Trent huffed in disbelief. Silence grew in the room like bindweed.

The young man stepped back inside. A nurse's warning about using cell phones drifted through the open doorway, but the man answered directly to Elliot. "It appears, Mr. Morris, there are two names on the signature card for Howard Drilling other than Shelby Howard. James Howard and Crystal Howard. The bookkeeper told me most of the business checks that come through each month were signed by one Crystal Howard."

Trent paled.

"Well." Elliot grinned. "It seems we have no problem after all. While your husband is recovering, you'll be able to keep the cash flowing."

He looked directly at Trent. "I assume you'll be taking over the running of the company while your father's ill."

"I guess I'll have to."

"Good." Elliot motioned for the others to leave. "I'd like to offer my assistance, Mrs. Howard. I'll be happy to look over the accounts each month, answer any questions you have about expenses." He handed her his card. "Call me any time."

"Thank you, but I don't know if I can-"

"Of course you can. Howard Drilling has a bookkeeper and a few secretaries that I'm sure will be made available to you." No uncertainty echoed in Elliot's voice. "Shelby really needs your help now. I know you won't let him down."

Crystal wiped mascara from her cheek. "I'll do my best."

Trent left after Elliot Morris without saying a word. Crystal lowered her face to Shelby's hand. "I'll try real hard, Shelby. I'll do the very best I can. I won't let you down. Mr. Morris will look over everything I do, just to make sure. He can explain things to me, and as you get better, I'll be able to talk with you."

Nurse Landry came in to close the curtains and tell Crystal she could use the whirlpool tub at the end of the hall if she wanted. Visiting hours were over. Since that day Helena had first visited the hospital, a folding bed with clean sheets had been delivered every night at nine for Crystal.

During her bath, Crystal thought about how she was a real wife now, not just some bracelet on a rich man's arm. She'd be helping, working with Shelby, not just signing checks. She could feel a good wind blowing in her direction. A wind that would give her a chance to prove she could be somebody important. Somebody worth loving.

By the time she dressed for bed, she decided she would call Anna and Helena. Maybe one of them could go shopping with her for proper clothes. She'd have to go to the bank now, and Mr. Morris's office. She had responsibilities.

Sitting gingerly on the side of Shelby's bed, she whispered, "I'll do the right thing, darling. You can count on me."

Shelby's bandaged arms had been taken from the splints. He lifted his hand to her face.

"I'll go to your office and find out all I need to do. I can type. I took a semester before I dropped out. Maybe I could get someone to teach me how to use your computer to check on stocks, like you always do."

Bandaged fingers lowered to the V of her nightgown.

"Oh, no." She giggled and gently pushed him away, still lost in her thoughts of becoming a businesswoman. "I could find a book at the library on the stock market so I could talk to you about it, too. You always said it was the biggest poker game around, but I never understood what you meant."

He reached again, hooking the material with curled fingers.

"Shelby?" Crystal tried to pull his hand away. "I don't want to do that. Not here. Not now."

He tugged again.

"But Shelby, I want to think about all I got to do. Surely you don't want me to-"

"Yes!"

His voice was so low and hoarse she didn't recognize it. Any joy over his first word vanished as she realized what he wanted.

Slowly, Crystal unbuttoned her gown and bared her breasts. Big, beautiful, perfectly formed breasts he'd bought for her the second month they'd been married.

Tears floated in her eyes, but she knew he wouldn't notice. She'd played this game for years. When he was drunk, he'd say, "I got my own peep show." He wanted her to sit still as he touched her. Since the day she came back from Dallas and the surgery, he'd bragged about her breasts to any man who would listen. Demanding his feel of them even before the bruises healed.

As he brushed a bandaged hand over her bare flesh, she remembered how one night he got drunk and bet a feel of her breasts in a poker game. He'd lost, and she'd had to unbutton her blouse and kneel down beside the winner's chair while the stranger fondled her.

Shelby touched her nipple. A tear bubbled over and rolled down Crystal's face, but she didn't move. She knew he saw, not only her breasts, but her whole body as his. He had since the night he'd taken her from the bar to his hotel room and left five hundred-dollar bills on the nightstand. She'd never gone back to work. From the morning she'd picked up the money, she'd been Shelby's. When he married her, she'd thought things would change between them, but it hadn't.

