A Woman of Fortune Read Free

Reece’s mother is on the board. We joined his parents and the Mannings for dinner afterward.”
    Claire looked up. “The Mannings?”
    Lainie took a sip of her coffee. “Major contributors to Reece’s campaign.”
    â€œAh-yee, amiga.” Margarita waved her hand. “You need some fun in your life.” The older woman turned and headed outside. Claire couldn’t have said it better herself.
    â€œWhere’s Dad?”
    â€œHe had to go to the office for a little while.” Claire walked to the sink to wash her hands. “Would you call your brother later and remind him to be here by five o’clock?”
    â€œWhat? Do I look like Max’s keeper?” Lainie refilled her coffee.
    â€œOh, don’t be that way. He’ll probably get here in plenty of time. I just want to be sure.” Claire opened the cupboard and drew out her own mug, walked over, and poured herself some coffee.
    â€œI invited Reece’s parents to stay over in the guest house after the party tonight. I hope that’s okay.” Lainie grabbed a banana from the fruit basket next to the coffeepot and turned to the door.
    â€œYou did? Well, sure—of course.” Claire studied her daughter’s back as she blew through the doorway and out of sight.
    Great. Just what she needed. It wasn’t that she disliked Andrew and Glory Sandell. It was that Reece’s parents—and especially his mother—always seemed to have ulterior motives. Like her dad used to say, “Those coyote pups may look cute . . . careful, they’re anything but.”
    That was how she felt whenever she was in a conversation with Glory Sandell. Lainie’s future mother-in-law appeared charming enough, but Claire worried if she left her hand extended a little too long, Glory might just bite it.

    By five o’clock, the party had barely started and the lawns were crowded already. Near the dance floor, Claire spotted a couple of Dallas Cowboys players, the producer of Good Morning Texas , and a stunning woman who had been Miss Texas in the mid-nineties,whose carefully doctored looks could still trump those of some of the much younger women at this party.
    Several yards away, a slender brunette wearing five-inch stilettos and a tight silver dress waved. “Great party, Claire.”
    Claire raised her glass, barely able to hear over the helicopter landing on the pad behind the barns. “Hey, Sharon,” she called back. She’d met the owner of the wildly popular exercise studio, Milana, in Dallas several years back after Tuck suggested they both might lose a few pounds before their trip to Aruba. Claire had made a weekly trip downtown for Sharon’s popular yoga class, which Tuck teased was populated by women with air-brushed complexions who practiced born-again matrimony—leaving starter marriages behind to worship more lucrative marital prospects.
    Speaking of Tuck, where had he taken off to? Claire scanned the crowd for her husband. Failing to spot him, she headed toward her oldest son. Garrett and his wife, Marcy, were talking with Sidney McAlvain, owner of a large gas and oil conglomerate headquartered in Houston. Sidney had his arm around a tall blonde nestled beside him. Rich men seemed to have no trouble finding what Lainie called arm candy , even short bald guys with cigar breath.
    At one of the parties held in their Dallas Cowboys skybox, Sidney once bragged there was nothing more profitable than black gold. Tuck had laughed. “You’re absolutely right,” he said. “As long as that black gold has horns and eats grass.”
    Sidney must have agreed. Tuck later confided his friend had written a check investing nearly twenty million dollars, becoming the proud owner of several herds of Kansas Holsteins. Less than a year later, Tuck maneuvered his friend’s investment into a tidy sum.
    That was how Tuck operated. No one knew the cattle market like her