she couldn’t let go of it.

Kemp, meanwhile, spent far too much time at his home thinking about ways and means to get Violet to come back.

He stretched out on his burgundy leather couch to watch the weather channel with his two female Siamese cats, Mee and Yow, curled against his chest. Mee, a big seal-point, rarely cuddled with him. Yow, a blue-point, was in his lap the minute he sat down. He felt a kinship with the cats, who had become his family. They sat with him while he watched television at night. They curled up on the big oak desk when he worked there at his computer. Late at night, they climbed under the covers on either side of him and purred him to sleep.

The Harts thought his cat mania was a little overdone. But, then, they weren’t really cat people, except for Cag and Tess. Their cats were mostly strays. Mee and Yow, on the other hand, were purebred. Blake had brought both of them home with him together from a pet store, where they’d been in cages behind glass for weeks, the last products of a cattery that had gone bankrupt. He’d felt sorry for them. More than likely, he told himself, they’d set him up. Cats were masters of the subtle suggestion. It was amazing how a fat, healthy cat could present itself as an emaciated, starving orphan. They were still playing mind tricks on him after four years of co-existence. It still worked, too.

He thought about Violet and her mother, and remembered that the elderly Mrs. Hardy was allergic to fur. Violet loved animals. She kept little figurines of cats on her desk. He’d never asked her to his home, but he was certain that she’d love his cats. He imagined she’d have Duke Wright bringing calves right up to the porch for her to pet.