The house was atrociously ugly, but it was in such appalling
and unapologetic bad taste that it had a crude charm all its
own, much like Angus.
"Before this house was here, Sarah Jo and I lived in a
lineman's shack. You could see daylight through the walls
of that damn thing. Nearly froze us out in the winter, and in
the summer, we'd wake up with an inch of dust covering our
bed."
Alex's initial reaction to Mrs. Minton had been dislike.
She seemed distracted and self-absorbed. Alex could, however,
sympathize with a younger Sarah Jo who had been
plucked like an exotic flower out of a gracious, refined culture
and replanted into one so harsh and radically different that
she had withered. She could never adapt here, and it was a
mystery to Alex why either Angus or Sarah Jo thought she
could.
He preceded her into a paneled den that was even more
masculine than the rest of the house. From their mountings
on the walls, elk and deer gazed into space with resigned
brown eyes. What space they didn't take up was filled with
photographs of racehorses wearing the Minton colors standing
in the winners' circles of racetracks all over the country. Some
were fairly current; others appeared to be decades old.
There were several gun racks with a firearm in each slot.
A flagpole with the state flag had been propped in one corner.
A framed cartoon read: "Tho I walk through the valley of
the Shadow of Death, I will fear no evil . . . 'cause I'm the
meanest son of a bitch in the valley."
The moment they entered the room, he pointed her toward
a corner. "Come over here. I want to show you something."
She followed him to a table that was draped with what
looked like an ordinary white bed sheet. Angus unfurled it.
"My goodness!"
It was an architectural model of a racetrack. Not a single
detail had been overlooked, from the color-coded seating in
the stands, to the movable starting gate, to the diagonal stripes
painted in the parking lot.
Purcell Downs," Angus boasted with the chest-expanding
pride of a new father. "I realize you're only doing what you
feel like you've got to do, Alex. I can respect that." His
expression was belligerent. "But you don't realize how much
is at stake here."
Alex defensively folded her arms across her midriff.' 'Why
don't you tell me?"
Needing no more encouragement, Angus launched into a
full explanation of how he wanted the track to be built, enumerating
its various features. There would be no corners cut,
no scrimping. The entire complex was to be a first-class
facility from the stables to the ladies' restrooms.
"We'll be the only full-scale track between Dallas/Fort
Worth and El Paso, and three hundred or so miles from each.
It will be a good stopover for travelers. I can envision Purcell
becoming another Las Vegas in twenty years, springing up
out of the desert like a gusher."
"Isn't that being a little optimistic?" Alex asked skeptically.
"Well, maybe a bit. But that's what folks said when I
started this place. That's what they said when I built my
practice track and drew up plans for an indoor swimming
pool for the horses. I don't let skepticism bother me. You
gotta dream big if you want big things to happen. Mark my
words," he said, jabbing the air between them for emphasis.
"If we get that license to build this track, the town of Purcell
will explode."
"Not everybody would like that, would they? Some might
want to keep the community small."
Stubbornly, Angus shook his head. "Several years ago,
this town was booming."
"Oil?"
"Yessiree. There were ten banks. Ten. More than in any
other town this size. Per capita, we were the richest city in
the country. Merchants had more business than they could
handle. The real estate market was hot. Everybody prospered."
He paused to take a breath. "You want something
to drink? A beer? A Coke?"
"Nothing, thank you."
Angus took a beer from the refrigerator, twisted off the
cap, and took a long drink. "Then, the bottom fell out of the
oil market," he resumed. "We told ourselves that it was
temporary."
"To what extent did the oil market affect you?"
"I hold a hefty percentage in several wells and one natural
gas company. But thank God, I'd never invested more than
I could afford to lose. I'd never liquidated my other businesses
to support an oil well."
"Still, that drop in the price of oil must have caused you
a substantial financial setback. Weren't you upset?"
He shook his head. "I've won and lost more fortunes than
you are years old, young lady. Hell, I really don't mind being
broke. Being rich is more fun, but being broke is more exciting.
It's got built-in challenges.
"Sarah Jo," he said, sighing thoughtfully, "doesn't agree
with me, of course. She likes the security of having money
collecting dust in a vault. I've never touched her money or
Junior's inheritance. I promised her I never would."
Talking about inheritances was foreign to Alex. She
couldn't even conceive of it. Merle Graham had supported
them on her salary from the telephone company, and then on
her pension after her retirement. Alex's grades had been high
enough to earn her a scholarship to the University of Texas,
but she'd worked after classes to keep herself dressed and
fed so her grandmother wouldn't have those expenses to complain
about.
She had received financial assistance for law school, too,
because her grades were so impressive. Working in public
service didn't provide her with luxuries. She'd struggled with
her conscience for weeks before rewarding herself with the
fur coat for passing the bar. It was one of the few extravagances
she had ever allowed herself.
"Do you have enough capital to finance the racetrack?"
she asked, bringing her mind back around.
"Not personally."
"Minton Enterprises?"