A Woman of Fortune (16 page)

20

B
y morning, the violent weather had passed and storm clouds of a different sort appeared on their doorstep.

Tuck joined Claire in their closet, where she had an open suitcase on the floor. “Honey, don't pack so many shirts. I won't need them,” he said gently.

Claire tossed the folded button-down back in the drawer and slammed it shut with her hip. “Excuse me if I don't know how to pack for prison.” She regretted the words the minute they left her mouth and apologized. The building tension was getting to her.

Tuck's hand touched her arm. “Let's have Margarita finish this. Ranger will be here in less than an hour, and I want to have breakfast with the kids.”

Downstairs, the family gathered in the breakfast nook. Even Lainie, but not without argument. Her twenty-three-year-old daughter, who might once have been a senator's wife, now acted like a pouty teenager. One who didn't quite know how to process her raging emotions and made everyone around miserable by her cranky behavior.

Max, on the other hand, had really stepped up. With Garrett gone, he was no longer the irresponsible baby of the family, even
at age twenty. He'd temporarily moved back into his former room, somehow sensing how much Claire needed him right now.

Sitting at the table, Claire found the lack of conversation a bit surprising. She'd have expected—or maybe wanted—them all to use this time together to . . . she didn't know, maybe reminisce or create some verbal solidarity.
Something.

She made several attempts to start a lighthearted discussion. When every effort was met with silence, she finally gave up and pushed her cold eggs around the plate like the rest of them.

Margarita filled their coffee cups, her eyes brimming with tears. When she finished, Tuck slipped his napkin quietly onto the table. He cleared this throat. “I have something I'd like to say before Ranger gets here.”

Margarita moved for the door.

“No, Margarita. Stay. I want you to hear this as well.” Tuck's voice grew thick with emotion. “In a little while, I'm going to begin paying society for what I've done. But in a million years, I can never make up for what I've done to my family.” His broad shoulders shook and his lip trembled. He struggled for control. “I love you all so very much. And I'm sorry—for everything.”

Lainie burst into tears. She slammed her chair back and ran from the room, sobbing.

Claire stood to follow until Tuck motioned for her to sit back down. “Let her go, Claire.”

Margarita stood in the corner, her hand furiously working a tiny metal cross Claire knew was hidden in her pocket. Their housekeeper's lips moved in silent prayer.

Outside, a helicopter flew overhead. The media circus had begun.

The sound of a car engine drew her attention to the window. Outside, Ranger climbed from a large black sedan and headed for the front steps.

“Well,” Tuck said, scooting his chair back, “looks like it's time.”

Max and Claire followed Tuck to the front foyer, where Tuck's bags waited.

Claire hadn't slept last night. While nestled against her husband, the last time in possibly five years, she'd told herself she was ready. But now she knew she'd needed to tell herself that to make it through the night.

She watched Tuck hug their son. Her husband kissed Margarita on the forehead, told her he'd miss her cooking. His hand slipped an envelope on the table with Lainie's name across the front. Somehow he'd known his daughter wouldn't be able to say goodbye.

Then he turned to her.

Tuck pulled Claire into a tight embrace, burying his face in her hair. “Don't visit me in that awful place. At least not for a while,” he whispered. “Promise? And give me a few days to settle in before we talk on the phone. It'll be easier, I think.”

She swallowed against the baseball-sized lump in her throat and nodded. She tried to say something but choked on a sob. She squeezed her eyes closed, trying to cement this moment in her memory. His smell, the way his cheek felt against her own.

This last physical contact would have to last.

She felt him pull away. Suddenly terror filled her. She couldn't do this. No—she couldn't.

She clung tighter, sobs clambering up her throat as her heart ruptured.

Claire wanted to be strong.

She couldn't.

Max's arms folded around her. “I've got her, Dad,” he said, gently pulling her from Tuck's arms.

Claire opened her water-filled eyes to find tears also streaming down her husband's agonized face. He turned for the door.

Then he was gone.

21

C
laire wanted to believe the worst was behind her. But the process of turning over assets to the receiver brought a new emotional low.

There'd been back-to-back meetings with Ranger, with her signing quitclaim deeds and paperwork. Relinquishing interest in the company assets was hard enough, but turning over their personal property left a bad feeling in the back of her throat. “These are just assets,” she told herself, but secretly she resented the implication that everything they owned had been acquired by stealing. She alone was audience to all those years of Tuck's legitimate hard work. His recent bad decisions had erased it all.

Ranger slid the deed to their vacation home in Sun Valley across the conference table. With her pen poised, Claire couldn't help remembering Christmas ski holidays spent there, especially the year Garrett broke his leg.

