The Ballerina's Stand (2 page)

After saying his goodnights, he went upstairs to the guest room, his mind full of coffee and curiosity. What the hell was Pal Haymaker up to? And how would it affect the people downstairs? His family.

Jason didn't live here in Texas. He wasn't a provider like Wyatt, nor a soldier like DJ had been, but he had his own way of protecting the people he cared about. He'd studied the law and every one of his siblings had benefited from his advice at some point—Wyatt with the business of the ranch, Tara with her restaurant idea and Mandy with her son's future.

Jason knew he'd do just about anything, even work for an asshole like Pal Haymaker, if it kept those people downstairs, nearly all the people he loved, happy and safe.

* * *

A
CCORDING
TO
W
YATT
, Pal had been banned from the big house. Pal Jr. had paid the bail money and hired a high-profile attorney, but wasn't speaking to his father after he'd nearly burned up the entire county. As for Trey Haymaker, Pal's grandson and DJ's friend, he had disappeared. If anyone knew where he was, they weren't telling. Jason didn't blame him.

The old man had done a number on everyone.

The original hundred-year-old ranch house was still impressive, though. It dwarfed even Wyatt's place, and the trees had easily been around for an additional century. An older woman answered the door, nodding but not smiling as she let Jason in. He followed her as she slowly walked down the long hallway, her serviceable shoes squeaking against the polished wood floors.

She stopped at the wide entry of a room, waving him in before turning back and returning the way she'd come. Squeak. Squeak.

“Someone should buy that woman some decent shoes.” Pal's voice came from the corner of the big room.

The old man sat there in a leather recliner, his scrawny legs lifted up, a newspaper spread over his lap. Clear green tubing from an oxygen tank beside the recliner snaked around the chair, finally wrapping around Pal's weathered face. He aimed a remote at the giant TV screen and turned it off.

“You wanted to see me?” Jason didn't hesitate.

“Have a seat.” Pal leaned forward and lowered the footrest. “I ain't gonna get a crick in my neck for this, and I sure as hell can't get up.”

Jason nodded and took the chair facing the man. He hadn't brought his briefcase, or anything to write on. He didn't intend to take this job. Curiosity had brought him here today—that, and the need to make sure this jerk was no longer a threat to his family.

“What did you want to talk about?” Jason leaned back, forcing himself to look casual, uncaring.

“I got business out in your neck of the woods.” Pal slowly folded the newspaper. “I'm heading out there on Monday.”

“I thought you were under house arrest.”

The old man laughed—laughter that dissolved into a fit of coughing. “My attorney's taking care of that.” He looked Jason in the eye. “I'll be dead long before they can lock me up. So, what's the point?”

He probably had a point, if the blue tinge to his skin was any indication. As a corporate attorney, Jason mainly worked on business deals, but oddly enough a lot of business deals resulted from deathbed promises.

“What kind of
business
are we discussing?”

“My demise. I'm adjusting parts of my will—”

“I'm not helping you screw your family more than you already have.” Jason began to rise. He'd had enough of this man.

“Now sit your ass down, young man.” Pal spat out. “I ain't gonna take anything away from either of my boys.” Another coughing fit made Pal pause. “I'm talking about someone else.” Oddly, Pal's eyes and voice grew faded and distant. “Somethin' I gotta make right 'fore I go.”

Pal Haymaker had a smidgen of conscience? Not possible. “What are you talking about?”

The old man leaned back, spearing Jason with a glare. “I'll let you know when I get to LA.”

“That's not much answer, old man.” Jason sat on the edge of the chair, preparing to leave. He had a plane to catch.

“Not supposed to be.” Pal leaned closer. “There's too many ears in this house.”

Was Pal paranoid, or was there a grain of truth in what he was hinting at? He wouldn't put it past Pal Jr. to place a spy in his father's house.

“Here's the deal.” Jason stood. “You get to town, get in touch with my assistant.” He pulled a white utilitarian card out of his wallet, flicking it with a decisive snap onto the side table. “If you time it right, I'll meet with you.” He headed to the door. “You've done enough damage to this world, so make this good.”

He didn't wait for Pal to dismiss him. Walking out into the hot Texas morning, Jason took a deep breath, the fresh country air clearing his head of the stink of rotten old man.

“You learn anything?” Chet leaned against the truck's fender.

“No. He's as tight-lipped as usual. But Wyatt's right. He's up to something.” They climbed into the sun-heated cab of the truck. “He's heading to LA next week. Wants to discuss the details then.”

“How's he gonna do that? He can barely move.” Chet drove toward Wyatt's place.

“I don't know.”

“Wyatt won't like it that you're meeting him again.”

