At First Sight

Chapter 5

“Graham, is that you? Did you get the wood for the fence?”

Graham inwardly cringed as his father’s booming voice echoed through the house the moment Graham stepped inside. He closed the front door and glanced around the familiar foyer of the house. Nothing ever changed in his parents’ house. It was all wood and comfortable furniture, and it always smelled like lemons.

His father’s charcoal drawing of the view behind their house still hung framed in the hallway leading to the living room on the right and the kitchen on the left, even though Lance had done many sketches and paintings since then. The charcoal drawing had apparently been the first gift Lance Forbes had given his young bride.

The same Navajo rug that had lain on the entry floor when Graham had been in junior high school still remained on the floor—faded and almost threadbare from many washings. His parents did not like change. The perfect day for his parents was to do the exact same thing that they had done the day before. Graham didn’t know how in the world he came to be so different from his parents, because he longed for change. He didn’t just want to read about South Africa, he wanted to go there. And he had. He had been everywhere else on his wish list, and now… Well, now, Graham’s goal was to become a vice president in Shoeford Industries—if he could ever get back to his job. Then he’d think of something else to do.

“Yes, Dad,” Graham called back to his father, who was no doubt upstairs in the study that overlooked their lands with his binoculars watching the farmhands. Lance would stay in the study, alternating between working on the computer and using his binoculars to spy on the work in the field until Graham and the farmhands quit for the day. Then, during dinner, Graham would be treated to a fifteen-minute evaluation of every move he had made.

“Did you check the corn?” Lance called back.

Graham struggled for patience. He loved his father, but the man did not know how to be an invalid.

“Yes, Dad, I checked the corn,” he called back through clenched teeth.

He heard his mother’s soft laughter behind him. Graham turned to her, taking in her amused expression and glowing brown skin. Her short black hair was liberally sprinkled with gray, but she still had a smile that could light a room. No matter how much Graham wished and hoped and dreamed to get the hell out of Sibleyville and return to his life, he also could admit that he would miss his parents. Especially his mother.

Eliza Forbes was not a Sibleyville native. She had met Graham’s father in New York thirty-five years ago, and after dating long-distance for three months, she had married him and moved to California. And, as far as Graham knew, she had never looked back, despite the disdain and shock of her decidedly east-coast family. But Eliza might as well have been a Sibleyville native. She could out-ride and out-shoot most men, and seemed to thrive on the sometimes extreme weather and rigorous farm life.

“He’s driving me crazy,” Graham muttered, motioning up the stairs, where Lance no doubt sat with his binoculars.

Eliza smiled in understanding, but said, “You know he loves having you around.”

Graham felt that flash of guilt he always felt whenever his parents expressed their joy at having him near after years of his living overseas and only visiting during the holidays.

“And I like being here,” he murmured, then added, “But, Dad is driving me crazy. Either he has to let me do the planting my way, or he can limp out to the fields and do it himself.”

“I heard that,” came Lance’s voice as he teetered down the stairs with the aid of a cane.

Graham rolled his eyes, but couldn’t restrain his grin. His heart had momentarily stopped when his mother had called him with the news of his father’s heart attack. After rushing home and standing over his father’s hospital bed, Graham had finally realized that his father was only human. Graham had never fully recovered from the idea of losing his father. That fear—along with a fair amount of guilt—had kept him in Sibleyville for six months. And his father knew it. The old man was as healthy as a horse now, and Graham swore Lance needed his omnipresent cane as much as Graham did. But he just wouldn’t own up to it.

“I also checked the soy beans, the animals and I lassoed the moon, so it would shine specifically on our house,” Graham added.

His mother smothered a giggle while Lance’s eyes narrowed.

“You’re a real smartass, y’know that?” Lance muttered, as amusement twinkled in his eyes.

“I wonder where he got it from,” Eliza teased Lance, caressing one of his stubble-covered cheeks. Lance smiled down at his wife and for a moment Graham knew that neither of his parents remembered that he was in the room.

Graham was used to their moments of total immersion in each other. A small part of him wanted to ask his parents how they did it, but that would have led to too many hopeful questions on their part. Graham was thirty-two years old and their only child. He knew their grandparenting biological clock was clicking.

Eliza turned back to her son and said, “Someone called for you earlier. I took down the message in the kitchen.”

Graham left his parents to their secret caresses and walked into the kitchen. His mother’s kitchen looked like every television or movie kitchen set in the country. Warm, shades of yellow, sturdy wood furniture and even a cookie jar shaped like a cow on the counter. He took a still-warm chocolate chip cookie from the jar then grabbed the telephone mounted on the wall. He read his mother’s elegant handwriting on the notepad next to the phone and smiled to himself. He should have known. He quickly dialed the international number.

