Beef Stolen-Off (8 page)

Today Brenda Sue was dressed in an elegant black suit that showed off her tiny waist and slender legs. Jordan wondered if the woman’s husband had come with her. Glancing around the room, she quickly spied the man watching his wife’s every move with an annoyed look on his face.

Standing in front of Maria, Jordan cleared her throat, and Brenda Sue straightened up. Again, the woman in the wheelchair tried to say something but failed. Jordan reached for her left hand and squeezed.

“Pardon the interruption,” she said to Brenda Sue. “I just really wanted to tell Maria again how sorry I am about Rusty. A mother should never have to bury her child.”

Tears welled in the young woman’s eyes. “I remember you from the other night…” She looked away monetarily
before meeting Jordan’s eyes again. “Rusty was in such a hurry to…” Her voice trailed off before she took a deep breath and continued. “We were never formally introduced.”

“Jordan McAllister.”

“Brenda Sue Taylor. I’ve been told you only met Rusty that night. Is it true?”

“Yes, I was on an assignment with my newspaper, and he was kind enough to be my escort.”

Brenda Sue sighed, and Jordan could have sworn it was out of relief.

“I can see how much his death has affected you,” Jordan began. “You must have known him well.”

This time Brenda Sue couldn’t stop the tears and dabbed at her eyes. “We lived next door to each other. Rusty and I have…” She swallowed. “Had been best friends since we were in preschool.”

And a whole lot more
.

“My mother died when I was in junior high. Maria and Diego were unbelievably kind to me during that terrible time in my life.” She patted Maria’s shoulder and smiled down at her, through her tears. “I love this woman and owe her and Diego so much.”

Suddenly an idea formed in Jordan’s mind. Who better to ask about Maria than someone who knew her intimately like Brenda Sue? As Maria gripped her hand even harder, Jordan made the decision to find out why this terrified woman in the wheelchair was asking her, a perfect stranger, for help.

“I’m fairly new to the area and haven’t made many friends yet. I was wondering if you’d have lunch with me one day next week to talk about Rusty. I have a lot of unanswered questions.”

“Okay,” Brenda Sue said hesitantly. “Nothing that will end up in the newspaper, right?”

“Absolutely nothing. It will simply be me, hoping to make a new friend. Maybe if I learn more about Rusty, I won’t feel so guilty that I wasn’t able to help him.”

“From what they’re saying, no one could have helped him.” Brenda Sue turned as her husband called her name and impatiently gestured for her to return to the table. “I have to go, Jordan. Tuesdays are always good for me as Marcus goes into Fort Worth on business, and it will be quieter at my house than in a restaurant. I make a mean chicken salad, so come hungry. Say around noon?”

Jordan attempted to pull her hand out of Maria’s grip to shake Brenda Sue’s, but the older woman wouldn’t let go. Jordan reached with her other hand for the business card the dark-haired woman held out to her.

Alone with Maria, she leaned closer and whispered, “Are you afraid of someone?”

Maria nodded.

“Is it your husband?”

This time Maria shook her head adamantly.

“Well, honey, it’s time for your medicine and your nap. Say good-bye to this pretty young lady.” Diego Morales pried his wife’s fingers from around Jordan’s hand a second time. “It was nice meeting you,” he said over his shoulder, wheeling his wife toward the door.

Once they were gone, Jordan glanced down at the business card Brenda Sue had given her.

T
AYLOR’S
W
AGYU
R
ANCH—
G
ET
R
EADY TO
T
ASTE THE
B
EST
B
EEF IN THE
C
OUNTRY
.

Jordan tucked the card in her pocket and headed back to her table, grateful Brenda Sue had agreed to talk to her.
Hopefully, she could put the guilt behind her once and for all and get on with her normal boring life.

And then there was the free chicken salad, one of her favorites. Maybe she and Brenda Sue could become friends.