“I don't recall being accountable to my brother, not since I turned eighteen.” Jason met Chet's gaze, holding it until the older man looked away.

“It's your skin.”

They turned into the yard of the ranch, which was a hive of activity. All the siblings were leaving today. Everyone was packing up their things, filling vehicles. Tara was taking Jason to the airport, so he hastily grabbed his bags and slung them in the back of her car.

“What did Pal want?” Wyatt asked, coming around the front of Addie's truck.

“He wasn't specific, unfortunately.”

“So you're not going to work for him.” It wasn't a question.

“Haven't decided yet. He said he's coming out to LA. We'll talk then.”

“You cannot work for that man!” Addie's voice carried over the car's roof.

“Like hell,” Wyatt barked in the same instant.

Jason's hackles rose. “Addie, Wyatt, back off.” He slammed the trunk. “I'm not a child. He'll come to the office, I'll deal with him there. End of story.”

“I don't trust him.”

Jason laughed. “If you knew most of my clients, you wouldn't trust them, either.” He thought of the business partners who inhabited the corner offices and the upper floors. Wasn't much trust there, either. They were as cold-blooded as Pal. He turned to face his older brother, purposefully changing the subject. “It's been a good visit. You tell the others your news?”

Wyatt shook his head. “Emily doesn't want to say anything yet. She's—”

“No problem.” Jason smiled. “But you'd better tell them all at once. Word gets around in this family like wildfire.”

“Yeah.” Wyatt looked over at Emily, a smile tugging on his lips. Jason knew that look, that silent communication from when they'd been kids. “Hey, everyone.”

Emily obviously knew her new husband, too. Her eyebrows lifted as she shrugged and smiled, walking toward Wyatt. “You want to? Now?” she whispered.

“Yeah.” He wrapped an arm around her, pulling her against his side. “We have news.” A gasp waved around the group gathered between the cars.

“We got married!” Emily practically burst with the words. Jason laughed. Neither one of them had really wanted to keep this secret. And he was relieved to find the attention focused elsewhere. Now he didn't have to explain his business with Pal.

This was a much better way to end this visit.

 

CHAPTER TWO

G
ROWING
UP
IN
T
EXAS
, Jason's experience with dancing involved square dances, country bars and prom—oh, and those not-to-be-forgotten weddings. Since moving to LA, his horizons hadn't broadened much. Hours behind his desk, busting his ass to make partner, kept him busy.

Seated now in a private box at Glendale's Alex Theatre, watching the Los Angeles Ballet with Pal Haymaker, he felt strange. Jason glanced sideways at the old man. How the hell had they gotten here?

After he'd seen Pal that morning following DJ's wedding, Jason would have laid money down that the old guy wouldn't be able to make the trip. But that had been several days ago, and here he was. Cleaned up, in a custom-tailored suit, Pal looked every bit as out of place as Jason felt.

The lights dimmed, and the old guy pushed to the edge of his seat. The oxygen tubing rubbing against the arm of the wheelchair was loud in the silence that fell as the curtain rose. No one else seemed to notice, so Jason breathed a sigh of relief.

The music began, and a line of ballerinas came on the stage. Jason leaned back in his seat, hoping to find something to enjoy about the event.

“There she is!” Haymaker said loudly and Jason cringed. The music, thankfully, mostly covered his voice.

“Who?” Jason asked.

“My daughter.”

“Who?”
It was a reaction more than a question. Jason stared at the man he'd known most of his life, a man who'd been Texas's biggest pain in the ass for years. He had a son, well into his fifties, and a grandson who'd run around with Jason's older brothers back in high school. Other than Mrs. Haymaker, there hadn't been any other women in that equation, unless you counted housekeepers.

“You didn't think I had it in me.” Pal chuckled and dissolved into a fit of coughing. The nurse appeared out of the shadows with a cup of water and a little white pill. The old man waved her away and turned his rapt attention back to the performance.

“See her there?” He pointed toward the left side of the stage, his arm trembling. “The redhead, like her mama. Second from the end.” More coughing. He took the pill.

Jason looked. All the women were dressed identically in white toe shoes, tights and leotards. White gauzy tutus circled each slim waistline. A white band of fabric scraped their hair away from their faces, and the only color difference between them was the thick coil of hair at the nape of their necks. He saw a strawberry blonde. He'd never recognize her, or any of the other matching ballerinas, if they passed on the street.

“Next act,” the old man wheezed. “Solo.”

“Are you sure you're up to this?”

The old man didn't look good, but the glare Jason received was as strong as ever. Haymaker sat back, watching, waiting. For the woman he believed was his daughter.

