Goddess Rising (51 page)

Wes stifled a snort.
If only she knew.
“I’m not particularly interested in your dad, Sammy,” Wes answered honestly. “But I am interested in you. And spending the rest of the weekend focusing on what you two don’t agree on isn’t going to do you any good, is it?”

Sam looked briefly startled before she leaned forward and kissed him full on the mouth. She tasted of coffee and honey and her, and Wes loved the way her hands curled around the nape of his neck.

When she finally pulled back, Wes shot her a puzzled smile. “I ain’t complaining, but what was that for?”

“For being a good listener,” Sam replied, pulling back. “And for entertaining a group of kids all night with cowboy standards and country songs.”

Wes slid his hands up her back before she could get too far away. “If it gets me kisses like that, I’ll do it again, anytime.”

*

October—Saturday, Late Afternoon

Wyatt Ranch, Texas

W E S L E Y

An uneasy truce
seemed to settle between Sam and her father as the day got swinging. Wes watched them rouse the dozen or so kids who’d spent the night, for a big pancake breakfast served outside at the picnic tables. Gus set the kids up in the corral afterwards for riding lessons on Quarter horse ponies, while the ranch hands held rope twirling contests, teaching kids how to tie knots and to lasso the horn of a western saddle they’d set up on a haystack.

Lunch consisted of all the burgers and hot dogs the kids could gobble down, followed with the rather enthusiastic beheading of a massive, multi-colored piñata donkey. Riding sugar highs and carrying away loot bags full of candies and party favors, the kids slowly dispersed, picked up by grateful parents and relatives who were happy to have gotten a free night of babysitting. They arrived in pick-up trucks and SUVs, some new, some old, all neighbors or folks who’d clearly known the Wyatt’s for years.

That’s why Wes was surprised when he saw a sleek Mercedes pull up the long gravel drive, kicking up dust behind it like the cloud exhaust of a fighter jet. Robert and Sam had just gone inside the house, helping Hannah clean up while Wes worked at getting what was left of the piñata out of the gnarled oak tree.

A tall, good-looking guy wearing sharply pressed slacks and a pale blue dress shirt stepped out of the car, sporting sunglasses and an expensive tank watch. The guy lifted a designer travel case out of the car and glanced around. Wes guessed the man wasn’t much older than he, maybe in his mid-twenties, though he already looked like some hot-shot executive in the making.

Wes stuffed the piñata into a garbage bag as the guy looked towards him.

“Hey there,” he called out, striding over. “I’m looking for Rob Wyatt. You know where I can find him?” he asked, his accent slow-drawl Texan minus the twang. Definitely a city boy.

“Who’s asking?” Wes replied out of habit as he wiped the sweat off his brow.

“Travis Brandt,” the guy replied smoothly. “I work for Rob.”

Wes eyed the guy, already disliking him a little for doing anything with Robert Wyatt at all.

“You’re not exactly dressed for ranch work,” Wes pointed out as he tied off the garbage bag.

The guy laughed a little. “Not out here, obviously,” the guy clarified. “At Wyatt Petroleum down in Houston.”

Figured. He looked like he’d stepped out of a GQ mag. Definitely no kind of rancher.

Wes nodded toward the house. “He’s in the kitchen, I think. You can go through that door on the side.”

“Thanks.” Travis disappeared inside the house, carrying his case.

Wes finished cleaning up the picnic area before helping Gus and a couple of the stable boys get the ponies brushed down and back into their stalls. He eventually wandered back to the ranch house, looking for Sammy and something ice cold to drink. Hannah smiled at him as walked into the kitchen. She was a pretty woman, with long blonde hair and cornflower blue eyes. Her son, Carey, looked a lot like her in the face. Same eyes, to be sure.

“You look like you could use an iced tea and a piece of pie,” she told him, opening the fridge.

“Yes, ma’am,” he grinned, patting his flat belly. “Haven’t eaten so good in a while. But y’all definitely make a guy earn it.”

“That we do,” Hannah agreed with a smile. “I don’t know what the heck they’re feeding you two at college. I swear Sammy loses weight every time I see her.”

“Not homemade cherry pie, that’s for sure,” he answered, eyeing the hot pie sitting on the counter.

“That’s still cooling, but it should be fit to eat in a bit,” Hannah told him as she put four glasses and a large pitcher of iced tea onto a tray. “I was just fixin’ to bring this iced tea to Sam and Rob in the study,” she said. “You mind bringing it in for me?”

“Anything for you, Hannah,” Wes replied with a wink as he took the tray from her.

Hannah wagged her finger at him. “Oh, you’re a charmer, Wesley Elliott,” she replied. “I can see why Sammy likes you so much,” she confided before shooing him out of the kitchen.

Wes found the study down a long hallway, following the voices in conversation. He heard words like
petroleum extraction
and
deep-water shelf
before he knocked once and stepped inside with the tray.

“I come bearing gifts,” Wes told them in a
sorry-to-disturb
tone as he took in the room. Sam and Travis sat across from Robert at a large oak desk. He leaned back, watching them over steepled fingers, like he was holding court.

“Hey, Wes,” Sam said as she stood up and took the tray from him, setting in down on her father’s desk. “Thanks for bringing this.”

“Have you met Travis?” Robert asked, gesturing politely to the guy Wes had met earlier.

“You’re the ranch hand who helped me when I first arrived right?” Travis stood, extending his hand, the study of a polite Texan gentleman.

Wes felt suddenly, painfully aware of how he must look in his dusty jeans and work shirt, a little sweaty and grimey from helping out. He thought he saw Robert’s mouth twitch out of the corner of his eye.

