Best Kept Secrets(3)

' 'Gentlemen.'' Confronting them, meeting them eye to eye

for the first time, had a strange and powerful impact on her.

Curiosity and antipathy warred inside her. She wanted to

analyze them, denounce them. Instead, she behaved in the

expected civilized manner and extended her hand.

It was clasped by one studded with calluses. The handshake

bordered on being too hard, but it was as open and friendly

as the face smiling at her.

"A pleasure, ma'am. Welcome to Purcell County."

Angus Minton's face was tanned and weathered, ravaged

by blistering summer sun, frigid blue northers, and years of

outdoor work. Intelligent blue eyes twinkled at her from sockets

radiating lines of friendliness. He had a boisterous voice.

Alex guessed that his laugh would be as expansive as his

broad chest and the beer belly that was his only sign of

indulgence. Otherwise, he seemed physically fit and strong.

Even a younger, larger man would be loath to pick a fight

with him because of his commanding presence. For all his

strength, he looked as guileless as an altar boy.

His son's handshake was softer, but no less hearty or

friendly. He enfolded Alex's hand warmly, and in a confidence-inspiring

voice, said, "I'm Junior Minton. How do

you do?"

"How do you do?"

He didn't look his forty-three years, especially when he

smiled. His straight white teeth flashed and a devilish dimple

cratered one cheek, suggesting that he behaved no better than

any given occasion called for him to. His blue eyes, a shade

deeper than his father's but just as mischievous, held hers

long enough to intimate that they were the only two in the

room who mattered. She withdrew her hand before Junior

Minton seemed ready to relinquish it.

"And over yonder is Reede, Reede Lambert."



Alex turned in the direction Pat Chastain had indicated and

located the fourth man, whom she hadn't noticed until now.

Flaunting etiquette, he was still slouched in a chair in the

corner of the room. Scuffed cowboy boots were crossed at

the ankles, their toes pointing ceilingward and insolently wagging

back and forth. His hands were loosely folded over a

western belt buckle. He unlinked them long enough to raise

two fingers to the brim of a cowboy hat. "Ma'am."

"Mr. Lambert," she said coolly.

"Here, sit yourself down," Chastain offered, pointing her

toward a chair. "Did Imogene offer you some coffee?"

"Yes, but I told her that I didn't care for any. I'd like to

get to the purpose of the meeting, if we could."

"Sure enough. Junior, pull that other chair over here. Angus."

Chastain nodded for the older man to sit back down.

When everyone was reseated, the district attorney returned

to his chair behind the desk. "Now, Miss-- Well, I'll be

damned. During all the introductions, we failed to get your

name."

Alex held center stage. Four pairs of eyes were trained on

her, curiously waiting to hear her name. She paused for dramatic

effect, knowing that divulging it would cause a profound

reaction. She wanted to witness and catalog their

individual reactions. She wished she could see Reede Lambert

better. He was sitting partially behind her, and the cowboy

hat hid all but the lowest portion of his face.

She took a breath. "I'm Alexandra Gaither, Celina's

daughter."

A stunned silence followed the announcement.

Pat Chastain, befuddled, finally asked, "Who's Celina

Gaither?"

"Well, I'll be a sonofabitch." Angus flopped backward in

his chair like a collapsing inflatable toy.

"Celina's daughter. My God, I can't believe it," Junior

whispered. "I can't believe it."

"Somebody want to fill me in, please?" Pat said, still

confused. Nobody paid him any attention.

The Mintons openly stared at Alex, searching her face for



resemblances to her mother, whom they had known so well.

From the corner of her eye, she noticed that the toes of

Lambert's boots were no longer wagging. He drew his knees

in and sat up straight.

"What on earth have you been doing with yourself all

these years?" Angus asked.

"How many years has it been?" Junior wanted to know.

"Twenty-five," Alex answered precisely. "I was only two

months old when Grandma Graham moved away from here.''

"How is your grandma?"

"She's currently in a Waco nursing home, dying of cancer,

Mr. Minton.'' Alex saw no merit in sparing their sensibilities.

"She's in a coma."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Thank you."

"Where have y'all been living all this time?"

Alex named a town in central Texas. "We lived there all