Page 48 of Westin
“What was her name?” Mollohan demanded, finally paying attention.
“Heidi,” Westin said, watching the older man’s face closely for any sign of recognition. “Heidi Clark.”
Something slipped across his face, a ghost of comprehension. But it was gone almost before it arrived, his mask of disinterest still firmly in place.
“She mentioned you a time or two, sir,” Westin added. “Said you worked alongside the ranch hands at the time, learning the business from the ground up.”
Mollohan didn’t comment, but his wife nodded. “Dominic did do that. His father wanted his sons to know what it was like to run the cattle. Said it was important they knew every job on the ranch before they took it over.” She glanced at her husband. “You told me once about the woman you worked with. Said she was surprisingly good at the job.”
“Yeah, well, she took off, left Father high and dry during the mating season. You can’t just be good; you have to be reliable, too.”
“She had good reason for leaving,” Westin said, his jaw clenched. “Really good reason.”
“Oh?” Mrs. Mollohan asked as her husband glared across the table at Westin. “What was that?”
Mollohan slapped his hand on the table, forcing all eyes to jump to him. There was a storm brewing on his face, lightning burning in his eyes as he stared at Westin. “I think Mr. Clark and I would like to retire to the study for some brandy. If you ladies will excuse us.”
He stood before his wife or daughter could protest. Rena reached for Westin’s hand as he set his napkin on the table and began to stand.
“It’s all right,” she said, patting her knee lightly before he stood and rounded the table, more than ready to follow Mollohan. He’d been waiting for this moment for a very long time. All his life, maybe.
Mollohan led the way down a long corridor, pushing open double doors that revealed a dark room filled with expensive furniture all in wood and dark fabric, a room designed for a CEO. There were shelves covered in books on one wall, trophies in cases on another. A portrait of the family graced the space above the fireplace, a cliché if Westin had ever seen one. He had to admit, though, it was a beautiful rendition of Rena and her mother.
Westin stood before the fireplace, his hands in his pockets as he studied the crackling fire that burned there. The words he’d practiced since the moment he’d decided he would one day stand in this room ran through his mind, so well-practiced that he couldn’t imagine they wouldn’t come out perfectly.
“What did she tell you about me?”
That, however, was not the first question he had anticipated Mollohan asking.
He turned, found Mollohan pouring two glasses of brandy as promised. He crossed the room, holding one out to Westin. He took it more out of a momentary sense of confusion than anything else.
“I’m sure she told you all about me, about this house, about the fortune she missed out on having.”
“Missed out on?”
“She was a beautiful woman, your mother.” Mollohan took a deep swallow of the brandy. “Those blue eyes… a man could get lost in them for days.”
“She believed you loved her.”
“I think I believed it at the time. But don’t we all? That first big romance, the first summer fling that you want to last forever but know can’t?” Mollohan tilted his head to one side. “She tell you I was your father?”
Again, Mollohan had blown Westin’s script out of the water. He was supposed to deny it, pretend he hadn’t known. He was supposed to argue so that Westin could get all righteous, tell him exactly where he could go. He wasn’t supposed to admit it.
Mollohan strolled over to the couch and took a seat, crossing one leg over the other with a sigh. “We were both young. I was twenty-four, just home from college, sowing my oats. My father sends me out to the bunkhouse, tells me to live with this group of sweaty ranch hands and this one beautiful, blue-eyed beauty. It was like giving Rena a credit card and telling her to go to town. I couldn’t resist.” He even smiled this self-satisfied smile, like an older generation telling themselves that boys will be boys. “But I wasn’t the only one. She tell you that, too?”
Westin stood very still, that sniffer of brandy between both his hands. He stared into the dark liquid, but saw only his mother’s face, her tired smile as she lay in that hospital bed, ready to go wherever it is the terminally ill go when their bodies can’t fight any longer.
Don’t be angry with him, Westin. He meant well.
He didn’t mean well. He was just a rich boy who thought he could have anything he wanted.
“You gave her a thousand dollars and told her to take care of it.”
“What was that?” Mollohan asked, tilting his head slightly. “Speak up, boy.”
“You gave her a thousand dollars and told her to take care of it,” he repeated, his eyes coming up slowly from the rim of that glass. “You told her I was an inconvenience because you were already engaged to another woman. Told her it was out of your control, that your father had set it up and you had to do what your father said or he’d give the ranch to your younger brother. Right?”
Mollohan had the nerve to chuckle. “Is that what I told her? I told so many lies to so many girls back then, I couldn’t keep them all straight.”