“He’s not a hand, Travis—Wes’s my boyfriend,” Sam corrected with a laugh. “He was just out helping with Ry’s birthday party.” She touched his arm, smiling up at him. “Sorry we abandoned you during cleanup. Travis wanted to discuss some deep-sea drilling prospects, and Dad roped me in.”

“No worries,” Wes told her before shaking Travis’s hand. “I’m Wes Elliott.”

“Lucky guy,” Travis answered, his eyes traveling to Sam.

Wes squeezed the guy’s hand a little tighter than was necessary, earning a little wince that made him feel a little better about the earlier slight.

“We were just finishing up in here,” Sam told him before turning toward her father. “Dad, you mind if Wes sits in?”

“Sure,” Robert nodded, gesturing toward an empty leather chair. “Give him a chance to learn a little bit about oil.”

Travis shot Wes one last, lingering look before continuing on with what he’d been saying.

Wes didn’t know much about the petroleum industry, but he caught the gist of the action, like following a foreign language and piecing the picture together with a handful of known words and simple concepts. From what he gathered, Sam’s dad was looking to do more deep-sea drilling in the Gulf, but the federal government was set to sanction drilling near any protected waters. That left a narrow slice of opportunity between U.S. territorial waters versus what was considered the rest of the Caribbean. It became clear to him rather quickly that the major debate was whether or not they could successfully lobby Washington and the Federal Energy Regulatory Commission for expanded drilling rights.

He listened to Sam and Travis debate the likelihood of pulling it off, with Sam arguing in favor of lobbying Washington to be one of a handful of privately held American companies given the right to drill on a lower annual quota. She reasoned Wyatt Petroleum could drill the shelf slowly and carefully over the next ten to fifteen years, yielding a nice balance between commercial growth taxed by the state of Texas while still operating within the Gulf’s ecological concerns. To Wes’s mind, her point seemed like a win/win.

But Travis batted back, pushing for expanded drilling rights, so that Wyatt Petroleum could drill the unknown reserves as deeply and as quickly as the law would allow, operating under the idea that scarcity was the biggest risk they faced, whether from competition or just a lack of payload under that particular part of the ocean.

Robert watched and listened, his face impassive as both Sam and Travis debated their positions with passion and intelligence. Wes felt like he was watching a tennis match between two top-seeded players, each serve volleyed and returned with calculated precision.

Watching Samantha knock down one of Travis’s points, Wes realized at that moment she was totally in her element. She was holding her own against a bona fide petrochemical engineer like a seasoned veteran rather than the sophomore college student she was. She responded with grace and aplomb, a leadership natural, born to run the empire her father had laid before her—even if she didn’t want it.

As Travis pointed out facts and figures with the acuity of expertise, Wes also became aware that a guy like Travis was in an entirely different league in an altogether different sport from him. If Wes was a hotshot rookie with a chance at major league baseball, Travis was already a quarterback in the NFL—cool, calm, and utterly certain of his ability to call the plays. The photographer in Wes saw the perfect foil between Sam and Travis, each focused and determined to win. He didn’t miss the admiration in Travis’s eyes, even as he sought to take her down. And he certainly didn’t miss Robert’s approval as he watched and listened.

Wes shifted in his seat, uncomfortable, aware he was not only completely out of his element, but he was utterly unnecessary in this conversation—his presence only as Samantha’s sidepiece.

Robert eventually put a moratorium on the debate, asking the group to meet up again for dinner.

“Will Travis be staying?” Wes asked as Sam led him out of the library.

She glanced over her shoulder at their unexpected guest and shrugged. “Guess so.”

“But I’m already in the guest house,” Wes murmured under his breath as he caught Travis watching them leave, his pale blue eyes tracking Samantha like a quarry.

“He’s probably staying at the main house with us,” she replied, clearly unconcerned.

Wes tamped down his irritation. “Maybe I should sneak you out to the guest house then,” he murmured. “Make sure he doesn’t accidentally stumble into your room tonight.”

Sam glanced up at him, brows lifted in surprise. “Who—Travis?”

“No, I meant the other guy staring at you for the past half hour,” Wes drawled. “Oh, wait, no—that was me.”

Sam slid her arm around his waist, tucking herself into his side as she grinned up at him. “I don’t think you need to worry about Travis, Wes.”

“Then we need to get your eyes checked, darlin.’ Cause that guy wants to sneak into your room just as bad as I do.”

Sam just looked at him with a slow smile tugging at her lips. “Well, if you’re so dead set on sneaking around, why don’t we make a run for the guest house now?” she suggested, stepping neatly off the porch.

“Best idea you’ve had all day,” Wes readily agreed, following her lead.

*

October—Saturday Night

Wyatt Ranch, Texas

W E S L E Y

Dinner was a
casual affair held in a broad dining room under a beautiful antler chandelier Ry caught him admiring.

“My granddaddy shot most of the bucks that made that light,” Ry boasted earnestly, sitting on the other side of Samantha at the gleaming dining able.

That’s gruesome,
Wes thought, though he was impressed they came by it honestly. “Looks like he was a hell of a hunter.”

“I’m not going to be a hunter or a wildcatter like he was though,” Ryland continued.

“No?”

“Nope!” Ry shook his head. “I’m gonna be a veterinarian.”

“And when did you decide this?” Sam asked, ruffling his hair playfully.

“When I was helping Uncle Grant birth the calves this spring. It was super gross, but I kinda liked it.”