As Pal struggled to breathe, Jason struggled with the ramifications. Pal had two heirs as far as anyone knew. His physical condition was quickly declining. The prognosis, according to the doctors, was not good.

The reason Jason was here with Pal tonight had apparently just appeared. On Monday, when Pal had shown up at Jason's office, he'd demanded Jason's attendance here tonight. Jason had agreed just to get the old man out of the office before he keeled over.

Pal wasn't one to leave anything undone. A carryover from all those years on the Texas prairie, building the Double Diamond Ranch into one of the biggest operations in the country. Out on the range, unfinished work could mean life or death.

Pal quieted and, for a minute, Jason thought he'd fallen asleep. He hadn't though. His eyes were as alert as ever, drinking in every instant the young woman was on stage.

Just as he'd said, in the second act, she came out into the spotlight alone. This time, she wore a black leotard, tights and toe shoes. No tutu, just a wispy, diaphanous skirt that formed to her hips. Her hair, though, was what caught Jason's gaze. Long light copper curls hung down to around her hips, swaying with every move.

Jason couldn't tear his eyes away from the sight. He knew that if he saw her on the street, he'd definitely recognize her, and probably stop and stare. She was stunning. The dance beautiful—flawless as far as he could tell.

Time stopped. Haymaker faded into the distance. Nothing existed except her beauty and perfection. Music wafted around him, slipping inside somehow. He felt his heart echo its rhythm. Beating. Stopping. Pounding.

The emotions of the story came to life. Anger and pain ripped across the stage and tumbled into an anguished heap in the center of the floor. A single light remained. She didn't move. He barely breathed.

Arms, a multitude of bare arms, reached out of the darkness and lifted her limp body. Her limbs dangled lifelessly as the darkness swallowed her whole.

Jason's eyes stung, and he shook his head to clear his mind of the image and emotions. He looked over at the old man. Tears trickled down his pale cheeks.

The audience shot to their feet. Jason could see the old man wanted to, his legs trembling as he tried to scoot forward. Jason reached out and put a hand on the bony shoulder. “I'll do it for us both.”

Jason stood and applauded hard and strong. She deserved the acclaim.

The rest of the performance flew by, but there were no more signs of her, and Jason felt disappointed. The old man settled back, nearly dozing off, as if he knew the show he'd come for was over.

With the lights on and the curtains down, Jason rose to his feet once again.

“Call the driver,” Haymaker barked to the nurse.

Jason frowned. “Aren't you going to go see her?”

Haymaker spun the chair around with surprising speed. “Hell, no. She doesn't know I exist.” The anger was more mask than real. “I didn't just invite you here for a show.”

Jason had known that, but he'd learned years ago not to question a client until they were good and ready.

“Then I'm charging for my time.”

Pal grinned. “I expect you to. Here.” He pulled out an envelope from his jacket pocket. “Take care of this. Make sure it's all California legal. Dallas will courier the rest of the file when the time is right.”

There was no address, nothing written on the outside of the envelope. Jason turned it over and found it unsealed. He pulled out the pages. There were only a few. One handwritten. The scrawl was messy. It was Haymaker's own hand. There was a birth certificate, with no father listed, and a detailed report from a private investigator. And a neatly folded copy of a will.

Haymaker had been shrewd, as usual. He'd made sure every
T
was crossed and every
I
dotted. Jason skimmed the report, then the letter and will. The old man was changing everything. The “boys” as he referred to Pal Jr. and Trey, got to keep the ranch, but every investment vehicle, and every other blasted thing Pal owned was to be put on the auction block the instant he died, the money divided three—not two—ways.

Except for a property in Northern California that, according to a separate report, had sat vacant for over twenty years. That was to be hers. And hers alone.

“Back in Texas, you said you weren't going to screw the boys.”

Pal laughed, or what served as a laugh. “I don't owe you or anyone an explanation, but I'll tell you something, boy. My kin don't have a clue what the hell I have. So dividing it up this way is more than they expect.” He looked away. “More than they deserve,” he whispered.

By the time Jason looked up again, the nurse had wheeled the old man down the ramp to the exit. Jason knew a limousine would be waiting just on the other side of that door. He wanted to run down that ramp and catch the old man, to demand an answer to the question of “Are you crazy?”

But he knew Haymaker. There was nothing crazy about the old man. Nothing.

Jason glanced back at the empty stage. That girl down there had been beautiful, pure. Clueless. She had no idea she was about to become a very rich young woman.

And damn it. He did not want to be the one to tell her. Not like this.

Later that night, at midnight exactly, Jason stood in the hospital room's doorway. The call from the nurse who'd gone to the ballet with them had surprised Jason. He'd thought Pal was on his way back to Texas already.

“Get in here,” the eldest Haymaker barked when he saw Jason.

