Serena felt compelled to stick up for her absent brother-in-law. She had always liked Mason. He was too laid-back for Gifford's taste and he might have been more fluff than substance, but he had a good heart. «Mason has got more than cotton for brains. He graduated from law school fifth in his class.»
Gifford gave a snort that eloquently spoke of his regard for lawyers in general. «Don't mean he's got a lick of sense. All it means to me is he has a nose for loopholes and technicalities. Hell, that hound over there can sniff out a coon fast as dammit, but that don't mean he's Einstein.»
It was pointless to argue with him, and they had gotten off the most important topic, so Serena steered them back with effort. «You said yesterday you'd mentioned something to Shelby about selling. Why would you do that if you don't want to sell?»
He scowled at his boots and looked uncomfortable. When he spoke, it was as grudgingly as a schoolboy owning up to sticking gum on his teachers chair. «Hell, I was just makin' noise. We've been having a rough spot here-cane smut last year, too much rain this spring, production costs are up, that damned gas tax gets us coming and going. I was just grumbling is all, trying to see if I might raise a little interest in Shelby for something besides redecorating the house while she's staying in it. So I say over dinner one night, 'By God, if all I'm gonna do is work myself to death on this place so some stranger can come in and take over, I might as well sell it and go to Tahiti.' Faster than I could spit and whistle, she had a Tristar rep nosing around the place.»
Serena frowned as she listened. It had seemed unlikely to her that Shelby would want to sell Chanson du Terre, if not because of a sense of tradition, because it had always represented status in the community-something Shelby prized almost above all else. But if she had set her sights on an even higher plateau and saw selling the place as a means of achieving that end, that was a different story. Shelby's talent for rationalization was unsurpassed in Serena's experience.
«Why Tristar Chemical?» she asked.
Gifford shrugged wearily. «I don't know. There's probably some connection through Mason's family. How else would she have found a buyer at all? Since the oil bust, the market down here is soft as butter. Shelby couldn't sell igloos to Eskimos to begin with. Mason only let her have that office space downtown to placate her. You know I love her, but she's a silly little thing and always has been. The only reason she went into real estate was so she could dress up, look important, and go to the chamber of commerce meetings.»
«So you don't want to sell the place,» Serena said, uncomfortable with the topic of her twin. «Tell the Tristar people no and be done with it.»
«They don't take no for an answer,» he grumbled. «That damned Burke is like a pit bull. I can't shake him for love or money.»
Serena fixed her grandfather with the stern look she'd learned from him. «Gifford Sheridan, in all my life I've never known you to back down from a fight.»
He frowned at her. His square chin came up a notch. «I'm not backing down from a fight.»
«Then what are you doing out here?» she asked, exasperated.
He raised his head another proud inch, looking as stubborn and immovable as the faces on Mount Rush-more. «I'm dealing with it my own way.»
They were back to square one. Serena squeezed her eyes shut for a second and concentrated on the needle of pain stabbing through her head. She took a sip of coffee, hoping in vain that the caffeine would bring her energy level up. Instead, it churned like acid in her stomach and made her feel even hotter and more uncomfortable than she had been to begin with.
Of course, Gifford's obstinance wasn't helping. Nor was having Lucky's steady gaze fastened on her. He stood at the foot of the steps, staring at her through the opaque lenses of his sunglasses, an unnerving experience in the best of circumstances. The only thing that might have made it worse was if he hadn't been wearing the glasses. She couldn't think of anything more disturbing than the heat and intensity of those amber eyes.
Pepper broke the tense silence, rising lazily from his chair. Without a word to anyone he ambled down to the edge of the bayou and stood for a moment, apparently admiring the view. When he turned to come back, he looked up at Giff and said, «Company comin'. Me, I hears dat ol' Johnson outboard wit' the bad valve.»
Gifford swore, pushing himself to his feet and turning for the cabin. He returned with his shotgun, the twelve-gauge cracked open so he could shove slugs into it as he pounded down the steps and across the yard.
«Gifford!» Serena set her coffee cup down and ran after him. «Gifford, for heaven's sake!»
He managed to get one shot off before she reached him. The buckshot hit the water, sending up a spray just off the port bow of the game warden s boat. Perry Davis s voice crackled at them over a bullhorn.
«Goddammit, Gifford, put the gun down!»
Gifford lowered the shotgun but wouldn't relinquish it to Serena when she tried to pull it away from him. She ground her teeth and counted to ten and tried to call on her years as a counselor to cool her temper. Nothing helped much. She was furious with Gifford and she knew she was simply too close to him to ever be completely rational and objective in dealing with him.
The engine of the game wardens boat cut and the hull bobbed on the dark water a few feet from shore. Perry Davis stood behind the wheel, looking outraged and officious, his baby face flushed. Beside him was a middle-aged man, big and raw-boned with a fleshy face and a head of slicked-back steel-gray hair. He wore navy slacks and a striped necktie that had been jerked loose and hung like a noose around the collar of his sweat-stained blue dress shirt.
«You keep shooting at people and I'm gonna have to arrest you, Gifford,» Davis threatened, switching off the bullhorn.
Lucky, who had come to stand on Serena's left, gave a derisive snort. «You don't arrest nobody else. Why start with him?»
The game warden worked his mouth into a knot of suppressed fury. «Maybe I'll start with you.»
Lucky pushed his sunglasses up his nose and gave Davis a long, level look, smiling ever so slightly. «Yeah? You and what army?»
«I'll get you, Doucet. I can promise you that,» Davis said, thrusting a warning finger in Lucky's direction. «Crazy bastard like you running around loose. Folks aren't gonna stand for that forever.»
Serena could feel the tension humming around Lucky like electrical waves. The muscles in his jaw worked. He never took his eyes off Perry Davis and he never said another word. Yet, even from a distance of several yards, Davis felt compelled to back away; he moved to the back of the boat on the excuse of looking at the motor, trying to appear as if he had casually dismissed Lucky and their conversation. Gifford took advantage of the silence.
«Burke, you turn yourself around and get out.»
The big Texan let a phony grin split his meaty features. «I can't do that, partner. We've got business to discuss.»
«I've got nothing to say to you that can be said in front of a lady,» Gifford retorted. «I'm not interested in your offer. Go on back to Texas before I shoot you full of holes.»
«Gifford,» Serena said, schooling herself to at least appear calm and under control. «Why don't you invite Mr. Burke in? I'm sure we can settle this business amicably with a little plain talk.»
Burke gave an exaggerated shrug. «The little lady has a head on her shoulders, Gifford. I've said that all along. Isn't it about time you listened to her?»
It occurred to Serena that the Tristar rep had mistaken her for Shelby, but she didn't have the chance to correct him.
«I don't have to listen to anybody!» Gifford shouted, color rising in his face from his neck up. «I'm not senile, by God. I can make up my own mind. And if there's gonna be any plain talk, it's gonna come from the business end of old Betsy here,» he said, raising the stock of the shotgun to his shoulder.