"Who are they, Mother?" she asked.

"Not anyone you'd want to know," the mother answered. "They're just oilmen."

November 3

County Memorial Hospital


Crystal Howard stood beside her husband's bed and watched the line of suits file into the hospital room. The first man in line was in his late twenties and carried a colorful plant in full bloom. But the others looked as if they were coming to a funeral.

The nurse took the plant from him before he could step past her. "No live plants allowed," she said simply.

The young man smiled. "I'll bring dead ones next time."

She didn't acknowledge the joke, but Crystal had to glance at Shelby to keep from laughing.

Her husband looked more like a mummy in an old movie than Shelby Howard. Parts of his skin were beginning to heal in patches, parts were covered in thick cream. Though his head was bandaged, the swelling had gone down, leaving only blisters and charred deposits where his hairline had once been. He'd mumbled few words since the accident, but she could feel his pain when she touched his hand.

Trent Howard was the last to step through the door, and he closed it behind him. He was convinced Shelby had suffered brain damage from breathing in too much smoke, and today would mark the showdown at the OK Corral as far as he was concerned.

Crystal had tried to tell Trent that morphine made Shelby's mind fuzzy. Trent paid her no mind. She guessed Shelby's only son saw her as filler packed around the üi portant people in life. She was no more valued than th:ü curly foam that fills a packing box. People like her: the waitresses, clerks, construction workers, doorman and hundreds others were no more important to him than a machine.

The men crowding into Shelby's room might wear business clothes instead of western gear, but Crystal knew they would be shooting from the hip today. All the power Shelby had, so carefully guarded was about to shift from father to son, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

She smoothed the linen of her dress that almost passed as a businesslike suit, knowing she couldn't protect Shelby or herself from what was happening. How could she even talk to this group? She'd dropped out in the tenth grade and gone to work when her stepdad kicked her out of the house. Half the time she didn't know what Trent was talking about and, today, he'd brought his lawyers. She was so unimportant, Trent didn't even bother to introduce her to the group.

Crystal slipped her fingers onto Shelby's, wishing she could reassure him. Since the accident she sensed fear, as well as anger in his slight grip. She felt both now.

"Gentlemen, thank you for coming so late in the day. I felt we could delay no longer on what must be done. I'd like you to say hello to my father." Trent made a grand sweep of his hand as if he were a barker showing off the newest freak in the circus. "His condition and the hospital reports will confirm the urgency in taking action today to transfer the reins of Howard Drilling to me."

One man opened his briefcase over the tray-table and asked, "Does your father concur?"

"My father hasn't said a word in almost a month. He's awake, but he can't communicate. One ear was burned completely off, the other damaged. The nurses tell me he can see light and dark, but we're not sure how much else. The damage from the fire and the tubes thrust down his throat would make it hard, if not impossible, for him to speak."

Trent moved impatiently. "We can't wait any longer. I'm sure he would want me to take charge. After all, I'm only following the orders laid out in his will, nothing more."

A gray-haired man migrated closer to the bed. "But as long as he's alive, the will doesn't take effect."

Frustrated, Trent added, "I understand. But the company can't run itself. There have been questions about the cause of the fire on the Montano Rig. Someone needs to be there to answer them before investors on other rigs get nervous. As his only son, I have to take the reins. At least until he recovers."

Three of the men appeared uncomfortable. The oldest advanced another step. He glanced at Crystal, nodding a silent greeting, then looked at the bed where she held Shelby's hand.

"May I touch his hand?" he asked politely. "I promise not to shake it too hard."

"The doctor said that his left hand wasn't burned so badly." Crystal tried to press against the wall as he moved beside the bed. She couldn't remember ever seeing the man, so he wasn't one of Shelby's drinking friends. He had kind eyes and a soberness about him that made her think most folks probably trusted him more than the other suits.

"Shelby?" The man touched the lightly bandaged hand, sliding his fingers into a handshake. "It's Elliot Morris. I don't know how much you can hear or understand, but I'd like you to know how sorry I am about all the suffering that has found you."

"He won't respond," Trent snapped. "I've tried to talk to him every day since the accident. Nothing. My father may be little more than a vegetable, gentlemen. I am forced to take charge to see that his company stays intact."

