Bethany Campbell - A Little Town In Texas

And his unspoken message was, I understand better than you think, Daddy. He turned and left the study.

CRONIN HAD TOLD KITT she didn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of getting Fabian’s Crystal Creek man to talk to her. Yet here that man was, ready and eager to tell her about himself. Delightful.

For once, Kitt didn’t allow herself to dwell on journalistic ethics. After all, Mel Belyle had pursued her, not the other way around.

And, Kitt rationalized, she hadn’t exactly lied to him. He’d jumped to a conclusion, and she’d helped keep him jumping. He thought he was making a conquest. He didn’t know he was becoming one.

She decided to pry slowly, not to stir his suspicions. “What kind of a name is Melburn?” she asked, just a hint of teasing in her voice.

“My uncle was named Melburn,” he said, “My grandfather spent time in Australia when he was in the navy. He named him for the city.”

Kitt looked again at his card and frowned. “Melbourne? It’s spelled differently.”

“My family wasn’t known for its spelling skills.” He gave her a self-deprecating smile.

She smiled back. “What were they known for?”

“Ah,” he said, as the waiter set down a pitcher of cola and two glasses. “Refreshment. May I?” He offered to pour her drink.

“Please,” she said. “You were saying about your family?”

He filled her glass as he spoke. “What were we known for? Nothing special, I guess.” As he filled his own glass, his Rolex glinted in the restaurant’s dim light.

She said, “You seem to have done all right for yourself.”

“I was lucky,” he said. He lifted his drink in a toast. “Here’s to getting to know each other better.”

She clicked her glass against his. “Much better.”

He grinned. It was a charming grin, and he used it like a weapon of seduction. Don full mind and body armor, she warned herself.

He said, “I can’t believe it. A story editor for Uptown Girls. You know who my favorite character is? Fleur. The one with red hair like yours. I bet she’s based on you.”

She wagged a finger at him. “Nope. I won’t discuss it. Not until I hear about you. You were saying about your family?”

His face took on a look of mock resignation. “We were just—a family. I don’t remember much about my father. He died when I was four.”

“What did he do?” she asked.

“He was a roofer. He took a wrong step. He died three days later.”

Kitt winced. “And your poor mother?”

“She had three kids. She did what she could. Finally she moved us from Beaumont to New York. She had relatives there. They could help her find work that paid better.”

True, so far, thought Kitt. His story matched her sketchy notes about his past. “Go on,” she encouraged.

“So she worked for this guy who was well-to-do,” Mel said. “He liked her, took an interest in her, wanted to help her out. He was—generous. She was grateful. More than grateful.”

A shadow of moodiness passed over his face. He said, “I know you work with sexy plots and all, but this wasn’t like that. This guy wasn’t interested in my mom that way. She’s a little Italian lady, round as a rubber ball. But she’s got a heart as wide as the sky and personality to burn. She’s got strong opinions and speaks her mind. But everybody loves her.”

He spoke of his mother with such affection that Kitt was impressed in spite of herself. “So how did he help her, this man?”

Mel rubbed his upper lip pensively. “He helped her mostly by helping us. Her sons. With education. Summer jobs. Training in his law offices.”

She studied him with increased interest. He gave few details, but he wasn’t hiding his past. “So,” she said, stroking the water beaded on the side of her glass, “this man put you through college?”

He frowned. “We all got scholarships. But he helped with other stuff. Books. Transportation. Medical. Clothes.”

He glanced down at the cuff of his expensive sweater. She was surprised he mentioned clothes. Maybe his tailored wardrobe and pricey haircut weren’t all pure vanity, but symbolized something deeper to him.

She said, “This guy did this for you out of the goodness of his heart?”

“I think he did it out of the goodness of my mother’s heart,” Mel said. “His own mother died before he made any money. He never got to help her. My mother reminded him of her.”

Kitt looked sympathetic. “And you—and your brothers—reminded him of himself?”

The dark blue eyes took on an unexpected wariness. “Some. And he saw we had potential. That he could help us, and we could help him.”

She cocked her head. “Help him? In what way?”

“He had jobs for us when we got out of school. Good jobs. And we owe him the best we can give him. Without him, I don’t know where we would have ended up.”

She sensed complex emotions behind those words. His face, which she had first thought too handsome, was more interesting when he wasn’t cocky. But why had he suddenly showed a hint of vulnerability? Was it because he was thinking about Crystal Creek and challenging his own brother?

“You said you had scholarships,” she pointed out. “It doesn’t sound as if you’d have ended up as bums in the gutter.”

His sculpted mouth took on a wry crook. “We didn’t exactly fit in, my brothers and I. Well, the youngest one, maybe. He was always more of a regular guy.”

“You didn’t fit in? Why?” She didn’t have to pretend to be fascinated. She was.

“My older brother was a lone wolf.” A trace of bitterness was in Mel’s voice.

“You say that like it’s bad. What’s wrong with independence?”

His jaw tightened. “A man should have loyalties,” he said.

“Your brother didn’t?”

“That’s talking about my brother. I don’t want to do that.”

She inched her chair a bit closer to the table, to him. “Fine. I’d rather hear about you. Why didn’t you fit in?”

Mel gave her an odd look. “You know, you’re really a good listener.”

She shrugged modestly. “I’m just interested. You seem like the sort of guy who’d be captain of the football team, president of the student council, homecoming king, all that.”

His smile went almost shy. He rubbed his upper lip again. “No. Track team. That’s all.”

She traced a question mark on the tabletop. “So. What were you running from?”

“I could ask you the same thing. You were in track. Were you running to something? Or from something?”

She shook her head. “No fair. The deal is that I learn about you first. So tell me. What made you feel different from other people? That your family didn’t have money?”

“Lots of people don’t have money,” he said, a frown line deepening between his dark brows. “Most people don’t.”

“Then what was it?” she asked softly.

His frown changed from thoughtful to unhappy. “It’s really no big deal. It just seemed so then. It doesn’t—”

The waiter interrupted them. He set a plate with a sandwich and pickle before Kitt and an empty plate before Mel. “I’ll let you two divide the goodies.” To Mel he said, “Do you want the check now or later?”

“I’ll take it now,” Mel said.

“No, no,” Kitt protested. “It should be checks, not check. We’re not together. We’re just sharing this table—”

The smile died on the waiter’s round face. “I—I’m sorry,” he said. “You looked like a couple. You acted like you belonged together—excuse me. My mistake. Sorry.”

“It’s been my pleasure,” Mel said, “and it’ll be my treat.” He handed the man two twenties. “Keep the change.”

The waiter grinned and eased off into the crowd.