Tante Lulu giggled, watching the direction of his stare.
Great! Caught in mid-ogle.
“Are you finished with breakfast?” Charmaine asked once she was standing again.
Huh? Hell, no! I barely started. But he nodded. Maybe she’s looking for some exercise, too.
“Can you bring your coffee into the office? I have some important things I need to discuss with you. Very important. I have good news and I have bad news.” She looked so serious that he felt his stomach drop. His parade suddenly slowed down. Could he take any more bad news on top of yesterday’s events?
They both walked into the small office, which was surprisingly tidy. Charmaine must have done a lot of work here the past two days. Closing the door behind him, he set his coffee cup on the desk, sat down in the swivel chair, then pulled Charmaine onto his lap. “If I kiss you, will I have red lipstick all over me?”
She looped her arms around his neck and smiled saucily. “Would it make any difference?”
“Hell, no!” he said even as he was lowering his head.
“It’s kiss-proof,” she said against his mouth.
“Wanna bet?” he countered, already nibbling at the edges of her bottom lip. “You taste so freakin’ good.”
“It’s just coffee,” she murmured.
“Uh-uh! It’s you.”
Charmaine was the one to break the kiss first. She pulled away—and hot damn, she was right; her lips were still hot-as-sin red—and told him, “There really is some serious business I need to discuss with you.”
“More serious than sex in a swivel chair.”
“I already told you I can’t have sex with you.”
The born-again virgin crap again! “It depends on your definition of sex.” If oral sex isn’t real sex in Clintonese, then swivel sex sure isn’t real sex in my language.
Get real, the voice in his head said.
“Tsk-tsk-tsk!” Shoving away, Charmaine stood about two feet away from him.
“Okay, I’ll behave. What’s the all-important business we have to discuss.”
“First, look at this file.”
Briefly skimming through the contents of a bulging manila folder, he saw numerous letters and jotted Post-it notes regarding phone calls from various Louisiana oil companies, including Valcour LeDeux’s own Cypress Oil. They dated back at least ten years but were heaviest the last year of his father’s life. All of them indicated a desire to purchase mineral rights or outright land from Charles Lanier.
“This is nothing new, Charmaine. I’ve been aware of their interest for a long time. Dieu, just since you’ve been here, there’s been phone calls and letters, directed at me this time. Apparently, they aren’t aware yet that you own half the ranch since the probate papers haven’t been filed.”
“Yes, but don’t you see? There’s a pattern here. Increasing pressure on your father to sell. Getting you out of the way. Your father conveniently dying. It’s worth investigating, don’t you think?”
“I suppose so. Actually, I’ve discussed this to some extent with Zerby… my suspicions about the oil pressures. But you’re right, sweetheart, he needs to see the file, as well.” He smiled at her. “Now, can we have sex?”
“No, that was the least of the business I have to discuss with you.” She handed him a boot box, her eyes misting with tears, which caused him to go on immediate alert. “Maybe now you’ll be a little less hard on your dad for all his years of neglect.”
Hesitantly, he took off the lid. Inside were dozens of letters. Maybe even a hundred of them. All still sealed. All with a return address for Charles Lanier, Triple L Ranch. All addressed to him. All of them stamped mail refused, except for the most recent ones sent to the state pen, which were marked undeliverable, whatever that meant. Some of the letters were more than twenty-five years old and some as recent as a year ago, according to the post office marks.
His heart suddenly started racing, and, yeah, his eyes were burning with unshed tears, too. It took all his self-control to get his emotions banked. Later, he would read the letters, every single one of them, and perhaps finally get some clue to his dad’s behavior.