Saddle Up. Mary Baxter Lynn

hair, gray eyes and sharp wit, she would have been a killer on stage. But it wasn’t to be.

      “God, Tiff, what would make anyone want to go bid on some sodbuster, anyway?”

      “I don’t know…I guess I’m just bored. My life’s headed straight down the toilet.” Tiffany gestured dramatically as if to better illustrate her point.

      Bridget laughed outright, only to suddenly turn sober. “Believe me, I know how unhappy you are.” She paused. “If it’s any consolation, my life’s headed in the same direction…but I’m still not grabbing the next plane to Pennington, Utah!”

      “Do you suppose planes even land there?”

      “Who knows? From the way those men made it sound, you probably have to fly to Salt Lake City, then work your way down by pack mule. What do I know about Utah?”

      “About as much as I do. Still, your life’s not in the toilet. That’s a bunch of baloney, and you know it.” Tiffany’s lips curved downward. “Oh, just forget I said anything. It’s just that I’m down. I hate my job so much.”

      “Well, at least you have one,” Bridget countered on a more sober note.

      Tiffany’s eyebrows perked up. “I’ll trade places with you anytime. Heck fire, you’re a big-time Houston lawyer with brains and looks.”

      “And no job, remember?”

      Tiffany made another gesture. “Not for long. Every firm in this town will soon be knocking on your door.”

      “Wrong, Tiff. The very second word got out that I filed a sexual harassment suit against Mason Wainwright, the you-know-what hit the proverbial fan. From then on, my name was mud. Job or no job, as long as I remain in Houston, it’ll stay that way.”

      “All the more reason to take a mule to Utah!”

      Bridget’s voice took on its best courtroom tone. “Miss Russell, there are games of chance and games of fat chance. My going to Utah comes under the latter category, even if there’s no future left here for me.”

      “That’s not true, and you know it. Your old man’s one of the best attorneys in Houston, and he’s got clout! Why, he can open doors for you that would be cemented shut for the normal person. All the other firms are afraid of him!”

      “Even if he was willing, I wouldn’t let him.” A pained expression dulled Bridget’s features. “Right now, I’m not his fair-haired child. He and Mother are both…upset.”

      Tiffany’s lips formed a semblance of a smile. “Why don’t you say furious and be done with it?”

      Bridget’s answering smile was equally lukewarm. “Okay, they’re furious.”

      “See? Don’t you feel better having gotten that off your chest?”

      Both women were seated on the couch in Tiffany’s apartment, which looked more like an art deco studio than a typical Houston dwelling. Tiffany had rented the upstairs in an older home in the refurbished Heights area and furnished it with upscale junk, or at least, that was Tiffany’s way of describing it. Although Bridget would never even have looked at this place, much less lived here, it fit her friend’s personality perfectly.

      Now, after reaching for an oversize pillow near her, she tossed it at Tiffany. “No. As a matter a fact, I don’t feel a bit better. I’d rather tell them to their faces what I feel.”

      “Then why don’t you?”

      “They’d both have heart attacks on the spot.”

      “So?” Tiffany grinned.

      “You’re bad to the bone, girl,” Bridget said, but found herself grinning, as well.

      “I’d rather call it truthful.”

      “Okay, so my parents went ballistic when I brought that civil suit, but they’re still my parents.”

      Tiffany frowned. “Look, I didn’t mean—”

      “I know,” Bridget interrupted, her tone distant. “First off, they’ve never learned how to loosen up. And second, they expect me to be just like them.”

      “Which you’re not and never will be.”

      “Sometimes I think I must’ve been adopted. As uptight as they are, I can’t imagine them conceiving me!”

      “Sorry, but you look too much like your mother. And, I might add, she’s still a knockout.”

      “She’d thank you for the compliment.” Bridget paused again. “Right now, my parents are pretty far down on my list.”

      “That’s too bad, but I understand. Hey, you want some coffee?”

      Bridget shook her head and plunged a potato chip into the clam dip. “No, but if you have any tea made, I’ll have a glass.”

      “I’ll make some,” Tiffany said, getting to her feet and heading for the kitchen. “Instant only takes a minute.”

      Bridget watched her leave, then reached for another pillow and hugged it against her chest. She wondered if her friend really did understand, having come from a household of five other siblings and parents who let their kids do their own thing.

      Even though Bridget couldn’t identify with that kind of upbringing, she envied it. She had been born with a silver spoon in her mouth. Added to that was the curse of being an only child. She bore the brunt of everything right and everything wrong, according to her parents’ rules.

      Bridget hugged the pillow closer, her thoughts still stuck on her parents, who at the moment were more an aggravation than an asset. If only they had been more supportive of her decision to file that suit, things might have been different. Hell, if they had been even a little supportive, she wouldn’t be in the predicament she was in now.

      Unfortunately, they had been anything but supportive. In fact, they had been outraged and demanded that she withdraw the suit minutes after she’d returned from the courthouse.

      “How dare you do something like that without consulting me first?” Allen Martin had bellowed.

      “Why, Dad? You weren’t the one Wainwright tried to maul! Besides, I’m grown and responsible for my own actions.”

      “Well, you sure couldn’t prove that by me.”

      “Your father’s right, honey,” Anita Martin had chimed in. “I can’t believe you’d smear a good man’s name.”

      “Didn’t either of you hear what I told you? Dammit, Wainwright—”

      Her father had cut her off, his voice cold. “Not another word, young lady, especially using that kind of language. Mason Wainwright is a longtime friend and excellent attorney. You know we all go to church together—or you would know if you’d attend more often. He’s a deacon, for heaven’s sake! Hardly the type to come on to you like a man of the world!”

      Bridget’s laugh was bitter. “Oh, he’s a man of the world, all right—with Russian hands and Roman fingers!”

      Allen bristled. Anita gasped.

      Bridget wanted to scream, unable to believe this was happening. How could they take that vile man’s word over hers? She shouldn’t have been surprised, though. Despite her father’s retirement, he kept in touch with everything that was going on in the legal field through his “of counsel” status, and his expert opinion was still sought after by a host of attorneys. However, in Bridget’s heart, nothing excused his siding with a man she knew to be an oversexed hypocrite, deacon or not.

      “Look, it’s obvious you think I’m making a mountain out of a molehill, and that’s okay. You’re entitled to your opinion. But I’m not going to back off.”

      Much to her dismay, she did have to cat her words and back off.

      “I