With a fortifying breath, Jason stepped into the room. In between gasps for air from the oxygen mask, Pal tried to look intimidating. But he was just a sick, broken old man now.

Pal struggled to sit up straighter. It was a waste of time. He only started coughing and had to outwait his own body. Jason fought the urge to remind the man that paybacks were a bitch. Law school and two years in private practice had taught him well how to hold his tongue.

“You check it?” Pal demanded.

“Business can wait.”

“Like hell it can.”

“Before we get to this.” Jason waved the papers Pal had given him earlier—that he'd barely had time to glance at much less read thoroughly. “Tell me what you really have in mind for her.”

There was no way Jason was going to put this young woman at risk. Heck, just being Pal's child put her in danger. Pal Jr. and Trey would want to kill her. If Pal even intended to tell them the truth.

“That's none of your damned business,” he bit out between gasps.

“Like hell it isn't. You hired me. You made it my business.” Jason turned to leave. “Guess we're finished here.”

A wheeze of hard-won breath filled the air. “You're nothing like your brother.” Another breath. “He's a good, fair man.”

“Yeah, we're nothing alike.” Jason wasn't talking about Wyatt, and he knew the old man caught his meaning. “I have very little respect for you, and you have even less for me. That's part of why you had me do this job instead of your attorney in Dallas.”

Cough. “Just get on with it.” Pal waved at the papers. “She's safe.”

Jason stood there for a long minute, the papers tight in his hand. “I'll hold you to that. Everything has to protect
her
. Not
you
.”

Oddly, the old man relaxed. His eyes grew distant, almost sad. That wasn't possible—Pal Haymaker didn't have emotions.

“I know you hate me, boy,” he whispered. “But thirty years ago, I was a different man.” He paused, trying to catch his breath. “You might have even liked me.” He cleared his throat. “But that man died—” Breath. “With Lauren's mother.”

Lauren. The name held strength, and the pretty ballerina came to mind. It fit her.

Jason watched as the old man's gaze turned to the window. Emotions flitted across his weathered face. And something inside Jason shifted. He cursed. He didn't want to care about this man. Or his daughter.

* * *

G
LOOMY
,
CLOUDY
DAYS
like today were perfect for staying home. Last night's performance had been the last of the run and Lauren needed the break.

A book, the soft aroma of candles—the day was set. She settled on the yoga mat, tuning her body before letting it loose for the day.

Her electronic bracelet that was programmed to her phone, the doorbell and a couple other devices, flashed as she settled into her first position. Damn. She looked at the bright light. The doorbell. Who the heck was here? She wasn't expecting anyone. It flashed again. They didn't seem to be going away.

Jumping up, Lauren padded to the front door and peered through the sidelight. She stared at the unfamiliar man on her doorstep. His hair was damp, looking dark yet blond. His expensive suit was getting ruined by the rain and the wing tips on his feet were buried in a puddle.

He didn't look like a serial killer...but who knew? She stared at him for a long moment, then pulled open the door as far as the chain allowed. Odds were, he wouldn't be able to communicate with her, but she'd give him the benefit of the doubt.

Slowly, she signed “Hello.” Keep it simple. His frown told her way too much. Why was she disappointed? The usual loneliness she felt suddenly seemed more pronounced. She saw his lips moving, and while she was proficient at reading lips, he wasn't looking directly at her, his head turning as if to recheck the address. And she wasn't familiar enough with his patterns to read him from the side.

She cringed. Very few times did she need, or desire, to speak, but this was one. As a child, her older foster brother, Kenny, had told her often enough that she sounded like a “moron” when she talked. She'd refused to learn to speak after that, and now it was her normal.

“I'm sorry.” She made the sign she knew he wouldn't understand. “I'm deaf,” she continued, making the sign out of habit.

The man pulled a business card from his jacket pocket, just as the rain intensified. She took the card, and with the next gust of wind, she let him come in out of the downpour. Granted, it was just the vestibule, but still, he was a stranger stepping into her home.

Fear made her stomach clench, but she didn't have a choice. The white utilitarian card had clout. He was from the law firm of Joseph and Brown. Big names here. What did he want with her? Was someone in trouble?

Times like this, she hated her deafness. She knew he wouldn't understand her, and it was doubtful he'd take the time to help her understand him.

He nodded and again his lips moved. She wished he knew sign.

Lauren waved toward the couch, hoping he'd take off his soaked coat. When he pulled it off and left it on the coat tree in the hall she sighed in relief.

While her home wasn't fancy, it was hers, each piece of furniture hard-won and loved. He sat carefully on the edge of the couch and gently settled a soaked briefcase on the floor beside her coffee table.