“Speak,” greeted the male voice on the other end of the telephone.

“Do you answer all your calls that way?” Graham demanded of his best friend and financial day trader, Theo Morgan.

“Only when they come from area codes belonging to some godforsaken small town in the middle of nowhere,” came the prompt reply.

“Glad to know you haven’t become all warm and cuddly in the six months I’ve been gone.”

“Warm and cuddly? Not in this life,” Theo grumbled. “Hold the phone a second, Forbes.”

Graham heard the muffled sound of Theo ordering people around and then the rapid-fire sound of computer keys being struck. Graham felt a brief pang of jealousy. While Graham was rotting away in Sibleyville, Theo was in Tokyo. Living. Graham and Theo were the same age, but Graham had several more years of experience at Shoeford than Theo and was eligible for the next promotion while Theo was not. That, Graham suspected privately, drove the competitive Theo insane. However, the two men had become friends, or as close to friends as one could be with Theo.

“Forbes, I will deny it to my dying day, but things just aren’t the same without you here,” Theo said, coming back on the line, without preamble. “I feel like the lone Black man on the planet. When are you going to stop playing John Wayne and get back to work?”

Graham leaned against the wall and stared out the window over the sink at the pasture and trees growing unimpeded in the distance. There weren’t views like that in Tokyo. Whether that was a good or bad thing, Graham still hadn’t decided.

“I’m in farm country, Theo. I am the lone Black man on the planet,” Graham retorted.

“You have a point,” Theo responded. His voice lowered to a whisper as he said, almost desperately, “Seriously, man, when are you getting back here? How long does it take to find a private nurse for your father and a guy to temporarily run the ranch? I mean, it’s one ranch, Graham. We make in ten minutes what that ranch probably puts out in a year.”

“Breathe in deep, Theo, because I’m about to tell you something that may rock the foundation of your world,” Graham said, then waited a beat, before whispering dramatically, “Sometimes it’s not about money.”

“Now, you’re truly talking crazy.”

“This ranch has been in my family for five generations. We don’t turn it over to strangers.”

“Depp is retiring,” Theo said flatly.

Graham widened his eyes and tried to speak, but no sound came out. Depp Shoeford was the brother of the CEO and owner of Shoeford Industries. He also happened to be two hundred pounds of dead weight, whose only contribution to the company was to help usher in Casual Friday. But, his brother loved him—or, at least, pretended to in public—and Depp had been one of four vice-presidents approved by the Board of Directors.

“I’m sure you know exactly what this means,” Theo said. “The Board is voting on the new VP in two weeks. You have to get back here for the vote…like yesterday.”

“Jude wouldn’t dare appoint anyone else. It’s mine. He knows it. The Board knows it. Everyone knows it,” Graham said, but even he heard the doubt in his words.

“Big words coming from a man in a small town,” Theo shot back. “While the secretaries may swoon over your dedication to hearth and home, it hasn’t won you any fans in corporate.”

“I’m trying,” Graham muttered, frustrated, while running a hand down his face.

“Try harder,” Theo snapped. “Kent is trying to snatch this thing from under your feet. And you know what they say—out of sight, out of mind.”

Graham cursed and tried not to strangle the phone. He should have known. He and Dennis Kent had been competing for the same raises and promotions since they had started at the company ten years ago. Fortunately for Graham, Kent had the personality of a wet rag. Unfortunately for Graham, Kent had the work ethic of an indentured servant. He took the assignments no one wanted, he worked weekends and holidays and made certain the right people knew it and he puckered up whenever the powers-that-be were around.

“Kent would never get it. He’s a yes-man, not a VP.”

“You know that. I know that. But, I’m not sure if the people who make the decisions know that.”

Graham itched to slam down the phone, rent a charter plane to Los Angeles and catch the first thing smoking to Tokyo.

Instead, he took a deep breath and murmured, “I’ll talk to my folks.”

“That’s not good enough, Forbes.”

“It’s the best I can do.”

“The best you can do?” Theo sputtered in disbelief. “Do you want this thing or not?”

“Of course, I do… Wait. Why do you care?”

“I am hurt by your implication,” Theo said, and actually made a good attempt at sounding wounded. “Aren’t we brothers, man? Compadres? Friends—”

“Ahh, I get it. You think if I make VP, I can promote my brother, compadre and friend, right?” Graham said, more amused than offended that Theo had an ulterior motive. He should have guessed immediately. With Theo, there was always an ulterior motive. Plus, Graham would have been thinking the same thing if he had been in Theo’s position.

