Matt grinned broadly. “That’s what I like about you—all modesty.” He kissed her until they heard Harold’s desperate call. She was needed in the ranch house, he said, as he flew by to direct those arriving early.
The next couple of hours went by in a whirl; waiters and bartenders began to show up, along with dozens of guests. Harold manned the front gate with the ushers while Rebecca spent a half hour sorting out confusion over the playbill with the bands. When that fire had been stamped out, she went back out to the party area to find Matt, and ran into Pat, who was looking rather spiffy in a pink mother-of-the-bride gown. But even more intriguing, Pat had a surprisingly younger man in tow. “This is fantastic!” she exclaimed when she saw Rebecca. “I never thought you—I mean, I never thought . . .”
Rebecca laughed and squeezed the old girl’s hand. “I know what you thought, Pat, and you weren’t alone. I wasn’t sure I could pull it off, either. Have you seen Tom?”
“He and Glenda are on their way. He wants to make an entrance you know,” she said. “He said to call him when the first band starts to play.”
“Hey, Pat,” Matt said behind her, “You look great.”
Pat beamed. “Thanks!”
“I’m going to have to take her now,” he said, touching Rebecca’s arm. “There are some people she needs to meet.” He introduced her to Doug and Jeff, two men who, he said, were part of the Democratic Party apparatus in Dallas. And several senators and representatives were in attendance, all ooohing and aahing and generally jealous that they hadn’t been part of this fund-raiser.
And last, but certainly not least . . . Dad. Robin found Rebecca and Matt in conversation with Mr. Holt Peterson, the man who had used his collection of vintage Cadillac convertibles to shuttle people between the airport and the ranch. “He’s here,” she whispered, “and Bec—he doesn’t look so good.”
“What do you mean?” Rebecca asked, instantly fearing that he had misunderstood the dress code on the invitation.
“I mean he looks sick. Come on—they’ve seated us and he’s asking for you.”
Rebecca looked at Matt as he turned from two men he’d been speaking to. “My dad is here.”
“About time,” he said with a confident smile, and with his hand on the small of her back, they followed Robin through a growing crowd, struggling to pass through the rich and famous of Texas, men dressed in formal tails and jeans and boots and cowboy hats; women in brightly colored slips of gowns, the richness of the fabric rivaled only by the size and sparkle of their jewels.
When they at last came round to the table where Jake and Dad were sitting, Rebecca saw what Robin meant—Dad looked awful. He had lost quite a bit of weight since she had seen him a couple months ago; he was gaunt, his face leathery and his eyes sunken. She walked quickly to the table as he used his hands to push himself up and out of his chair. “Dad?” she said, trying to keep the alarm from her voice.
His eyes lit up and he smiled broadly, standing back to admire her dress. “Becky, you look beautiful. Times like this, you remind me so much of your mother. She was the beauty of the plains, you know.”
“Thank you,” she said, surprised and touched by the compliment. “Are all right?”
“I’m fine. Just lost a few extra pounds, that’s all,” he scoffed, waving a hand at her, but no amount of scoffing would change the fact that he looked sick, like he had when they had done all the chemotherapy—
Rebecca suddenly looked at Robin, saw the same fearful thought reflected in her sister’s eyes.
But Dad was eyeing Matt, moving around Rebecca to have a better look. “Well, Becky, are you gonna let the ol’ boy just stand there, or are you going to introduce us?”
Rebecca looked at Matt, who was, as usual, looking completely at ease. “Dad, this is Matt Parrish. He’s a lawyer—”
“I know, I know,” Dad said, extending his hand. “Aaron Lear, of Lear Transport Industries. Heard of us?” he asked, squinting as he peered up at Matt.
“It’s a pleasure, Mr. Lear. And yes, of course I’ve heard of you. What Texan hasn’t?”
“Uh-huh,” Dad said, studying him “Never hurts to kiss a little ass, does it, Parrish?”
Matt laughed. “Can’t say that it does.”
“So you’re a lawyer, huh?”
“That’s right.”
“Never had much use for lawyers,” Dad remarked, clasping his hands, gauging Matt’s reaction.
But Matt just laughed again, said cheerfully, “Most folks don’t.”
A slow smile cracked her father’s face. “Ever been married?”
“Dad!” Robin cried. “Leave him alone!”
“Nope, sure haven’t,” Matt answered amicably.
“Then get me a drink and I’ll tell you why you never should, son,” Dad said, and pulling out a chair, sat heavily, waiting on his drink.
“Honestly, Dad!” Rebecca moaned. “Matt, I’ll get it—”