Texas Hustle (31 page)

“Paul Randolph.” The man’s handshake was firm and strong. “Come in.”

He stepped back to allow Darren to enter. Porchia moved to the side, her fingers locked in front of her.

By now, Darren was confused. Katherine, not Porchia. Randolph, not Summers. A freaking mansion instead of the simple home he’d expected.

Who was Porchia Summers?

“Can I get you a cocktail?” Paul asked as he led Darren into a plush living room.

“Sure,” Darren said. He drew in a breath to ask for a beer but then noticed the other people in the room. He also saw that no one had a beer.

“I’ll have whatever you’re having,” he said to Porchia’s father.

“Katherine,” her mother said. “Would you like to do the introductions?”

“What?” Porchia’s head snapped toward a woman who could only be her mother. “Oh, sure. Darren, this is Dr. Harry Pope, his wife, Sally, and their son, Myron.”

Darren shook hands with the Popes and realized he’d walked in on a small dinner party.

“I apologize,” he said. “I meant to surprise Porchia, er, Katherine, and I seem to have intruded on your dinner party. I’ll finish my drink and be on my way.”

“Oh, no, Darren,” Porchia said. “You’ve come all the way from Texas. You really must stay.”

“Well, darling,” her mother said. “He said he had to be going. We wouldn’t want to interfere with his evening plans.”

“I think Katherine is right,” Paul said. “You should stay for dinner. Katherine, could you let Cook know?”

“Of course.” Porchia leaned in to whisper, “Don’t leave. I’ll be right back.”

Paul Randolph handed him a chilled martini glass. “To your health,” he said, and lifted the fine crystal to his lips.

Darren took a swallow and almost gasped. Martini, his ass. Why didn’t they just call the drink Iced Gin and be done with it?

The fine crystal he held felt fragile in his thick, rough hands. And he knew enough about glassware to realize the thinner the rim, the more expensive the glass. He could only imagine the cost of this single glass.

“So, Mr. Montgomery,” Porchia’s mother said. “What is it that you do?”

He turned toward Mrs. Randolph. “I’m a rancher, ma’am.”

“How nice,” she said with a tight smile, and Darren knew he’d been insulted. Oh, not by words, but certainly by tone.

“Well, cowboy,” Myron Pope said. “Hope you remembered to knock the cow manure off your boots.”

June Randolph chuckled behind her martini stemware. The other woman, Mrs. Pope, openly chuckled.

“You are so clever, honey,” she said to her son.

Porchia walked in and looked around at the other adults, then squinted her eyes. “What did I miss?”

“Oh, Myron was making a little joke. He’s just so quick witted,” her mother said.

A joke at Darren’s expense, but to say that would only reflect poorly on him, not on the overgrown momma’s boy.

“Dinner’s ready,” Porchia said.

“I really shouldn’t stay,” Darren said.

Porchia linked her arm through his. “Oh, but you must.” The twinkle in her eye made him a little nervous. “You must get to know my parents and their friends.”

He allowed her to escort him into a formal dining room set for seven. Two at each end, three on one side and two on the other. She made straight for the side of the table with two place settings.

“Katherine,” her mother said, halting their progress. “Wouldn’t you and…your friend like to sit with Myron? I’m sure you’d have much more to talk with him about than I would.”

“Oh, no, but thank you, Mother.”

She practically dragged him around the table to the side away from Myron.

Darren pulled her chair back for her to sit before he took his seat.

Cook entered and served the soup course. It was a watery, beef-based broth. In Darren’s opinion, it wasn’t much of a soup, but when in Rome… He lifted his spoon and sipped.

As soon as possible, he was sending a large bouquet of flowers to his mother. Growing up, his family never ate with formal restrictions. However, she’d made sure every one of them knew what spoon, fork or knife to use. That information had come in handy only once in his life…when he’d been an escort for a debutante. Who would have thought he would need the information again?