As Jordan stepped into Dwayne Egan’s office, she had a flashback to the first time she’d been summoned there by the boss. Two months ago she’d been so sure she’d get her walking papers, she’d barely noticed the décor of his office. The entire left wall was now lined with pictures of the Texas Rangers baseball team, one even signed by Cliff Lee, the amazing pitcher who’d helped them win the pennant two years before. Apparently, her editor was as big a sports junkie as she was.

“Thank you.” She reached for the cup of coffee Jackie Frazier offered.

With a tilt of her dark curly hair, the Gilda Radner lookalike directed her to the chair across from Egan’s desk. After nodding to her boss, the secretary exited, leaving Jordan alone with him and wondering what he had up his sleeve now. The few times she’d been in this office, he’d always wanted something from her.

“Heard you made quite a hit with Lucas Santana at the funeral last week,” Egan began.

By now, Jordan had gotten used to seeing the man who resembled Joe Pesci behind the desk and hardly even noticed his ears, which connected to each side of his head at the oddest angle.

“I suppose,” she replied, wondering if Santana had followed up on his intentions to call Egan when she hadn’t shown up for dinner at the ranch on Sunday.

“I just got off the phone with him, and I can assure you that wasn’t me making small talk.”

Question answered.

“Whatever went down between the two of you left an impression.” He leaned back in the chair with his hands behind his head, studying her. “I assume Jackie told you we no longer need the article on the Cattlemen’s Ball.”

Jordan nodded.

“Lucas decided, given the circumstances, the less said about it the better. Do you agree?”

Again she nodded, bracing herself for what she was sure would come next. Even though she’d only dealt with her editor a few times since she’d been at the
Ranchero
Globe
, she recognized he was going somewhere with this conversation.

Somewhere she probably didn’t want to go.

“Instead, I’ll need you to spend some time at Santana Circle Ranch documenting the daily operation of a successful cattle ranch.”

“No,” she blurted.

“No?”

Jordan turned away from his intense stare. “The man makes me uncomfortable.”

“Uncomfortable like you’re afraid of him or like he gives you the willies when he’s in the same—”

“Oh, I’m not afraid of him.” Her strong denial brought back memories of facing off with her four brothers, and she nailed Egan with a defiant gaze. “I’m not some fragile female, you know. I can’t explain why. I just don’t like being around him.”

The editor leaned forward and rested his chin on his hands. “Are you aware Santana Circle Ranch makes up about a third of the advertising budget at the
Globe
?”

Here we go again.
She’d already heard this spiel when he talked her into going to the Cattlemen’s Ball in the first place.

“You made that perfectly clear the last time you summoned me to your office.” She tilted her head back as she glared, ready to give as good as she got.

Egan didn’t even flinch. “Then let me put it another way. If Santana pulls his ads, some of the
Globe
’s employees suddenly become expendable. I don’t really want to see that happen. Do you?”

Egan was playing hardball, and they both knew it. Although the young woman occupying the cubicle behind hers was the only employee who’d made an effort to talk to her in the five months she’d been there, Jordan wasn’t prepared to jeopardize anyone’s livelihood just because some old guy liked staring at her boobs.

And that’s exactly what Egan counted on.

She took a deep breath. “What do you want me to do?” she asked, annoyed he’d played the perfect trump card.

A satisfied smile spread across his face. “That’s my girl. You’re tough enough to handle anything Santana dishes out and—”

“Just tell me what I’m doing.”

He took a sip of his coffee before continuing. “He wants you to join him and Bella at the ranch for Sunday dinners
for a few weeks. Says he’ll have his cook prepare casseroles using his own beef. Not only can you write about them, but you can also use the recipes in your column. He thinks that might get people excited about beef again.”

Jordan felt her resolve slipping and knew she was fighting a battle she wouldn’t win. She took a relaxing breath, wishing she had a Ho Ho. Shoving one of those chocolate treats into her mouth always produced an instant endorphin high and gave her a different view of the world.

Okay, that was a load of crap, but she really wanted one right now.

