The Delacourt Scandal. Sherryl Woods

this is for the best. Someday I’ll be too old to work the rigs. If I’m lucky, there will be a nice desk job waiting for me then.”

      “Don’t count on it.”

      Tyler matched his father’s scowl. “Would you rather I went to another company?”

      Red patches darkened his father’s cheeks at the suggestion. “Maybe that would be for the best. It would get you away from the influence of that hooligan.”

      Tyler wasn’t sure which of them was the most shocked by the response. “If that’s the way you really feel—”

      His father’s anger dissolved. “Blast it all, Tyler, that’s not what I want! You’re a Delacourt. What would people think if you turned up working for one of our competitors?”

      “That you and I had a falling out,” Tyler said readily. “They wouldn’t be off the mark, either.”

      “Well, I’m not going to be fodder for anyone’s gossip. If you insist on risking your life, then you’ll do it on one of my rigs. They’ve got the best safety record in the business—Corrigan’s seen to that. The man costs me an arm and a leg with all his precautions.”

      “Do you begrudge him the money he spends so that you can boast about your safety record?”

      “Of course not,” his father retorted impatiently. “Do you have to twist everything I say?”

      Tyler laughed. “Just imagine what I’d do if you had me underfoot every day.”

      Slowly a reluctant smile tugged at the corners of his father’s mouth. “I suppose there is a positive side to this ridiculous decision of yours. At least we won’t be butting heads on a regular basis.”

      “Just holidays and special occasions,” Tyler suggested wryly.

      “Better make it more often than that, or your mother will have my hide,” his father countered.

      It was as near as Bryce Delacourt was likely to come to an admission of affection, and Tyler found it oddly moving. “We definitely can’t have that, can we?” he replied lightly. “Thanks for seeing it my way, Dad.”

      “You didn’t give me much of a choice, did you? Go on, now, before Corrigan calls up and accuses me of stealing his best worker.”

      “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll stick around till the weekend, let Mother fuss over me a little. Daniel can manage without me a few more days.”

      “That’ll make your mother happy,” his father agreed. “To tell you the truth, I won’t mind seeing you around the house a little more myself.”

      His words surprised Tyler. It was the closest he’d ever come to admitting that he missed one of his children. Instead he chose to grumble about their desertion of the family business. For the first time Tyler realized that what his father might mean but couldn’t say, was that he hated the fact they’d drifted out of his life. Nor was he ever likely to admit that he might be the one who’d driven them away through his attempts to control them.

      “Dad, you do know that we all love you, don’t you?” Tyler said. “That hasn’t changed just because we’ve chosen to go our own ways.”

      For a fleeting instant he thought he detected the sheen of unshed tears in his father’s eyes, but before he could tell for sure, his father bent over the stack of paperwork on his desk.

      “You be sure to stop by and see your mother,” he said. “I’ve got work to do.”

      Tyler hesitated, wanting to say more but not knowing exactly how. He settled for pausing beside his father’s desk long enough to give his shoulder a squeeze before leaving the office. As he closed the door behind him, he thought he heard Bryce sigh.

      “You’re still in one piece. Everything must have gone okay,” his father’s secretary said, surveying him intently.

      Tyler nodded. “Surprisingly well,” he told her.

      So why was he leaving with the terrible sense that he had let his father down in some way he might never fully understand?

      Chapter Four

      A few hours after her morning encounter with Tyler, Maddie picked a sidewalk café in the same block as Delacourt Oil to have lunch. With any luck at all, perhaps Tyler would pass by and she could snag his attention. If not, maybe some Delacourt employees would sit at a nearby table and she would be able to overhear some juicy bit of corporate gossip. It was a long shot, but she had to admit she was losing patience with the snail’s pace of her investigation. She’d been at it for two weeks, and had little to show for her efforts other than a vague feeling that Tyler had fathered an illegitimate child, something she would likely never use.

      Used to the immediacy of daily reporting, Maddie concluded she was not cut out for the slow, tedious work of gathering material for an exposé. Nor was she certain just how long Griffin Carpenter would be willing to fund her fishing expedition. He hadn’t said, and she didn’t want to test him.

      Hoping to come up with something—anything—she had spent most of the morning making calls to Baton Rouge trying to pick up any sort of lead on how Tyler spent his time there. She’d come up empty. The man didn’t even have a listed phone number, and the Delacourt Oil offices had firmly declined even to confirm that he worked there. It looked as if she was going to have to go to Louisiana herself if she wanted to pursue that angle of the story. Maybe her time would have been better spent at the library going through old articles on Delacourt Oil in the Houston papers. She vowed to get busy at that first thing tomorrow—maybe even after lunch today if her plan to hook up with Tyler failed.

      “Okay, who’s responsible for that look on your face? Tell me and I’ll beat them up for you.”

      Just the sound of that deep, slow-talking voice was enough to send goose bumps dancing down her spine. She glanced up into Tyler’s twinkling blue eyes and felt another jolt of electricity. Even though his arrival was exactly what she’d hoped for, she obviously hadn’t steeled herself against his thoroughly masculine effect on her.

      “Thanks all the same, but I can fight my own battles,” she retorted lightly, pleased that her voice was steady.

      “Mind if I join you? Or would I be taking my life in my hands?”

      She conducted a blatant survey of him from head to toe. “Oh, you look tough enough. I think you can probably take care of yourself. Have a seat and tell me what’s put you in such a good mood. A couple of hours ago you looked as if you were heading off to war.”

      “In a manner of speaking I was. Battle’s over. I won.”

      “Was there ever any doubt?”

      “For a few minutes, there, it could have gone either way. Now let’s get back to you. Any luck with the job hunt?”

      “I spent the morning making calls,” she said honestly. “No leads.”

      “Why don’t you let me help you out? If you don’t want to work for Delacourt, I know a lot of other people in this town.”

      “I’m sure you do, but I need to do this myself.”

      He nodded, his expression oddly irritated. “Pride’s a funny thing, especially if you let your desire for independence overshadow common sense. It can cost you in unexpected ways.”

      She regarded him curiously. Had pride been an issue with him before? “Such as?” she prodded.

      “Sometimes it keeps the people who care about you at arm’s length at the very time when you need them the most.”

      “Has that happened to you?”

      His expression clouded over. “In a way. Enough about pride, though. What’s your game plan?”

      Since her game plan was in a state of flux and had nothing to do with job hunting, she