“Hey, each one teach one, isn’t that another thing they say?” Theo said, the self-satisfied grin obvious in his voice.

Graham rolled his eyes in disbelief. “Suddenly, you’re Black Power?”

“We brothers have to stick together.”

Graham shook his head in amusement, despite his sick feeling about the impending destruction of his career.

Theo continued in an urgent tone, “And because, my brother, I cannot afford to let you pass up the opportunity that will eventually mean opportunities for me, I’m coming to that flea-bag town tomorrow and I’m dragging you back to Tokyo whether you like it or not.”

Graham felt a surge of panic at the idea of Theo Morgan in Sibleyville.

“Theo, I don’t need you to come here—”

“Too late. A car is waiting downstairs to take me to the airport. I should be in Nowheresville by tomorrow at eleven o’clock. I was told that there is no airport in Sibleyville, so that I have to fly into a town called Bentonville. Trying to get to your town was more difficult than getting to Sri Lanka last year. I have three connections… Anyway, be on time, Graham. I’d hate to imagine what would happen to a Black sitting alone in the middle of the country for too long.”

Without another word, Theo hung up. Graham inwardly groaned, then hung up the receiver. He leaned his forehead on the kitchen wall. Theo Morgan in Sibleyville was not a good idea.

Chapter 6

Whenever Graham and Wyatt wound up at The Bar—capital T and capital B, thank you very much—the only place that could remotely meet the definition of a club in Sibleyville, they usually sat at the bar, joked around with people they had joked around with since childhood, and flirted with the same women they had flirted with since childhood. There was a certain charm to The Bar that even Graham couldn’t deny. It sat just outside the border of Sibleyville on a remote stretch of Highway 2 and attracted farmers and ranchers from over one hundred miles since it had the only live entertainment in the area and the cheapest beers.

Usually, there was a band on stage, with a male singer groaning about heartache and being in love, the place would be packed and the cement floor would be sticky with spilled beer and peanut shells. The Bar’s charm was not necessarily its cleanliness.

The only difference between this night when Graham and Wyatt walked into The Bar versus any other night was that every man in the bar was on one side of the room, every woman in the bar was on the other side of the room and Kendra and Quinn were dancing in the middle. Not just dancing, but… Was striptease too harsh? Both women wore short tight clothes and underneath the bar lights they looked like two goddesses, granting the men of The Bar a special performance.

Wyatt grinned like a man who had found heaven, and stared transfixed at the Sibley sisters. Graham scanned the crowd in search of the other sister. He didn’t see her, not that he would have expected her to be wearing a short skirt in a bar and gyrating next to her sisters, but still… Graham laughed at the roar of male approval as Kendra took her moves to the floor, until she was practically sitting. The singer onstage actually stopped singing to stare transfixed at her.

Meanwhile, Quinn, not to be outdone, was moving her hips in some semblance of an X-rated belly dance while she waved her hands over her head. The only problem—or not problem—was that her already short skirt kept creeping farther and farther up her thighs until… Graham’s eyes widened. A black G-string. The men in the building roared again, while several women stalked out the bar.

Wyatt clamped Graham’s shoulder and his voice was unsteady as he said, “Graham, please, please, please tell me that those are the Sibley sisters.”

Graham grinned, just as the two women turned and spotted him. Both waved energetically, motioning for him to join them. Quinn’s gaze remained on him as she licked her lips and ran her hands over her breasts then down to her slim hips, making no secret of the fact that she wanted his hands to follow the same route. Kendra stepped in front of Quinn, drawing Graham’s attention, and went low to the floor again while gyrating her hips.

Pretending not to notice the looks of pure hatred and envy from the other men in the room, Graham casually waved to the women.

He yelled to Wyatt over the loud music, “Those are the two Sibley sisters I was telling you about. Kendra and Quinn.”

Wyatt cursed softly in appreciation. “Which is which?”

“Kendra is the one who just did the splits. Quinn is the one shaking her behind. Apparently, Quinn is on television.”

“Diamond Valley,” Wyatt said automatically, his gaze still on the women.

“How do you know that?”

Wyatt shrugged in response and seemed no longer capable of conversation. Graham shook his head, realizing that Wyatt was a lost cause, then glanced around the bar once more. Even though the building was packed and the noise level was near deafening, Graham knew he would have spotted the other sister if she had been there. Maybe she had stayed home. Graham frowned at the idea of her staying alone in that death trap she and her sisters had insisted on living in for their visit.

Graham glanced back at Kendra and Quinn. Both women were still watching him. He smiled nervously, suddenly understanding how cows must feel when ranchers stared at them before leading them to slaughter. Both women began to motion to him to join them on the dance floor.

