drinking.'
'Sorry about that.' He tapped his bottle against hers. 'Better luck next time.'
He didn't sound any sorrier than any other man she had ever heard. But Randi forgave him anyway. Holding something against a man was no better than keeping a grudge against a dog. They may wet on your carpet and look real sorry when you yell at them, but that doesn't mean you won't be stepping on another damp spot soon.
'How about I buy you a plate of the best barbecue in town, lady?'
Randi smiled. 'And I buy the beer, right?'
'Right,' he smiled. She almost expected to see braces on his teeth.
Two hours later, after they'd eaten and drunk their fill, the kid did her a big favor. He introduced her to his cousin, the owner of a bar, who needed someone to serve drinks. The cousin even agreed to let her sing a little on slow nights.
Randi returned the favor. She kissed the kid good-night at her car. He might want more, but he was too young. The fantasy of what might have been between them would give him far more pleasure. When he really was twenty-three, he'd think of tonight and wish, and when he was forty-three he'd probably remember the night and laugh. And, if she were lucky, when he was sixty-three, he'd look back and regret missing out on what might have been.
She returned alone to her hotel room. Most of the noise had stopped. Her brain was too clouded with beer to think She stumbled around the small space pulling off her clothes When she finally landed in bed, Randi grabbed her pilknand screamed into it with pure joy.
She was living her dream. The big city. The big time.d. Tomorrow she would be one day closer to being discovered.
Settlers watched from a dugout as the oil teams moved in. One young daughter stared in wonder at the endless line of supply trucks and wagons rolling by.
'Who are they, Mother?' she asked.
'Not anyone you'd want to know,' the mother answered. 'They're just oilmen.'
November 3
Crystal Howard stood beside her husband's bed and watched the line of suits file into the hospital room. The first man in line was in his late twenties and carried a colorful plant in full bloom. But the others looked as if they were coming to a funeral.
The nurse took the plant from him before he could step past her. 'No live plants allowed,' she said simply.
The young man smiled. 'I'll bring dead ones next time.'
She didn't acknowledge the joke, but Crystal had to glance at Shelby to keep from laughing.
Her husband looked more like a mummy in an old movie than Shelby Howard. Parts of his skin were beginning to heal in patches, parts were covered in thick cream. Though his head was bandaged, the swelling had gone down, leaving only blisters and charred deposits where his hairline had once been. He'd mumbled few words since the accident, but she could feel his pain when she touched his hand.
Trent Howard was the last to step through the door, and he closed it behind him. He was convinced Shelby had suffered brain damage from breathing in too much smoke, and today would mark the showdown at the OK Corral as far as he was concerned.
Crystal had tried to tell Trent that morphine made Shelby's mind fuzzy. Trent paid her no mind. She guessed Shelby's only son saw her as filler packed around the ui portant people in life. She was no more valued than th:u curly foam that fills a packing box. People like her: the waitresses, clerks, construction workers, doorman and hundreds others were no more important to him than a machine.
The men crowding into Shelby's room might wear business clothes instead of western gear, but Crystal knew they would be shooting from the hip today. All the power Shelby had, so carefully guarded was about to shift from father to son, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.
She smoothed the linen of her dress that almost passed as a businesslike suit, knowing she couldn't protect Shelby or herself from what was happening. How could she even talk to this group? She'd dropped out in the tenth grade and gone to work when her stepdad kicked her out of the house. Half the time she didn't know what Trent was talking about and, today, he'd brought his lawyers. She was so unimportant, Trent didn't even bother to introduce her to the group.
Crystal slipped her fingers onto Shelby's, wishing she could reassure him. Since the accident she sensed fear, as well as anger in his slight grip. She felt both now.
'Gentlemen, thank you for coming so late in the day. I felt we could delay no longer on what must be done. I'd like you to say hello to my father.' Trent made a grand sweep of his hand as if he were a barker showing off the newest freak in the circus. 'His condition and the hospital reports will confirm the urgency in taking action today to transfer the reins of Howard Drilling to me.'
One man opened his briefcase over the tray-table and asked, 'Does your father concur?'
'My father hasn't said a word in almost a month. He's awake, but he can't communicate. One ear was burned completely off, the other damaged. The nurses tell me he can see light and dark, but we're not sure how much else. The damage from the fire and the tubes thrust down his throat would make it hard, if not impossible, for him to speak.'
Trent moved impatiently. 'We can't wait any longer. I'm sure he would want me to take charge. After all, I'm only following the orders laid out in his will, nothing more.'
A gray-haired man migrated closer to the bed. 'But as long as he's alive, the will doesn't take effect.'
Frustrated, Trent added, 'I understand. But the company can't run itself. There have been questions about the cause of the fire on the Montano Rig. Someone needs to be there to answer them before investors on other rigs get nervous. As his only son, I have to take the reins. At least until he recovers.'
Three of the men appeared uncomfortable. The oldest advanced another step. He glanced at Crystal, nodding a silent greeting, then looked at the bed where she held Shelby's hand.
'May I touch his hand?' he asked politely. 'I promise not to shake it too hard.'
'The doctor said that his left hand wasn't burned so badly.' Crystal tried to press against the wall as he moved beside the bed. She couldn't remember ever seeing the man, so he wasn't one of Shelby's drinking friends. He had kind eyes and a soberness about him that made her think most folks probably trusted him more than the other suits.
'Shelby?' The man touched the lightly bandaged hand, sliding his fingers into a handshake. 'It's Elliot Morris. I don't know how much you can hear or understand, but I'd like you to know how sorry I am about all the suffering that has found you.'
'He won't respond,' Trent snapped. 'I've tried to talk to him every day since the accident. Nothing. My father may be little more than a vegetable, gentlemen. I am forced to take charge to see that his company stays intact.'
'Shelby? It's Elliot. Can you hear me?' The old man wasn't listening to the younger Howard. 'I've been doing legal work for you for thirty years. I'm dreading like hell to draw up the papers your son wants.'
Crystal swore she saw a tiny tear fight its way down thc old man's face.
'Shelby?' he whispered. 'Shelby, is the wildcatter who walked into my office all those years ago beneath those bandages and burns?'
Crystal stared as the old friends touched. Slowly, Shelby's fingers closed around Elliot's hand.
No one in the room breathed.
Elliot straightened. 'Shelby, can you hear me?'
The bandaged hand closed slightly again.
'Can you understand?'
Shelby's head rose an inch and nodded once.
