Beneath the Stetson(11)

“Do you think the trouble is over?”

“I do. I really do. I still hear grumbling, of course. Particularly from the old guard.”

“You mean like him?” Bailey cocked her head unobtrusively, not letting Cade see. A few tables away sat Paul Windsor, a charter member of the TCC.

Gil grimaced. “Yeah. He’s one of the worst. But even so, I doubt he’d ever actually do anything to cause problems for the center.”

Bailey shuddered inwardly. She had interviewed Paul during her initial investigation, and the man had given her the creeps. Divorced four times, Windsor considered himself a ladies’ man. During the course of her questioning, Bailey had discovered without a doubt that Windsor was perhaps the most overt and obnoxious chauvinist she had ever met. He made no secret of his disdain for Bailey.

“I feel sorry for Cara,” she said, “having such an overbearing father.” Bailey knew what that was like far too well.

“I’ll admit...Windsor can be a jerk. But he wields a lot of influence around here, so it would be a plus to stay on his good side if you want to make any progress with your investigation. If he were to raise a stink, he could convince others that you shouldn’t be here in the club.”

“But I have a legal warrant.”

“Yes. And ultimately that would prevail. In the interim, though, things could get ugly.”

“Is my presence going to cause big problems for you, Gil?” The thought troubled her.

He laughed, his dark eyes warm and teasing. “I can handle trouble, Bailey. Don’t worry about me.”

Cade, tired of being ignored, piped up, a sly smile on his face. “Do you know how to cook, Miss Bailey?”

Bailey raised her eyebrows. “Where did that come from?”

Cade took a bite of the hot dog their server had delivered moments ago. Pausing to chew and swallow, he fixed her with the blue eyes that helped make him such a cute kid. “I dunno,” he said, the picture of innocence. “Dad says when I’m getting to know someone, it’s nice to ask them questions...but not too personal,” he added hastily, glancing at his father with a guilty expression.

“That’s good advice,” Bailey said. “So, in answer to your question, yes...I’m a pretty good cook. I started learning when I was not much bigger than you.”

Cade nodded solemnly, his milk mustache adding to his charm. “And do you like little kids?”

Suddenly, she understood what was happening. She was being interviewed for a job. As Cade’s mommy. Dear Lord. Fortunately for her peace of mind, the rest of their meal arrived, and in the hubbub of drink refills and the server’s chatter, the moment passed.

Bailey had looked forward to an intimate lunch with the two Addison men, but unfortunately, this was not the venue. Gil could barely eat his meal because of repeated interruptions from club members happy to see him. What Bailey suddenly understood was that Gil had sacrificed an enormous amount in choosing intentionally to be the caregiver for his son.

Over the course of almost five years, Gil was wealthy enough to have hired the best nannies in the world. He could have gone about his business, running the ranch, hanging out at the TCC, meeting women, perhaps marrying again. Instead, he had made his son a priority. Fortunately, his current role as TCC president was more of an honorary position than a demanding job.

The enthusiasm with which club members greeted him during one short lunch indicated both that Gil was extremely popular and well-liked, and that he likely was not able to be present at the club as often as many of his cohorts.

Cade bore the intrusion of one table guest after another with equanimity. Several of the men addressed him personally. For a child not yet old enough for school, his composure and patience were commendable.

Not many boys of Bailey’s acquaintance would be able to tolerate an extended meal in public without raising a ruckus. She sneaked him a couple of extra French fries off her plate while Gil was otherwise occupied. “Is it always like this?” she asked.

Cade nodded. “Yep. Everybody likes my dad.” The words were matter-of-fact, but Bailey heard the pride behind them.

“So,” she whispered conspiratorially, “do you think we get dessert?”

Cade wrinkled his nose. “If I eat most of my salad.” He stared dolefully at the small bowl, clearly not a fan of spinach mix.

“I remember once when I was about your age, my mother made me eat black-eyed peas that I didn’t like. I broke out in a rash all over my whole body, and I never had to eat them again.”

“Can you teach me how to do that?” Cade’s eyes widened with fascination.

“Unfortunately, I think the rash happened because I was so upset. But you could always try using a red marker to put dots all over your skin. I’m kidding,” she said hastily, suddenly visualizing an awful scenario where Gil realized Bailey had been giving his son tips on how to bypass healthy eating.