“Here, Mom. I’ll put those in a vase of water and set them on the table.” Jace squeezed past the vice president and his wife, appearing instantly at his mother’s side.
“Thank you, firecracker.” She beamed, passing him the flowers.
Why’d Colt get Mom’s blue eyes instead of me?There was nothing wrong with Jace’s honey-brown eyes. Many a young woman had complimented them as his best feature. It was just that Colt got everything—everything Jace wanted, anyway.
By the time Jace placed a crystal vase erupting with fresh flowers on the table, everyone else had taken their seats, and he was stuck with scraps—a chair between Tabitha, Vice President Reagan’s daughter, and fat cousin Andrew Irons. Nobody mentioned cousin Mateo Barrera anymore. He’d vanished after mocking one of Luther Irons’ decisions.Probably ran off to Tucson, where all the troublemakers end up.
“That’s perfect.”
At least Mom notices me.With a nod and a grin, Jace plopped into the vacant seat. “Well, ain’t you pretty as a picture this evenin’, Tabitha?” Dimples formed as bookends to his smile as he poured on the charm.
“Thank you kindly, Jace. As I recall, you played a mighty fine game the other night—scored two solo goals and assisted with another. Impressive.”
Jace let the heat fill his cheeks, soaking up her attention like a sponge. “It was just the Jacksboro Wildcats,” he answered modestly. “No point gettin’ outta bed if we can’t beat them.”
He lifted his wineglass and downed half of it.
“This evening’s entrée begins with a robust onion soup, served with corn tortillas and prickly pear fruit, followed by herb and butter-braised emu with mashed yucca root and—”
“Beef!”
The host paused, peering at Luther in trembling fear. “I beg your pardon, Mr. President?”
“I’m not eatin’ any goddamn emu,” he bellowed. “This is a special occasion, and I want a steak—a real steak, not some glorified chicken.”
“But sweetheart.” Mom turned to him, laying a delicate, bejeweled hand on his sleeve. “Emu ranching is one of the Republic’s most thriving industries. You helped develop it yourself—championed it, even. Don’t you think this is exactly the right occasion for emu?”
His expression morphed into a dangerous snarl, and he yanked his arm away. “Randall?” Luther turned to the vice president. “Wouldn’t you rather a juicy beefsteak than some dry, flightless bird?”
For some strange reason, Vice President Reagan looked startled, like a deer you surprise on a hunt.What a dweeb! The only reason Dad keeps him around is because his name still carries weight with the voters.
“Well, now, if beef’s available, of course I’d rather—”
“Bram?” Dad shifted to Colonel Bram Vexler, head of the secret police force. With a completely bald head and constantly dressed in black leather, the scarred man was the kind you wouldn’t want to run into in a dark alley.
“Nothing beats a perfectly grilled steak, Mr. President.” His voice oozed like a frog-infested mudhole. Didn’t matter. Vexler was on our side.
Luther’s demanding ire softened to playful humor as he swung a hand onto Colt’s shoulder—conveniently sitting to Dad’s right.Whatever.
“What about you, son? What should we eat to celebrate your promotion and the founding of our great nation?”
Colt’s response was thick honey, dripping slowly from a wooden drizzler. He shrugged, assuming a bashful look. “You know I don’t care what we eat. It’s good company that matters, and you all are family—the best.”
Jace drained his glass and tapped the stem on the table. “I say if Luther Irons wants steak, Luther Irons should get steak. Does anyone disagree?”
The host had turned as white as the bleached tablecloth running down the center of the long oak piece. Jace found it comical and lifted his empty glass, signifying he wished it refilled. The wine server, a pretty young woman in a white apron, her red hair twisted and pinned on her head, scurried over with an open bottle.
Jace eyed her invitingly. “Thanks, kitten. Got plans later?”
Her eyes rounded, and her cheeks flushed. “Really, Mr. Irons. I’m just a servant.”
“So? Still a woman, ain’t ya?” He winked and grinned to let her know he was teasing, and she was under no obligation—though he wouldn’t object if she agreed to his proposal.
“I suppose I can rustle up some steaks,” the host said, forcing a nervous smile. “But it will take a little longer.”
“Go on, then,” Luther ordered with a laugh. “Bring the soup and the other crap so we don’t starve. Then I want perfectly grilled steaks—got it?”
“Yes, sir. Right away, sir.” The quivering man practically flew out of the dining hall. Jace laughed.