“Tell us more about yourself, Mr. Montgomery,” Porchia’s mother said. “Growing up in the wilds of Texas must have been interesting.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “I’m sure it would be. However, I wouldn’t know. My family ran a cattle ranch in Florida. My brother and I moved to Texas after college to start our own ranch.”

He started to tell her to call him Darren, but at the last minute thought, screw her.

“How industrious of you. Would we know the owners of the ranch your parents worked on?”

Porchia opened her mouth, but he put his hand on her knee and squeezed.

“I doubt it, Mrs. Randolph. The ranch was the Double Down. Are you familiar with it?”

She looked at her husband, who shook his head. “I’m not.” She turned to her friend. “Sally. You and Harry go to Florida often. You ever heard of the Double Down?”

Sally dabbed her lips with the crisp, white linen napkin. “I’m sorry, June, but Harry and I just don’t have anything to do with Florida industry.”

“Unless you’re talking your personal support of the clothing stores there,” her husband said.

That brought chuckles around the table. Darren smiled, but he doubted he’d ever dined with more self-important prigs in his whole life. And what was blowing his mind was how easily Porchia fit into this circle of snobs.

“Mr. Montgomery.”

Darren looked across the table at the only other unattached man in the room. Oh, he saw clearly that the two mothers were scheming, and neither they nor the son seemed happy that Darren had shown up to throw a monkey wrench into their match-making plans.

“Yes? It’s Myron, right?”

“That’s right. I was just wondering how long you were planning on being in town.”

Darren sat back in his chair and draped his arm ever so casually on the back of Porchia’s chair. “Well,” he said with a drawl. “I guess that’s up to Po—Katherine. I might be a day. I might be here a week.”

The scowl on the other man’s face conveyed his displeasure.

“Katherine has quite a heavy holiday party schedule, don’t you, dear?” her mother said. “I believe our first engagement is tomorrow evening. That reminds me, Katherine. Did you remember to send Jimmy to pick up your evening gown for tomorrow night’s ball?”

Jimmy? Darren looked at Porchia with an arched eyebrow. “Jimmy?” he mouthed.

She shook her head. “Yes, Mother. Jimmy picked it up at the same time he got yours. Remember? You were unhappy with the color of my gown.”

“That’s right.” June looked at Sally. “The young people these days. Katherine’s gown is yellow. I tried to tell her it will never work with her skin tone and white hair, but would she listen to me? Of course not.” She drained the remainder of the martini she’d brought to the table.

“I think you’ll look lovely tomorrow night,” Myron said. “A little extra blush and I bet you will not look washed out at all. Isn’t that right, Mother?”

Sally Pope nodded. “I think Myron’s correct,” she said to June. “He has an eye for things like that.”

The salad course came and went. If his life depended on it, Darren was fairly certain he could not list one vegetable in it other than lettuce, and even that had been purple.

He turned to Porchia’s father. “Por—Katherine tells me you’re a judge.”

“That’s correct.”

“You must have had some interesting cases come before you over the years.”

“A few,” Paul conceded.

“Tell him about the case of the woman who stole hams by putting them up her skirt.”

Paul chuckled. “That was a good one.”

“And definitely not dinner material,” Porchia’s mother said, her brackets of disapproval reappearing around her mouth. “Myron, tell us about the law practice you’ve joined here in Atlanta. I’m assuming you’re in line for a partnership.”

Myron began telling his life history, or maybe it was the history of cheese. Darren didn’t know and didn’t care. He wasn’t listening. His mind was churning at a million miles an hour. He sat back and observed the table interactions. He was not sure if he should be amused at how ridiculous these people were or disconcerted that they didn’t realize it.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Porchia’s exchange with her parents and their guests. Her table manners were impeccable. She knew when to smile, when to encourage the speaker to continue, when to ask questions. Her social grooming was evident in every action and word. She was the perfect society hostess. Now he understood how she could so easily fit in with his family. She was a chameleon.

