A Woman of Fortune (28 page)

They exchanged phone numbers and he said he'd call.

As Claire pulled from the parking lot, she glanced in the rearview mirror at her new friend leaning against his car, arms folded. Even from a distance, she saw something in Brian Magellen's smile that told her he was glad they'd met.

Despite herself, Claire smiled as well.

38

Y
ou're going on a date? But you're married.”

“No, Jana Rae. I'm going to dinner . . . with a friend.” Claire loaded a plate into her dishwasher. “Women and men can be just friends, you know. Don't you watch
Oprah
?”

Jana Rae pulled a Twinkie from her purse and unwrapped it. “Yes, and I also watch
Downton Abbey
. Y'all better be careful.” She took one of the little cakes from the package and pushed the remaining one across the counter. “Want some?”

Claire scowled. “I thought they quit making those things.”

Jana Rae took a bite. With a full mouth, she gave a cream-muffled reply. “And there are people who think Texas is Baja Oklahoma. But stores are still selling Twinkies, and I don't care what you tell your pretty little head, you're going on a date.”

It was pointless to argue. Instead, she changed the subject. “The bank turned me down. Something about potential litigation and blah, blah, blah . . .”

Jana Rae's eyes turned sympathetic. “Ah, I was afraid of that. Our offer still stands, you know.”

“I know, but I'll figure something out.” Claire wiped down the counter.

“Look at you.” Jana Rae licked her fingers, grinning. “You've become the queen of domesticity.”

Claire sighed. “I admit, I really miss Margarita. Not just that she cleaned my toilets. But I miss her enchiladas.” Claire closed her eyes, recalling the way the melted cheese and tangy sauce blended perfectly with just the right amount of heat. No one made enchiladas like Margarita.

“That's it then.” Jana Rae popped off the barstool and grabbed her purse. “Let's go.”

“Where?”

“I'm taking you to Joe T's,” she said. “For Tex-Mex.”

Claire folded the dishrag and placed it in the sink. “How do you possibly consume all that food you eat and stay a size 4?”

Jana Rae gave a sly smile. “I have a high metabolism. Besides, God must love calories because he made so many of them.”

By Friday night, Claire's nerves were on high alert. Despite protesting this was not a date, she couldn't deny how often she'd thought of Brian since they'd met.

In some ways, not only had the feds slipped handcuffs on her husband's wrists all those months back, but with each click, her emotions had been taken captive as well. At no time since Tuck's arrest had she felt able to relax, to feel normal. Her brief time with Brian Magellen the other day suggested she was able to forget, even if only for a little while. With him, she felt like someone new.

New was good.

Her doorbell rang promptly at five thirty, just like he'd promised when he called. Claire checked her hair one last time in the mirror and moved to open the door, surprised by her sudden insecurity. He'd said to dress casual. Still, she hoped she hadn't underdressed by wearing slacks and a light sweater.

When Claire opened the door, Brian stood wearing jeans, a polo shirt, and a wide smile. Turns out she'd chosen just right.

“Hey,” he greeted her, his eyes sweeping across Claire appreciatively.

“Hi, Brian.” Acutely aware of his appraisal, she invited him inside. “You'd be floored to learn how long it's been since I've done anything that could be called fun. I'm really looking forward to getting out of the house.”

He looked around. “Nice place.”

“Thanks. It's small, but then there's only me. And my mother.”

As if on cue, her mother's bedroom door opened, pouring out two yapping Yorkies. She followed, dressed fashionably in a Bob Mackie pantsuit and flats.

Brian bent. “Well, what have we here?” He grinned and petted the dogs dancing at his ankles.

Claire cringed. “Uh, those belong to—”

“You must be Brian.” Her mother extended her hand. “I'm Eleanor Wyden, Claire's mother. I'm
so
glad to meet you.” She smiled widely and shook Brian's hand, then scooped up Puddin and Nutmeg. “C'mon, girls. Let's let these two lovebirds have time alone.”

Claire scowled at her mother.

Her mother winked on her way back down the hall.

For days, Claire had tried to avoid telling her mother about Brian. Short of meeting him somewhere (and the thought definitely sounded appealing), she knew she had to find a way to broach the subject with her mother eventually. Still, she waited until the last possible moment that morning.

“Mama, I won't be here for dinner tonight, so you'll have to cook something.”

Her mother stopped playing Angry Birds on her iPad and looked up. “Where are you going? These walls are getting a little cramped, and maybe—”

“Sorry, Mama. Not this time.” Claire chose her next words carefully. “I'm meeting a friend.”

Her mother raised her eyebrows. “A friend?”

She took a deep breath and confronted the annoying situation head-on. “Mama, look. I'm a grown woman and my social life is my business. I don't have to tell you where I'm going, or who with.”

“Why are you getting so testy?” Her mother's eyes suddenly popped wide open. “Oh! You're meeting a man.” She pointed her finger and grinned. “I'm right, aren't I?”

Claire tried not to react, but even when she was little, she couldn't hide her feelings from her mom. Not really.