He'd been fourteen. Or had he been fifteen? She couldn't remember exactly.

She made plans to meet a friend for brunch at Gretchen's, a quaint restaurant inside the Sun Valley Lodge, named after Sun Valley's own legendary Gretchen Fraser, the first American to win
an Olympic gold medal in skiing. Tuck and the children headed for Baldy, wanting to take advantage of the fresh powder.

The waitress had barely placed the eggs Benedict on the table when Claire's cell phone rang. She answered, wondering which of them forgot their ski pass this time. “Tuck?”

“Claire, Garrett's all right, but you need to meet us at the hospital.”

“Hospital?” Claire dropped her fork. “What happened?”

“He's fractured his left tibia,” Tuck said. “X-rays will confirm the extent of the injury, but more than likely this is a simple break.”

Despite Tuck's attempt to sound calm, Claire heard alarm hidden in his assurances that their son's injuries were minor. She grabbed her purse. “Look, I've got to go. It's Garrett,” she said, offering her friend an apology. They hugged briefly, and Claire bolted out into the lobby.

At the hospital, Tuck, Max, and Lainie sat in the emergency waiting room. There Claire learned Tuck had talked Garrett into following him down Exhibition, one of the more difficult expert runs.

She gave her husband an indignant look. “Tuck, what were you thinking?” she said with a raised voice, one of a few times she'd ever spoken to her husband in that manner. “Garrett had no business trying to make that expert run.”

Tuck thrived on taking risks, but no way would she allow him to place the children in danger. She opened her mouth to argue that point, then noticed Max and Lainie sitting in stiff orange plastic chairs, watching the rare exchange with wide eyes. Claire clamped her mouth shut. Nothing would be gained by arguing in front of the children.

Only now did she realize how often Tuck took risks. Maybe if she'd protested more over the years, things would be different. Garrett and Marcy wouldn't be living in Houston with her unborn grandchild, for one thing.

She'd called her oldest son after Tuck left, asking when they were coming home.

“I don't know that we are, Mom. Marcy's dad got me a job at his engineering firm,” Garrett said.

“But you can get a job here.”

“Mom, no one is going to hire me. Not when my only employment history is working for Dad,” he said. “I have to provide for my family. I have no choice but to stay here right now.”

He was right, of course. All their lives had changed, and each member of her family would be forced to start over in some manner.

Claire scribbled her name across the deed, and Ranger's assistant stamped the document with her notary seal. “Is that it?” she asked.

“For now.” Ranger slipped the stack of documents into his briefcase.

“Good.” Claire pulled her reading glasses from her face, thankful she no longer had this task to dread. Although the Masseys' lives would never be the same, at least they were one step closer to reconstructing them. When Tuck got paroled, together they'd decide how to move on from this humiliating experience. They'd rebuild, refashion themselves in some manner. No matter what Tuck's actions had done financially and socially, they still had each other and their family. That was what really mattered.

“Oh, one more thing.” Ranger reached for the water carafe and refilled his glass. “The trustee would like to pick up the horse. He'll have a transport truck at Legacy on Monday.”

“The receiver already has the horses, Ranger. Tuck arranged for delivery before he left.”

Ranger frowned and pulled a file from his briefcase, quickly studying the contents. “Yes, I see that, Claire. The only remaining inventory is a mare originally purchased from the King Ranch.”

“Pride and Prejudice? But that's Lainie's horse. Pride isn't included in all this.” Claire's hand swept the air.

She watched Ranger's expression turn solemn. “I'm afraid that horse is worth a lot of money and is technically part of the assets to be turned over.”

Claire steadied herself. “But Tuck would never let—” As the
words left her mouth, a sinking realization pushed the idea aside. She'd been in that courtroom and heard what the judge said. “Ranger, you have to do something.” She failed to curb the confrontational tone in her voice. “That's Lainie's horse.”

She couldn't stand by and let Lainie's heart be broken—not again. Ever since Reece ended the engagement, her daughter had been like a blossom plucked and left in the blistering sun.

“There's nothing I can do, Claire.”

She stood and grabbed her bag. She gave Tuck's attorney her most indignant look.

“Then I will.”

Claire left Ranger's office and headed straight to Jana Rae's house in Fort Worth, a forty-minute drive in good traffic.

Jana Rae lived in Overton Woods, an upscale neighborhood bordering the Trinity River. Even though the home was not near the stratum of Claire's, Jana Rae's house had been called “a stunning example of authentic Old Texas architecture” by
Fort Worth
Magazine
and reflected the high-level success of Clark's medical practice. “Incontinence has been very good to us,” Jana Rae often claimed.