He lowered his hand. When she moved to close her robe, he stopped her with a wave. Crystal straightened, knowing she'd have to wait untill he had his fill of viewing.

It didn't matter that she could sign checks or that Mr. Morris had called her Mrs. Howard. Crystal knew who and what she was. Shelby had just reminded her.

She closed her eyes and waited. She had learned there was no use trying to make him hurry. Once he'd told Jimmy over breakfast that he was tired because he'd had her strip and stand in front of him until after midnight. Claiming he never got tired of staring at perfection, he continued with the details. Jimmy had looked uncomfortable and she'd been too embarrassed to say a word.

A moment later, the feel of his bandaged fingers brushing her tears away startled her. She leaned away and buttoned her top, watching him carefully. He'd never noticed her crying before. He'd never cared.

The legend goes that God ran out of plans for landscaping when he got to Texas, so he thought it easier to just make a people who liked the barrenness.

November 4

Pigeon Run


Helena Whitworth lived in a big, rambling two-story house in what everyone referred to as "the historical district," though no one quite knew why. As a joke, the first day he saw the place, J.D. called her home "Pigeon Run." The name stuck, at least in hers and J.D.'s minds. No one else dared to call the Whitworth House, bought and paid for by Helena herself, anything so crazy.

Her favorite room was the master's quarters she'd had enlarged after she married J.D. She had taken in the bedrooms on either side and made small studies for each of them. Between the studies was an open area with floor-toceiling glass where they spent endless hours reading and watching the birds in the backyard.

Every morning, Helena started her day with coffee at her desk. Today was no exception.

"Well, I'll be," she whispered as she replaced the receiver. "You'll never guess who that was."

"Who?" J.D. sat in his favorite chair by the windows. She could only see his profile in shadows, but she knew he was there. She might have attended his funeral, but he was still very much alive to her.

"Crystal Howard." Helena stood and poured herself another cup from the coffeemaker behind her desk. "She wants my advice."

"She needs it," J.D. answered. "I always felt sorry for her. Shelby treated her like a hunting dog, paying all kinds of attention when he needed her and ignoring her when he didn't. She must be lost now, poor thing."

"But she stays with him. No matter what Shelby does, or how bad off he is, she stays. There's glue in that girl's blood."

"My guess is she doesn't have anywhere else to go." J.D. shrugged. "Plus, I think she really loves the bastard. Hell, we all do. There's something about Shelby."

"Plain ornery," Helena decided. "Pure and simple. From his school days, Shelby was the most ornery person I ever met. That kind of trait endears him to men, but drives women crazy."

J.D. laughed, and Helena thought of how dearly she loved the sound. He had a contagious laugh, always luring others to join him. When he had been in the service he barely let himself smile, but once he retired and married her, she watched him learn to laugh all over again. The boy she had played with and the gray-haired man were the same to her. The changes in their bodies were like changes of clothes. Inside, loving was the only thing that altered through the years. And it grew and grew.

A pounding shook the bedroom door. "Momma, you up?"

Helena did not answer.

"Momma, I heard you in there. I know you're still home. Don't try to fool me."

Slowly, Helena crossed to the door and threw the bolt, wondering when her daughter had started talking to her in such a way. "Morning, Paula." She tried to smile at her offspring. "You're here early."

Paula hurried into the room like an overweight, middleaged, SWAT team commando. "I thought I heard you talking to someone."

Helena did not look in the direction of J.D.'s chair. She knew he was no longer there.

"I must have been thinking aloud," Helena finally offered as explanation, and returned to her desk. "I was trying to arrange my schedule today." She frowned at Paula's unisex clothes. Both girls had no regard for the fact that their mother owned a dress store. You would think they would at least try to dress in fashion colors if not styles.

"Oh, Momma, you shouldn't talk to yourself. That's the first sign of a weak brain."

"I doubt that, honey." Helena laughed. "Or half the people in this town would be babbling day and night."

A sense of humor had been left out of Paula's makeup. She fidgeted like a freshman debater being challenged. "I didn't mean nothing personal, Momma. I just came by to see if you want to go to lunch with me. I'm worried about you being all alone and I know you're not eating like you should."