“Oh, admit it, Claire,” her mother said, beaming. “You've taken my advice.”

She fumed. “No, Mother. I didn't take your advice. He's simply a friend I met when I was at the bank earlier this week.” She rushed on, telling her mother about the spilled purse, the dead engine. Why did everyone assume something romantic had to be involved?

Her mother patted the sofa next to her. “What's his name?”

Claire ignored her and remained standing. “Brian Magellen. Anything else?” she asked, not bothering to hide the sarcasm from her voice.

“What does he do?”

“Mama, stop with the third degree.” Time to put an end to this nonsense. “I'm going to the store. If you want something for dinner, speak up now.”

Still smiling, her mother asked her to get one of those Healthy Choice microwave dinners. Something with pasta and chicken. “I'm not too old to watch my figure, you know.”

When Claire returned from the store, her mother held up her iPad and reported she'd looked Brian up.

“You're kidding, right?” Claire asked, unpacking the bags in the kitchen.

“No.” Her mother followed her into the kitchen and slid onto a barstool at the counter. “Did you know he owns a construction company?”

Claire pulled out the romaine from one of the bags and placed it in the refrigerator. “Yes, he told me.”

“Good girl. Is it his money, or family money?”

She groaned inside. “Mama, what difference could that possibly make?”

Her mother grabbed an apple from the bowl on the counter and wiped it with a napkin. “You don't want to wait until the ol' in-laws die off before you can have all the assets moved into your name, do you?” She asked Claire for a paring knife. “I'm just glad you're getting back out there.”

It was just like her mother to ignore the fact she was still married. Of course, Eleanor Wyden viewed marriage as a gold-digging enterprise, and she was the queen excavator.

The only thing she could hope was that Brian would understand.

“Sorry about that. She's—well, what can I say about my mother? It's complicated.”

He chuckled. “We have all night for you to tell me about it.”

Brian drove a silver Infinity convertible, a sporty little number that reminded Claire of the man who owned it. A sensible model hinting of adventure, with a modest price tag that didn't quite reflect what was under the hood.

When they pulled into a winding drive bordered with lush landscape, Brian explained he had a little surprise planned.

“At the Gaylord?” Claire asked as they passed the sign to the spectacular hotel overlooking beautiful Lake Grapevine.

He tilted his head back, his eyes softening with laughter. “Ah, no. Not the Gaylord.”

She looked at him, puzzled.

“Patience,” he said, teasing her.

They parked at the Silver Lake Marina. He turned off the engine and turned to face her. “I hope you like picnics. I figured the last thing you needed was to be photographed out to dinner with a strange guy.” He pointed to a waiting party barge. “Food's in the boat.”

Claire's eyes widened. “Thank you,” she said. She hadn't even considered the risk. Brian was right. In this day of cell phone cameras, she couldn't be too cautious.

Brian helped her from the car and guided her across a metal gangplank. She boarded, filled with excitement. “I can't believe you came up with all this. I love it.”

Her comment seemed to bring him genuine pleasure. “The thought crossed my mind you might not share my enthusiasm for the water, but I took a chance.”

Claire found a comfortable seat and watched as Brian started the engine. He pushed the throttle forward and accelerated the motor, sending the boat gliding gracefully away from the dock and across the water, leaving a quiet wake in its path.

They rode in comfortable silence until Brian cut the motor and anchored near a secluded shoreline, allowing the boat to drift from a generous length of rope.

“I hope you're hungry.” He pulled a large cooler out onto the deck of the boat.

“I'm starved,” she admitted.

Brian laid out the food, and they ate while watching a stunning sunset—a feast of corn cakes with tomato and avocado salsa, roasted asparagus wrapped in prosciutto, and chilled jumbo shrimp. Then they topped off the meal with chocolate chip cookies washed down with minted lemonade.

“That was absolutely marvelous.” Claire rested against the white leather seat, feeling full and happy. A white egret stood in a patch of marshy grasses at the edge of the lake. As the boat drifted closer, the bird flapped its large white wings and lifted gracefully into the air.

“Beautiful.” Brian followed the bird with his eyes before taking the seat opposite Claire's. He leaned across his knees with folded hands. “Unlike most bird species, it's the male great egret who chooses a site and builds a platform of sticks and twigs. After he builds the nest, he selects a mate.”

Claire sipped her lemonade. “Let's hope a scandal doesn't wreck their happy nest,” she said nearly under her breath. She hated that even here, Tuck's actions intruded into her happiness.

“You have a right to feel bitter,” Brian remarked. “Just don't let the past rob you of a bright future.”

Using her phone, she snapped a quick shot, then settled back against the seat, enjoying the warm evening air against her face.

Brian climbed over the cooler and sat next to her. They sat in comfortable silence for several minutes before he dropped his gaze to his feet. “Do you miss him?”

The personal question caught Claire off guard. She nodded. “Yeah, sometimes,” she said. She studied Brian's face, his thoughtful eyes. “Sometimes I feel like a widow. Except the man I lived with for all those years isn't dead. He's sitting in a jail cell. And I'm in a condo living with my mother.”