Wyatt gripped Graham’s shoulder and choked out, “One more question, man. Please tell me that you’re taking me out there with you to dance with them.”

“Go out there now, and tell the ladies I’ll be right there with drinks.”

Wyatt actually looked as if he wanted to kiss Graham. Instead, he briefly hugged him then practically ran onto the dance floor. Graham laughed and every other man in the place looked shocked as the women started dancing with Wyatt, whereas before they had turned their backs on all other comers.

Graham walked towards the bar to order a round of drinks and scanned the bar once more. He stopped himself. He had two gorgeous women waiting for him on the dance floor. And, if he played his cards right, he could actually get lucky—something that hadn’t happened, God help him, in six months. And, instead of running onto the dance floor, he was searching for a woman who clearly did not like him, if her look of disdain in the driveway had been any indication.

Graham had just signaled the bartender, when out the corner of his eye, he saw a brown-skinned woman walk out of the bar. Since there were only three Black women in Sibleyville who would have been at The Bar, and two were doing a burlesque number on the dance floor, Graham could guess who she was. Before he even made the decision to follow her, he was making his way through the crowd and towards the exit.

Graham pushed open the door and walked into the cool night air. It was too dark to see much, besides the outlines of the trucks and cars in the parking lot. There was one dim light bulb over the door, but that cast barely enough illumination to see fifty feet in front of him.

Graham finally saw a woman standing on the outskirts of the parking lot, next to a large stallion that had been tied to the wooden fence. The huge horse meant only one thing—Earl McPhee was nearby. Except Earl—all six foot five inches and two hundred and sixty pounds of him—wasn’t just nearby. He was standing in front of Charlie—that was her name!—who was screaming at him, obviously having no idea that she was facing the meanest, cruelest sonofabitch in town. A man that even Boyd Robbins had the good sense to give a wide berth to whenever Earl made one of his rare appearances in town.

Graham muttered a curse and wished he’d had the good sense to stay inside the bar to watch the Kendra-and-Quinn show. Instead, he was about two seconds away from having his ass handed to him on a platter.

“…you have no right to treat this animal that way!” Charlie was screeching at Earl, as Graham reluctantly walked closer. Her breasts were heaving inside the plain white T-shirt she wore, her caramel face was flushed red and her eyes glinted with fire. It was a very inopportune time to notice, but Graham realized that the third Sibley sister was actually decent-looking.

Earl, on the other hand, was even bigger and more frightening than Graham remembered. His forearms were easily the size of most men’s biceps.

“Get out of my way, lady,” Earl growled, towering over her more than the horse did. “That is my horse. I’ll do with him whatever I want.”

“You will not leave this parking lot with this horse,” she responded with such deadly calm that Graham believed her.

Earl, on the other hand, laughed. Or, at least, Graham thought it was a laugh. It sounded so evil that the horse even shuffled his feet in an attempt to get away.

Earl leaned down until he was almost nose to nose with Charlie. “And who is going to stop me? You?”

As Charlie’s eyes widened with fear, something ugly coiled in Graham’s stomach. Graham was not a fighting man. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last fight he had been in, but as Earl towered over Charlie, every one of Graham’s fighting instincts propelled him across the parking lot.

“Charlie, I see you made a new friend,” Graham said, with as much casualness as he could muster, as he inserted himself between Earl and Charlie.

The relieved look she sent in his direction nearly made Graham change his characterization of her from “decent-looking” to “kind of pretty.” He forced himself to turn to Earl, who had impossibly bulked up even more since Graham had crossed the parking lot. He gulped as he remembered whispers years ago about Earl having stabbed a man in a bar fight in Boise.

“Good evening, Earl,” Graham greeted, keeping his tone light. “I haven’t seen you since I’ve been back in town. How have you been?”

Earl growled, “Talk to your woman, Graham. I want my horse, and I want him now.”

“Never,” Charlie retorted, over Graham’s shoulder. She turned to Graham, grabbing his arm. Her grip was a little too tight, but for some reason, Graham didn’t mind. Her eyes were huge and shining in the moonlight as she said, “I saw him…abusing this horse, Graham. He kicked him in the side and then punched him in the face. I will not allow any creature—man or horse—to be abused in my presence. We cannot send this horse home with this monster.”

Graham barely restrained himself from raising his eyebrow at her use of the word we. He also wondered if Charlie should have been the actress, instead of Quinn. She certainly was dramatic enough. Sure, everyone knew that Earl was not the nicest guy around, but even Earl wouldn’t be stupid enough to abuse an animal that he had to rely on for his livelihood.