“Hey, Cowboy.”

Darren looked across the table at Myron.

“I was asking where you left your luggage? Or do you have a bedroll tied to the back of your saddle?”

Darren wasn’t positive, but he was fairly certain he could knock a few of this guy’s caps off with one solid punch.

“Myron,” Porchia scolded. “That wasn’t nice.”

“Oh, Katherine. Lighten up. Cowboy here knows I was joshing with him, right, Cowboy?”

Darren hiked an eyebrow and channeled his father. “Were you? I apologize. I stopped listening to you some time back. My grandmother—” He looked at Porchia. “I’m sorry you never got to meet my Grandma Helen.” Looking back at Myron, he continued. “My Grandma Helen taught me never to engage bullies or fools.”

Red tinged Myron’s cheeks. Probably anger that Darren hadn’t reacted to the intended insult.

“How dare you impinge my reputation among these excellent people!”

Darren wiped his mouth on his napkin and set it at the side of his plate. “I’m not sure you know what impinge means. You might want to look it up when you get home.” He stood. “Mr. Randolph. Mrs. Randolph. Thank you for an enlightening evening. I believe I’ll take my leave now.”

Porchia grabbed his arm. “Don’t go, Darren. Mother, tell him you’d like him to stay.”

Her mother shrugged. “Mr. Montgomery, you’re welcome to stay for dessert.”

If Darren had ever heard a less sincere invitation, he couldn’t remember it.

“Thank you, Mrs. Randolph, but I believe it’s time for me to leave.”

Paul Randolph stood. “It was nice to meet you. Let me walk you out.”

Porchia stood. “I’ll walk him to the door.”

Her father turned his gaze on her and she sat.

“This way, Mr. Montgomery.”

Darren followed Paul Randolph, expecting him to head straight for the door. When Paul instead headed for his office, Darren let him take the lead. Apparently, Porchia’s father had something he wanted to say.

Once they were inside, Paul shut the door. “Would you like a drink?”

Darren shook his head. “No, thank you. I’m assuming there’s something you’d like to say to me.” He gestured to the closed door.

Paul poured himself a drink, a scotch if Darren had to guess. Using the hand that held his glass, Paul pointed to a chair. “Have a seat for a minute.”

Darren sat. Paul took the chair directly across from Darren.

“I’m not sure what you know about Katherine’s history.”

“I know it all, sir.”

Paul arched his eyebrows in surprise. “Ah, well, then you know why she was living with my wife’s mother.”

Darren crossed his legs and settled in the chair. “I understand that she believes you sent her there because she was an embarrassment to you and your wife. And that you left her living there because it was better for your career.” He shook his head in disgust. “What you did was nothing short of mental child abuse.” He allowed his anger and abhorrence of their handling of the situation to color his voice and his face.

Paul sipped his drink. “We’ll just have to disagree on that. However, Katherine is back home now. My wife is happy, which makes me happy.”

“And what about your daughter? Is she happy here, or does that even matter?”

Darren knew his best course of action would be to stand and walk out before his mouth got him knee-deep in manure.

“Regardless of what you think of me or my wife, we’ve always wanted what was best for our daughter.”

“And you think that stuffed shirt at the table is best for your daughter?”

Paul gave a slight shrug. “You may not like Myron Pope, but he’s an intelligent, up-and-coming attorney. He can provide her the quality of life we want for our daughter.”

“You think I’m some dirt-poor cowboy from Texas trying to get your daughter’s money.” Darren gave a hoarse chuckle and stood. “Thank you for your hospitality, such that it was. I’ll call a cab from the drive.”

“Don’t bother. Our driver can take you to your hotel. It’ll save you cab fare.”

Darren almost blurted out that not only could he afford cab fare, he could probably buy the entire cab company with the financial gift his parents had given him and his siblings from the sale of the Florida ranch. In the end, he decided it simply wasn’t worth the effort and hitched a ride with the Randolph’s driver.