“All right, I’ll do it,” she said after making her editor sweat it out for a few more minutes. “But this is it with Santana. No more pimping me out to him.”

Egan threw back his head and laughed so hard he nearly fell over backward, chair and all. “Jesus, McAllister, where’d that come from?”

“It’s true,” she said, unable to hide her disgust. “First, you send me to a party where my date up and dies in my arms. Now, you want me to play nice to Daddy Warbucks on my day off.”

Egan was still grinning. “It’s my job to do whatever it takes to keep the newspaper solvent,” he said, attempting to sound serious, without success. “Come on, McAllister, how bad can it be to enjoy a home-cooked meal on a Sunday afternoon? And don’t forget, you won’t have to come up with a recipe for the Kitchen Kupboard for the next three or four weeks. If you think about it, I’m actually doing you a favor.”

Jordan huffed, but there was some truth to what he said. Lately it was getting harder to come up with a different casserole every week and slap a fancy name on it. This might be a nice reprieve.

“Did I tell you I have two seats on the fifty yard line for the Cowboys game tonight?”

Her head jerked up. She loved the Cowboys, and this week they were playing their division rival, the New York Giants, on
Monday Night Football
. Danny had checked online, but the cheapest available tickets were two hundred bucks a pop, way out of their price range. And that was for end-zone seating.

“And you’re giving them to me?” She tried not to let her excitement show and began tapping nervously on her pants leg, out of Egan’s view. Danny would freak out if she came home with fifty-yard-line tickets.

“One of my friends has season tickets, but he’s out of town tonight for the big game. I thought you might be able to use them.” He paused. “That’s if you agree to play nice on Sundays and talk up the local beef industry.”

“Done,” she said, holding out her hand and feeling much like a dolphin who did tricks for a fish.

Never breaking eye contact, he reached in the top drawer and pulled out an envelope. Handing it to her, he said, “There’s a parking pass in there, too.”

She grabbed it, noticing her name clearly written on the front. “You knew I’d cave, didn’t you?”

He nodded. “Who could resist the Cowboys from the fifty yard line?”

Sensing that agreeing to pacify Santana was a big deal to Egan, she decided to press her luck. “Since I’m giving up the next few Sundays for the newspaper, I want Friday afternoons off.”

“You got it.”

She couldn’t believe how easy that had been and decided to go for broke. “And I want that empty office downstairs.”

“Get out of here, McAllister, before I change my mind about Friday afternoons.”

She popped out of her chair and bolted for the door, surprised when Jackie Frazier looked up and gave her a nod. There was no doubt the woman had been eavesdropping.

After sprinting back to her desk, she called her brother. “Guess who has tickets for the game tonight?”

“Yeah, right. What’d you have to do to get them—rob a bank?”

“You really don’t want to know.”

Jordan fought to keep her eyes open as she drove down the country road. Last night’s game had gone into overtime, which ended with the Cowboys finally kicking the winning field goal. By the time she and Danny had pulled up to Empire Apartments, it’d been well after midnight.

She had huge bags under her eyes and was hoarse from screaming, but being in the awesome new stadium and pigging out on nachos and hot dogs had made it all worthwhile. Unfortunately, with the lack of sleep, she’d nearly forgotten today’s lunch date with Brenda Sue Taylor.

When she’d called for directions that morning she’d detected a hint of hesitancy in Brenda Sue’s voice. From the way she whispered on the phone, Jordan got the feeling the woman hadn’t told her husband they were meeting that day. Or maybe she was having second thoughts about it and didn’t know how to back out. Either way, Jordan had ended the conversation before she’d had a chance to cancel.

Pulling up to the gate, she scanned the miles and miles of land on both sides of the road, and she whistled. She had no idea Taylor’s Wagyu Ranch was as big as Santana’s. After rolling down her window and punching in the code
Brenda Sue had provided, she waited while the massive wrought iron gate swung open. Heading down the paved road, she drove for over five minutes before a three-storied brick house came into view. Several smaller structures dotted the landscape off to the right of the building.