Claire nosed her Escalade into the circular drive and parked. She took a deep breath, knowing what was ahead. Clearly she had no choice. She needed Jana Rae's help.

Waiting at the door, she reminded herself how tightly she and Jana Rae had woven their friendship since high school. Their relationship was like a favorite robe, the one you'd slip into every time you had an urge to curl up into something well-worn and familiar.

Claire had worried how the soured investments might change things between her and Jana Rae, but they'd weathered the issue—barely—by placing their friendship above all else. Which is why today's visit held so much risk.

The massive wooden door with beveled glass opened, and Jana
Rae's eyes widened with surprise. “Well, Claire Massey.” Her friend glanced at the Escalade parked in the drive. “Look at you, all grown up and driving yourself and all.”

“Yeah, and I've learned how to use a GPS and everything,” she bantered back.

“Well, get your backside on in here before I faint dead away.” Jana Rae led her inside. “I bet you're famished from all that steering. Let me get you some sweet tea.”

Claire followed Jana Rae into the kitchen, where the smell of fresh cinnamon filled the air. Only then did she notice skiffs of flour on Jana Rae's arm as she moved for the refrigerator. “What? Are you baking?”

“Cinnamon rolls,” Jana Rae called back over her shoulder with an air of confidence. “I had to do something to keep myself busy when you went AWOL,” she said. “Why haven't you answered my texts or calls?”

Claire slid onto a barstool and dropped her bag on the marble countertop. “I'm sorry, Jana Rae. I just had so much going on.”

“Which is why I didn't press the matter. I watched the coverage on television. You handled yourself with grace and dignity, my friend.” She washed at the sink. After toweling off, she moved to Claire and gave her a quick hug. “I've missed you.” Jana Rae grabbed a mug off the counter. “You want some coffee and a roll?”

Claire shook her head. “Neither. But I'd go for that sweet tea you mentioned.” She watched her friend move for the refrigerator. “So, what's up with all the cinnamon rolls? You suddenly develop a sweet tooth?”

“Well, one pan is for my brother Jay. What's family for if it can't take care of its losers?” She grinned. “The rest are for the bake sale at Mike's church.”

“In Waco?” Claire watched Jana Rae pour two glasses of tea.

“No, for his church here.” Jana Rae set the glasses down on the bar. “My word, maybe I forgot to tell you, what with Tuck's hearing and all.”

Claire reached for her glass and jiggled it gently until the ice loosened. “Forgot to tell me what?”

“Mike was offered a church in Fort Worth—Trinity Grace, that new church that opened up last year over on Camp Bowie, near the Amon Carter Museum.”

Claire drew her napkin around the glass to catch the condensation that had formed. “I'm a bit surprised your brother would leave . . . well, where he lived with Susan. Isn't that where all their friends and support are?”

Jana Rae nodded. “But Susan's parents live here in Fort Worth. Bev—that's Susan's mom—has spent a lot of time down in Waco helping Mike out, but this will be easier for all of them, I think. And I can spend more time with his girls too.”

She nodded and sipped her tea. No matter what difficulties life dealt, there was always someone worse off. Jana Rae's brother Mike and his wife Susan had been so happy, and then breast cancer robbed them of their future.

Claire and Tuck had suffered a blip on their horizon, but at least they still had one.

She let a slight grin form. “Is Mike prepared for how often his sister will be over there? I mean, between both you and Susan's mother—”

Jana Rae waved her off. “Oh, don't give me that. I'm familiar with boundaries, you know.”

“Uh-huh. Familiar with how to mow them down.”

“Well now, that might be true,” Jana Rae said. “Just last week, I was telling a neighbor gal who seems bent on getting her a man that you can't make someone love you. All you can do is stalk them like crazy and hope they panic and give in.”

Claire laughed. “I rest my case.”

“Not that my advice is going to work for that poor gal. You could park a car in the shadow of her behind, know what I mean?” Jana Rae laughed, then added, “'Course that man she's after fell down the ugly tree and hit every branch on the way down—so maybe things will work out after all.”

An easy silence followed their banter as Jana Rae checked the timer on the stove, one that allowed Claire to ponder how to broach the subject looming ahead.

Jana Rae had a fine-tuned baloney meter. The best way to approach the subject was to just straight-up explain the circumstances and ask.

Jana Rae looked over the hot batch of cinnamon rolls with satisfaction. “These are going to be the hit of the bake sale, if I say so myself.” She slid another tray inside the oven and set the timer. Finished, Jana Rae turned and leaned against the counter. As if sensing Claire's mental struggle, she folded her arms. “Okay, spill. Something's bothering you, I can tell.”