"Shelby? It's Elliot. Can you hear me?" The old man wasn't listening to the younger Howard. "I've been doing legal work for you for thirty years. I'm dreading like hell to draw up the papers your son wants."

Crystal swore she saw a tiny tear fight its way down thc old man's face.

"Shelby?" he whispered. "Shelby, is the wildcatter who walked into my office all those years ago beneath those bandages and burns?"

Crystal stared as the old friends touched. Slowly, Shelby's fingers closed around Elliot's hand.

No one in the room breathed.

Elliot straightened. "Shelby, can you hear me?"

The bandaged hand closed slightly again.

"Can you understand?"

Shelby's head rose an inch and nodded once.

Crystal broke into tears. She didn't care that makeup streamed down her face and paddled onto her good clothes_ She hadn't been imagining that Shelby was somewhere be neath all the pain. Sometimes, late at night, she thought maybe she was just wanting him to know she was there, to need her when he really was too close to death to care. But now she knew. Everyone knew.

Elliot chuckled. "Well, wildcatter, you sure had everyone worried. Appears it takes more than a little explosion to slow down Shelby Howard."

Everyone except Trent laughed as Elliot continued. "Since I'm here, do you want to turn over the power of attorney to your fine son? That way, you can recover without worrying about the company."

Crystal read the lie in the honest man's face as easily as she used to spot an undercover cop at the bars.

When Shelby shook his head slightly, she saw Elliot's grin. The old man tested Shelby, and her husband just proved his sanity.

"This is insane." Trent finally recovered enough to attack. "He can't run a business from this bed. I'll bring lawyers from Dallas if I have to. The man is too far gone to do anything. In a few weeks, he'll be looking at months of surgeries. For his sake, I have to take charge." He moved to the end of the bed, a gambler covering his bet. "I'm doing this for your sake, Dad. When you do get better, I'll step down from the helm."

It was obvious that no one in the room believed him.

"I'm sure the company ran just fine when Shelby took a few days off." Elliot's voice was calm, almost as if he were going over facts to himself. "I remember he and Crystal went to Vegas for a month last year. The payroll still got made. The bills got paid."

"That's because of my cousin, Jimmy Howard. Some say Jimmy knew more about Howard Drilling than my father did. He ran it most of the time even when Dad was in town," Trent offered. "He's the only one who could write checks on the business account besides Dad. He was killed in the accident."

"Can't you sign?" Elliot looked directly at the son.

"No. Dad never got around to authorizing anything but an annual salary for me. I'm rarely at the office. I have a great many other responsibilities."

Elliot's forehead worried into a hundred tiny lines. "Someone must be able to sign on the account. It doesn't make sense that a man would have so many holdings and not trust more than one person."

Crystal didn't miss the slight emphasis on trust.

"I can sign checks," she whispered.

"We're not talking about the household account," Trent grumbled.

His reaction came fast, like an invisible slap. She braced herself, expecting to hear him tell her to keep her mouth shut.

Elliot ignored Trent. "Is that true…Mrs. Howard? You can sign checks on Howard Drilling?"

She smiled at the way he called her Mrs. Howard. No one ever called her that, though everyone in town knew she was rightfully married to Shelby. Mrs. Howard was Shelby's first wife, the mother of his children. She was just Crystal, the tramp he'd married one weekend in Dallas.

"After we got married, Shelby would always bring his work home. To finish his work faster he had me write the checks out." She saw no need to tell them that Shelby's eyes were weakening, and he'd been too vain to wear glasses. "He said he'd learned a long time ago never to let a bookkeeper sign checks. `A man handles his own money,' he'd say, then he'd tell me what to write and I would."

Elliot nodded toward one of the younger men. The silent soldier pulled out a cellular phone and stepped to the door.

"Dad never mentioned such a practice to me." Trent glanced at her as if she were bothering them by talking. "You would've cleaned out the liquid assets and been long gone if you could sign on the corporate accounts."

Crystal shook her head. "I didn't need any money. He gave me plenty for spending. All I ever wanted was to have a home with Shelby. I don't care about the business or how much he's got."