Mary Baxter – Saddle Up (страница 3)
“That’s not true, and you know it. Your old man’s one of the best attorneys in Houston, and he’s got clout! Why, he can open doors for you that would be cemented shut for the normal person. All the other firms are afraid of him!”
“Even if he was willing, I wouldn’t let him.” A pained expression dulled Bridget’s features. “Right now, I’m not his fair-haired child. He and Mother are both…upset.”
Tiffany’s lips formed a semblance of a smile. “Why don’t you say furious and be done with it?”
Bridget’s answering smile was equally lukewarm. “Okay, they’re furious.”
“See? Don’t you feel better having gotten that off your chest?”
Both women were seated on the couch in Tiffany’s apartment, which looked more like an art deco studio than a typical Houston dwelling. Tiffany had rented the upstairs in an older home in the refurbished Heights area and furnished it with upscale junk, or at least, that was Tiffany’s way of describing it. Although Bridget would never even have looked at this place, much less lived here, it fit her friend’s personality perfectly.
Now, after reaching for an oversize pillow near her, she tossed it at Tiffany. “No. As a matter a fact, I don’t feel a bit better. I’d rather tell them to their faces what I feel.”
“Then why don’t you?”
“They’d both have heart attacks on the spot.”
“So?” Tiffany grinned.
“You’re bad to the bone, girl,” Bridget said, but found herself grinning, as well.
“I’d rather call it truthful.”
“Okay, so my parents went ballistic when I brought that civil suit, but they’re still my parents.”
Tiffany frowned. “Look, I didn’t mean—”
“I know,” Bridget interrupted, her tone distant. “First off, they’ve never learned how to loosen up. And second, they expect me to be just like them.”
“Which you’re not and never will be.”
“Sometimes I think I must’ve been adopted. As uptight as they are, I can’t imagine them conceiving me!”
“Sorry, but you look too much like your mother. And, I might add, she’s
“She’d thank you for the compliment.” Bridget paused again. “Right now, my parents are pretty far down on my list.”
“That’s too bad, but I understand. Hey, you want some coffee?”
Bridget shook her head and plunged a potato chip into the clam dip. “No, but if you have any tea made, I’ll have a glass.”
“I’ll make some,” Tiffany said, getting to her feet and heading for the kitchen. “Instant only takes a minute.”
Bridget watched her leave, then reached for another pillow and hugged it against her chest. She wondered if her friend really did understand, having come from a household of five other siblings and parents who let their kids do their own thing.
Even though Bridget couldn’t identify with that kind of upbringing, she envied it. She had been born with a silver spoon in her mouth. Added to that was the curse of being an only child. She bore the brunt of everything right and everything wrong, according to her parents’ rules.
Bridget hugged the pillow closer, her thoughts still stuck on her parents, who at the moment were more an aggravation than an asset. If only they had been more supportive of her decision to file that suit, things might have been different. Hell, if they had been even a little supportive, she wouldn’t be in the predicament she was in now.
Unfortunately, they had been anything but supportive. In fact, they had been outraged and demanded that she withdraw the suit minutes after she’d returned from the courthouse.
“How dare you do something like that without consulting me first?” Allen Martin had bellowed.
“Why, Dad? You weren’t the one Wainwright tried to maul! Besides, I’m grown and responsible for my own actions.”
“Well, you sure couldn’t prove that by me.”
“Your father’s right, honey,” Anita Martin had chimed in. “I can’t believe you’d smear a good man’s name.”
“Didn’t either of you hear what I told you? Dammit, Wainwright—”
Her father had cut her off, his voice cold. “Not another word, young lady, especially using that kind of language. Mason Wainwright is a longtime friend and excellent attorney. You know we all go to church together—or you
Bridget’s laugh was bitter. “Oh, he’s a man of the world, all right—with Russian hands and Roman fingers!”
Allen bristled. Anita gasped.
Bridget wanted to scream, unable to believe this was happening. How could they take that vile man’s word over hers? She shouldn’t have been surprised, though. Despite her father’s retirement, he kept in touch with everything that was going on in the legal field through his “of counsel” status, and his expert opinion was still sought after by a host of attorneys. However, in Bridget’s heart, nothing excused his siding with a man she knew to be an oversexed hypocrite, deacon or not.
“Look, it’s obvious you think I’m making a mountain out of a molehill, and that’s okay. You’re entitled to your opinion. But I’m not going to back off.”
Much to her dismay, she
“I bet I know what you’ve been thinking about,” Tiffany said in a disapproving tone, waltzing into the room and setting Bridget’s iced tea on the coffee table. “Your parents, right?”
Bridget sighed, then rubbed the back of her neck, registering her exhaustion. “You’re right.”
“So are you going to listen to them?”
“As in dismissing my suit?”
“Yep.”
“I already have.”
“Honestly, Bridget, when are you going to let them stop running your life?”
“I didn’t do it for them, Tiff. The other attorney in the office, the one who was supposed to corroborate my story, since she’d been a victim herself, clammed up. She refused to testify, and there went my case. Without her, it’s a swearing match.”
“Mmm, sounds like old Wainwright put the screws to her.”
“I suspect he threatened to blackball her just like he did me, only she’s divorced with two kids to consider.”
“So what
Bridget shrugged her slender shoulders. “Start pounding the pavement, I guess. I still have a burning ambition to become every bit as good a litigator as my dad or better, then open my own practice. Working for these large firms isn’t my cup of tea. Unfortunately, that’s the only way you can get the experience it takes to make it on your own.”
“Only now you’re ostracized.”
“That’s a mild word. You’d think I had leprosy or something.”
“It’s really that bad, huh?”
“Yes, it is.” Gloom was mirrored in Bridget’s face. “I can always go to Dallas, or maybe San Antonio— if I can get at least one good recommendation from the firm.”
“I wouldn’t count on it.”
“I’m not.”
“So what does Hamilton think about all this?” Tiffany raised her hand. “Don’t answer that. Let me guess. He’s as furious as your parents.”
“Righto.”
“Jerk.”
In spite of her friend’s sarcastic tone, Bridget’s lips twitched in good humor. She just couldn’t get mad at her friend. “I guess it’s safe to say that you don’t like my fianc6-to-be.”
Tiffany snorted. “Fiancé, hell. You have no intention of marrying Hamilton Price. You never have. If anything, he’s too much like your old man, more so, actually. Hamilton wears his underwear so tight, it’s a wonder he can breathe.”
“Please, don’t start on Hamilton, okay? Besides, we’re a long way from walking down the aisle. We’re not even engaged.”
“Good…cuz I gotta tell you straight, friend, you and Hamilton have nothing in common.
“I know,” Bridget said, sighing.
“At least there’s one bright point in all our misery.”
“And just what is that?” Bridget asked.