Best Kept Secrets(112)
walked toward his son until they were nose to nose. "I'll tell
you something else. I haven't decided who'll be working for
whom if he takes the job."
Junior's eyes reflected his pain and anger.
Angus poked him hard in the chest. "You'd better get busy
and do what I told you to do, or one of two things could
happen. Either Reede'll be sitting at your desk, assigning you
jobs like cleaning out the stables, or all of us will be making
license plates in the Huntsville prison. Either way, you won't
have afternoons to while away playing poker."
Angus stepped back and gave the edge of the table a vicious
kick with the pointed toe of his lizard boot. It toppled over,
sending cards, poker chips, ashtrays, and bottles of beer
crashing to the floor.
Then he marched out, leaving Junior to clean up the mess.
Thirty-one
The waitress set down two chicken salads served in fresh,
hollowed-out pineapples and garnished with sprigs of mint.
She asked Junior Minton if he and his guest needed refills
on iced tea.
"We're fine for now, thanks," he said, flashing her his
hundred-watt smile.
The country club's dining room offered a view of the golf
course. It was one of the few rooms in Purcell County that
didn't reek of Texana. The soothing pastel decor would have
fit in anywhere. Junior and Alex were among a small number
of luncheon diners.
She applied her fork to an almond sliver. "This is almost
too pretty to eat. It beats the B & B Cafe's blue-plate special
all to heck," she told him as she munched on the nut. "I'm
sure if I ever saw the inside of the kitchen, I'd never eat
there. It's probably crawling with roaches."
"Naw, they chicken-fry them and serve them as appetizers."
Junior smiled. "Do you eat there often?"
"Often enough. I've had gravy, which comes on everything,
and chili up to here."
"Then, since you refused to go out with me last night, I'm
glad I insisted on lunch today. I've frequently had to rescue
ladies who work downtown from the high-calorie clutches of
the B & B. The menu is hazardous to their waistlines."
"Not that this is much more slenderizing," she said, tasting
the rich, creamy salad dressing.
"You don't need to worry about that. You're as slender
as your mother."
Alex rested her fork on the edge of her plate. "Even after
having me?"
Junior's blond head was bent over his plate. He raised it,
noticed her earnest curiosity, and blotted his mouth on the
stiff linen napkin before answering. "From the back you'd
be taken for twins, except that your hair is darker and has
more red in it."
"That's what Reede said."
"Really? When?"
His smile faltered. The question had been posed a little too
casually to be taken that way. A telltale crease formed between
his brows.
"Soon after we met."
"Ah." The furrow between his brows smoothed out.
Alex didn't want to think about Reede. When she was with
him, the practical, methodical, professional detachment she
prided herself on disappeared. Pragmatism gave way to emotionalism.
One minute she was accusing him of first-degree murder,
the next, kissing him madly and wishing for more. He was
dangerous, not only from her viewpoint as a prosecutor, but
as a woman. Both facets of her, one as vulnerable as the
other, suffered under his assault.
"Junior," she said, after they'd finished eating, "why
couldn't Reede forgive Celina for having me? Was his pride
that badly damaged?"
He was staring out the window at the golf greens. When
he felt her eyes on him, he looked at her sadly. "I'm disappointed."
"About what?"
"I thought--hoped--that you accepted my invitation to
lunch because you wanted to see me." He let out a discouraged
breath. "But you just want to talk about Reede."
"Not Reede, Celina. My mother."
He reached across the table and squeezed her hand. "It's
okay. I'm used to it. Celina used to call me and talk about
Reede all the time."
' 'What did she say when she called and talked about him?''
Junior propped his shoulder against the window and began
to play with his necktie, idly pulling it through his fingers.
"I usually heard how wonderful he was. You know, Reede
this, Reede that. After your father got killed in the war, and
she was available again, she was afraid that she'd never get
Reede back."
"She didn't."
"No."
"Surely, she didn't expect him to be glad about Al Gaither
and me."