A Little Town In Texas. Bethany Campbell

had kicked and pinned him against the side of the truck, half-killing him. His leg was broken, his pelvis fractured.

      “He couldn’t work for a year,” Nora said, stirring the cocoa. “J.T. did everything in his power to help. But at the same time, the school system was having money problems—no raises—and I could make better money going back to the Longhorn and managing it myself.”

      “What I’ve never understood,” Kitt said with a frown, “is why the school system had money problems?”

      Nora shrugged and filled two cups with cocoa. “The town’s lost people. The tax burden on those left—it was getting out of hand.”

      Kitt crooked an eyebrow. “But Crystal Creek should have been growing. With this location? This close to Austin? Wasn’t the town even trying to attract any kind of industry or business?”

      Nora gave her on odd look. “We have an industry—cattle. We have the winery. We don’t want things like that yucky cement factory at Kelso. Or the dairy operations at Bunyard—they both pollute something fierce.”

      Kitt eyed Nora with surprise. Did she believe Crystal Creek could survive without changing?

      “I know what you’re thinking,” Nora said, a bit defensively. She carried the cups to the table and sat down. “That Bluebonnet Meadows could actually help the town. We don’t see it like that. Our way of life is being threatened. Our heritage. Our identity.”

      Your identity has got you back cleaning tables and flipping burgers, Kitt thought. But instead she said, “You plan to keep working at the Longhorn.”

      Nora shrugged. “Rory’s in college. And business is steady.”

      But the conversation seemed to make Nora uneasy, and she changed the subject. “What about you? I know about your work—I read every sparkling word you write. But how about life? Any love interest?”

      It was Kitt’s turn to be defensive. As a reporter, she was used to talking about other people’s lives, not her own. She said, “I’m taking a break from that sort of thing.”

      Nora raised an eyebrow in concern. “What about that guy who wrote for U.S. News and World Report? Weren’t you living together?”

      Kitt rolled her eyes. “Reese? For a while he was kind of interesting. Then he became predictable. Then, finally, he bored me to tears.”

      Nora laughed. “They always end up boring you to tears.”

      Kitt had the decency to blush. This was true. She had never seriously dated a man for long. Any man who seemed vaguely like a prince quickly became a yawn-inducing frog.

      “Was he handsome?” Nora asked, leaning her chin on her hand.

      “Too handsome,” Kitt said. “It made him conceited.”

      An image of Mel Belyle flashed through her mind. He was far better-looking than Reese. Yet Mel’s looks were somehow different from Reese’s. Something deep in his sapphire eyes was complicated—and mysterious.

      She reminded herself that Mel was also more conceited than Reese—far more. Yet something about his cockiness seemed forced, more assumed than genuine. She couldn’t put her finger on it, which was maddening….

      “You said he was quite bright,” Nora said.

      “Reese? Very bright,” Kitt admitted. “But too serious.”

      “What’s the matter with serious?” Nora asked.

      “Nothing,” Kitt said. “At first it was attractive. But he had no sense of play. He didn’t have conversations, he gave lectures. Long, dull ones.”

      “Ugh.” Nora wrinkled her nose.

      “One day I realized that he was gorgeous, he was smart, the sex was great, but every time he opened his mouth, I wanted to scream.”

      Nora laughed. “You need a man with a little devil in him.”

      Kitt thought again of Mel Belyle, the wicked innuendoes, the playful sexuality of his words. She realized that he was staying at the same hotel she was, literally sleeping under the same roof….

      “So there’s nobody interesting?” Nora asked sympathetically.

      Kitt pulled herself back to the moment. “Nobody interesting in the least,” she said, almost believing it.

      MEL BELYLE WAS NOT without potential friends in Crystal Creek.

      There were people who looked at the rolling ranch country that Brian Fabian had bought and didn’t see land about to be despoiled. They saw a crop of dollar signs pushing out of the earth, begging to be harvested.

      Two who saw dollar signs were Ralph Wall, the town pharmacist, and his wife, Gloria. Mel had phoned them once he got settled, and Gloria immediately invited him over for a “little get-acquainted drinkee.”

      Mel went to see how much the couple would tell him and to gauge how grasping they were. They struck him as transparently greedy, and after two little drinkees, they were very talkative indeed.

      “A smart man stands to make a lot of money out of all this,” Ralph Wall said, doing his best to look like a smart man.

      “You’re exactly right,” Mel answered. He smiled at Gloria Wall. “These are excellent hors d’oeuvres, Mrs. Wall.”

      Gloria beamed. She was a large woman whose hair was a crown of tight ringlets rinsed to an improbable shade of gold. She had filled a silver plate with things stuffed with ham, olives, anchovies and enough creamed cheese to supply Philadelphia for a week.

      “We have five prime acres we inherited from Gloria’s mother,” Ralph said, leaning back in his flowered easy chair. “It’s the ideal location for a strip mall. I thought I could lease it to Mr. Fabian for a hundred years—”

      “Mr. Fabian doesn’t usually lease,” said Mel as pleasantly as he could. “This is an idea I’d have to run by him.”

      “He’ll like it,” said Ralph. “He’s a man who thinks outside the box. I can tell that. Yessir. I’m a man who thinks outside the box myself.”

      “Mama’s land is a select piece of property,” Gloria said. “We were thinking of leasing it at oh, maybe, a million dollars. That’s not very much, spread over a hundred years.”

      It’s highway robbery, thought Mel. “Interesting. We’ll have to do a feasibility study. That takes time. But I’ll be sure to suggest it.”

      “Let me freshen that drink,” she said reaching for the pitcher of margaritas.

      “No more, thanks,” Mel said. “But don’t let me stop you. This is truly a festive spread.”

      Gloria refilled Ralph’s glass and her own. “I lo-o-ove to cook. I want you to come for supper sometime this week. I’ll invite my niece, Ladonna Faye. She’s a lovely girl, a natural blonde like me, and so interested in investments. We’ll have such a nice cozy time.”

      When hell freezes over, Mel thought, suppressing a shudder. But he smiled, told them he’d checked his schedule and let them know. Now, when they were so friendly and their tongues growing loose, was the time to ask about Kitt Mitchell.

      He had a thin stack of information on her in his hotel room, faxed by the tireless DeJames. He’d learned a few things about Kitt—but not enough.

      He said, “I need to confide something to you. I got word today that Exclusive magazine’s sending a reporter after me. A woman who grew up here. Her name’s Katherine Mitchell.”

      Ralph and Gloria exchanged a significant look. Ralph said, “Little Kitt Mitchell? She’s coming?”

      “She may already be here,” Mel said. He knew she was; she had to be. It was eerie, but he could feel her presence in his marrow.

      Gloria peered